[Written for the Sentinel]

To Him that Hath

If only midst our busy life that seemsAn endless toil of patient strife, there comesOne tiny understanding thought of God,Then all is well.

That thought so small, yet earnest and sincere,Is multiplied, and gradually comes clearWith swelling song of ecstasy and peace:In Him we dwell.

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
Signs of the Times
March 19, 1921
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit