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From the December 1904 issue of The Christian Science Journal

In sullen gusts the north-wind flays the brooding plain And sweeps the green hills of the sea, The while swift silver regiments of rain Encamp around the day and me; Deep in my heart Gaunt shadows start, And fear and sorrow charge with bayonets of pain. Hark! through the tear-sprent wilderness of storm and grief Sounds an exquisite melody; A Voice breathes.