Poem April 19, 1924 ISSUE

[Written for the Sentinel]

At Morn

IDA FLORENCE SAWYER

I was awareOf faint, brief rustlingsAnd things astir,As aspen leaves set quiv'ring by the breezeAnd low, sweet murmurings among the trees.A distant cheep—an echo near:Then, high above the twitterings,A long, sweet note—The day is here!

So, to my soulCome these strange stirringsOf night far spent.My waiting heart perceives the first faint gleamsThat pierce the mists of earth's drear shadowings.Be still, and know—"desire is prayer;"* "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker Eddy, page 1. See, God's day is here,No night is there!

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