[Written for the Sentinel]

The Walk to Emmaus

It lies among the hills—that little roadWhere journeyed those two friends, that soft spring day;But not a sound of melody they heard,For sadness bitter filled them with dismay.They talked and reasoned with bewildered breath;They wondered how such direful things could be;Nor knew the stranger who so calmly asked,What great concern is this that troubles thee?And as they went he told them wondrous things,Of prophets and their words in Scripture found;And still they wondered, as sometimes in dreamsWe strive to waken and are strangely bound.

The day slipped by, and when the evenglowSpread its soft radiance round on every side,They, at the parting of the way, would knowIf he would not stay with them and abide,And share the evening meal and quiet rest,And further speak to them in that new tongueWhich made their hearts burn deep within their breasts,When grief and secret doubt their spirits wrung.O rising towers, built up of agonies!O little gleam, that trembles and is gone!You have no place in those fair destiniesWhose smiling lengths stretch upward to the dawn.

August 2, 1919
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