Poem October 14, 1933 Issue

Two Visitors

B. GWENDOLEN NISBET

Self came in at the door—
Self, with its tattered gown;
Peevish and drab and poor,
Self came in with a frown:
I must push and struggle and strive
In order to keep alive—
Or else I should soon be dead—
Self said.

Love came in at the door,
Love, with its arms out wide;
Rich love, that couldn't be poor—
Sharing and satisfied.
I must give of my Father's treasure
Unstintingly, in largest measure!
Love said—and when love looked round
No self was found.

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