[Written for the Sentinel]

O Heart of Mine

O Heart of mine, hast thou a place preparedFor that sweet presence thou hast sought so long?Has love, with harp and viol, lifted upIts holy ardor in thy secret song?

Has joy unsullied tilled thy vineyard fair,And left no stone of sloth embedded there,And stilled the winds of memory-haunted days,And filled thy chalice with the wine of praise?

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