Poem September 29, 1923 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

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ELENORA E. PIKE

Here I would hold my light on high,
With steady hand, and true,
That down some darkening way its gleam
May guide
A faltering step that gropes to find,
Mid shadows closing in,
A refuge, where in peace it may
Abide.

So I shall turn my thought to Truth,
Through error's seeming din,—
To Truth, which always waits to heal
And bless;
That other thoughts which press and crowd
And jostle in the strife
For earthly gain, may feel its calm
Caress.

Now as I lift my heart to Love,
That ever waits to give,
And as I know its treasures all
Are mine,
I see the need of those who cry,
Anhungered and athirst,
And answer, Take them all, for they
Are thine.

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