[Written for the Sentinel]


DEAR Father-Mother Love, the day is ending—Day that began anew with praise to Thee; Dawn touched the mountain peaks to rose; descending, Tinged the blue mist of valley gloriously.

Thy little ones the valley have forsaken For steep ways winding upward to the skies; In fresh sunlight another step they've taken,— Celestial heights the goal before their eyes.

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