ISSUE: Autumn 1942
When love is woven of heart and mind and soul,
There is a threefold cord that will not break From any cause.
Even should Death overtake One of the two so linked,—though the bell toll And dimming eyes strain at the fateful scroll—
The cord of love holds firm.
With doubt awake Death stares at equal strength,—sees the bond shake In the wild clutch of grief—still remain whole.
Ah, consolation comes with solitude,
And wisdom chooses silence for her ends;
I have learned to be alone yet never lonely,
That far is near, that special is each good.
For,
Love, this immemorial ray that blends Our past with our forever, is ours only.
