[Written for the Sentinel]

Rest

No sweeter words than these were e'er addressed
To thee and all by mortal sense oppressed,—
"Come unto me, and I will give thee rest."

'Tis Christ that calls,—nor knows the ages' flight,—
In tones of tenderness and lowly might:
"My yoke is easy, and my burden light.

"My yoke upon you take, and learn of me.
Then, struggling heart, wherever thou mayst be,
The peace that passeth knowledge is for thee."

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
From Our Exchanges
January 27, 1917
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit