HARVEST CALL

God's sowers see the fields as white,Though shadowed through the depth of night.All nature knows the growing thingBefore our claiming of the spring.Each moment holds a harvest timeThat waits nor day, nor hour, nor clime.Then joyously Mind's sickle swingIn Love's eternal garnering.

Edith Coonley Howes

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Editorial
THE CHRIST IDEALISM
September 13, 1952
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