Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/284

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But a woman s soul at its turning stood, Tho her answer was low and calm,

As she laid her humble and trusting soul In the scarred but puissant palm.

There were lonely homes in the far " out West,"

Where the gaunt grim fingers of Care, Heaping up the dust on the Bible-lids,

So had smothered the Sabbath fair, Until seed-time, and harvest, came and went

With never a prayer or a cry, Except when a coffin s dark shadow fell,

Or the thunder came hurtling by.

Many lonely and stifled souls were there

Who still kept in remembrance dear Little humble churches their childhood knew,

Sabbath bells that they used to hear Weak and weary saints, who had prayed so long

Without answer, thought He forgot Their Christian needs, as the harvests went by,

And the churches and bells were not.

Truly, all the while, in the Master s time,

Was the work for the Master done, When the ballroom belle under starlight stood,

All weary of worship won. To the earnest cry of her wakened soul

Followed swiftly a blest reply, And the alchemy of an earnest heart

Laid her jewels away on high.

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