Poem October 27, 1917 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Threefold

W. EDSON SMITH

God's gift is Life: Himself! We should go straying,
Hands full, hearts full, like happy children Maying;
Glad of clear skies, or roses drenched with rain:
His children, zestful of such radiant giving;
His children, never knowing death or pain,—
Caught close to Life—close, closer—in the living.

God's gift is Love: Himself! Is not that all?
Whether white dawn or gray of evenfall,
Peace of the lilies in the quiet lake,
Glory and gleam of blue-arched, wind-swept mountains!
Through Love we live, whatever ways we take,—
Cypressed and sober, or by living fountains.

God's gift is Truth: Himself! That makes us free,—
Masters of deserts and the moaning sea;
Content that God is with us in our going,
For springs we drink of mirror back His smile;
Knowing at last that life is worth the knowing,
Knowing at last that love is worth the while.

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