Poem August 21, 1915 ISSUE

[Written for the Sentinel]

"Ever with me"

ADELA V. SCRIMGEOUR

I lay upon a hillside cold and bare;I had no friends, no home, no means to live,When on my dull ears struck a voice divine,"Son, thou art ever with me; all is thine."

A hope sprang up within my darkened heart.If all is mine, how was I ever poor?If Love is ever with me, I can restMy head forever on the Father's breast.

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