[Written for the Sentinel]

"I am the vine"

Only a twig on that sacred Vine;
Yet, dearest Lord, I am wholly Thine.
Only a twig, yet my part to fill,
Humbly and gladly to do Thy will.

Only a twig with a tiny bloom;
Yet, dearest Lord, in its heart is room—
Room for the life that Thy life inspires,
Room for the fruit that the Vine desires.

Only a twig, yet the sap of the Vine
Flows through each vein with its power divine;
Purged by the spirit, the twig doth live,
All of itself and its fruit to give.

Only a twig with its mite of fruit;
Yet it is sprung from a royal shoot.
Branches may furnish more fruit, and still,
None the more faithfully do His will.

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"Be not overcome of evil"
November 8, 1924

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