[Written for the Sentinel]

The Upper Room

The faithful few who doubted not the Master's word
Were waiting, hearts attuned, in one divine accord,
To greet the promised one, the Comforter,
When lo! it came with rushing wind and flaming tongues of fire,
Inspiring each to heal and save by Truth's almighty power,
To bring salvation sure to men,
And carry on the work the Christ began.

And then for centuries three, men still went on;
Midst storm and persecution, fire, and sword,
They held aloft the banner of their Lord,
And by the might of Truth divine
The healing stream flowed on,
With life and comfort in its depths
As in the Master's time.

But there arose a mist from out the earth,
And creeds and doctrines, love of power,
So veiled the truth and hid the might
Of Love's unfailing wondrous light,
That Christ's own banner seemed forever furled,
And men were left alone in darkness drear,
Devoid of hope, and victims of their fear.

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