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Poem February 22, 1930 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Stilled

ELIZABETH B. CATE

When heavy clouds of sense hang low,
And restless thought runs to and fro,
Not knowing where to look,
I read the little book *
Till faith unfolds her wings,
Then soars aloft—and sings.

So gently is the tumult stilled,
So full of love my heart is filled,
That almost unaware
The dove of peace rests there;
And in the hush—so still—
I learn the Father's will.

*Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures , by Mary Baker Eddy,

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