[Written for the Sentinel]

Rest

No sweeter words than these were e'er addressedTo 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.

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From Our Exchanges
January 27, 1917
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