Poem October 6, 1917 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Thoughts for Each Hour

MYRTLE STRODE JACKSON

Wings in the sky at morning's shining gate,—
the wings of wrath, the maniac wings of hate.
O Spirit, save us e'er it be too late!
Swiftly the answer came:

There are no wings in the wide sky above,
But the protecting wings of God's great love,—
The Holy Spirit brooding as a dove
O'er those who trust His name.

Wings of omnipotence, peace, and protection,
Wings of Love's constant, unerring direction,
Wings of the Spirit, swift pinions of prayer,
—Shelter our homes in Thine all-loving care,
Fold us in stillness, and strength, and perfection.

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