L. D. SANTEE by L. D. Santee

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Oct 26, 1911

L. D. SANTEE

By L. D. Santee

October

L. D. SANTEE

The webs that the spiders last night spun, Hang from the tall grass glittering spires; And autumn flowers look up to the sun, With eyes full of dewy tears.

At peace with the world and all therein, I walk in the fields this autumn morn, What should I know of sorrow or sin, Of selfishness, pride, or scorn?

But hark! o'er the fields a murmur blown; It is not loud, but 'tis sad and deep; 'Tis the wailing of those who are left alone, 'Tis the sobbing of those who weep.

No more through fields in October's morn Can I walk mid flowers and contented be, For the cries, and the suffering anguish born, Throw their shadows over me.

And I turn from a life of ease and rest To work for Jesus and cheer the sad, To minister love to the hearts oppressed, And to make the sorrowful glad.

The garlands of flowers with dewy eyes, I'll bind on the brows that ceaseless ache; And my reward shall come from the skies, For I labor for Christ's dear sake;

Willing to labor, and well content, Willing to toil till set of sun, To work for the Master till life is spent, But glad to rest when the work is done.

Moline, Ill.