Poem January 7, 1939 Issue

The Fourth Watch

M. FLORENCE RAPSON

Think not the way's all gloomy toil, unending,
With hope still unfulfilled, your heart too sore.
Beloved of Soul, the dawn is richly breaking,
To fill your day with love forevermore.

There is a harbor filled with Mind's still beauty,
Where you shall anchor, now the storm is done.
You've fed His lambs; Truth-filled performed each duty.
The victory's here. The goal at last is won.

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