By Elizabeth Simmons, Age 14 Years
When the golden sun sinks,
Behind the western hills.
And the daylight slowly shrinks,
And night her vacancy fills.
The birds, and owls have nest and hole;
Swine their pasture and beds,
Cattle their stall, lamb the fold.
But the Son of Man hath not
Where to lay His head.
Then how careful ought we to be,
In this world of sorrow and pain,
If we the Master’s face should see,
When He comes again.
From The Star of Zion, Charlotte, N.C., Sept. 8, 1921
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