[Written for the Sentinel]

The Comforter

Like unto one his mother comforteth,Thou, Father-Mother God, dost comfort me,Folding me close from dreams of sin and death,When in the dark I wake and turn to Thee.

And though my dream-path lie through fields of night,Through hosts of shadows with their dark alarms,I know the presence of eternal light,And underneath, the everlasting arms.

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Letters
Letters from the Field
November 1, 1924
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