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CHRIST IN THE HEART

As some rare perfume in a vase of clay
Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,
So when Thou dwellest in a mortal soul,
All Heaven’s own sweetness seems around it thrown.

The heart alone, like a neglected harp,
Grows out of tune, and needs Thy hand Divine;
Dwell Thou within it, tune and touch its chords,
Till every note and string shall answer Thine.

MRS. H. B. STOWE.

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— November 15, 1913 —