[Written for the Sentinel]

The Little Lights

How brave are they whose task it is to keep the small lights gleaming:The mother sitting, book in hand, in some high mountain home; The sailor sending forth the truth into the storm's fierce seeming;The patient farmer waiting for his harvest time to come.

How stanch the little band whose daily unselfed prayers ascending,Hold open wide the door of some small, humble "upper room;"Who, year by year, the lamp of Love so loyally are tending,That it may cast its beam abroad and lighten up the gloom.

February 12, 1927
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