Poems

The Gift of Love

M. M. Painter

It is in loving, not being loved, the heart is blest;It is in giving, not in seeking gifts, we find our guest.

A Golden Rule for Avoiding Sin

C. Overton

When you think, when you speak, when you read, when you write,When you sing, when you walk, when you seek for delight;To be kept from all evil, at home and abroad,Live always as under "the eye of the Lord.

Poem

If We Knew

Could we but draw back the curtainsThat surround each other's lives,See the naked heart and spirit,Know what spur the action gives,—Often we would find it better,Purer than we judge we would;We would love each other better,If we only understood.

Poem

Peas and Pills

A woman, who had raised with careSweet peas, so lovely, large, and rare,Into a bottle the succeeding fall,Put by for next year's planting, allThat ripened well.

Poem

Hope Set Before Us

BY J. N. WHITE

If for Good we fain would labor,Striving well to do our part,We must pluck the weeds of envyFrom the garden of our heart.

Poem

Turn your Face to the Light

BY CLARENCE A. BUSKIRK.

Truth brings only joy, turn your face to the Light,O sister, O brother;You work for yourselves when you work for the right,And work for each other.

Poem

Joy

E. F. V.

There is no joy too great for theeWhen Love is on the throne,For God would have to cease to beTo leave thee all alone.

Poem

The Word

John G. Whittier

Voice of the Holy Spirit, making knownMan to himself, a witness swift and sure,Warning, approving, true, and wise, and pure,Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none!By Thee the mystery of life is read;The picture-writing of the world's gray seers,The myths and parables of the primal years,Whose letter kills, by Thee interpreted,Take healthful meanings fitten to our needs,And in the soul's vernacular expressThe common law of simple righteousness.

Poem

A Song of Light

BY WILLIAM BRADFORD DICKSON.

"Let there be light," and lo, across the darkened consciousness there gleams the softening dawn of Truth's eternal day.

Poem

To Mother

BY W. F. C.

Dear Sentinel:— Enclosed is a little poem which was handed to me last week by the mother of one of our Sunday School children, and considering that the little fellow who wrote it is only eleven years old, it seemed to me very good.