[Written for the Sentinel]

Our Hand in Thine

Father, no human touch we crave;No human voice to still our fear.But, oh, let us Thy presence feel;Let us but know that Thou art near!

For then all doubts and fears depart;All human longings take their flight;We clasp Thy hand, and step by stepWe walk with Thee throughout the night.

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Editorial
The Fiction of Fear
October 1, 1927
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