Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/39

37 For a stranger came to these gentle souls, And a sick heart craved for rest: They gave her their love and they gave her their care And they gave her of all their best.
 * Is it only the wind in the waving pines
 * Or the sound of the distant sea?
 * Or is it the voice of the Stranger Guest—
 * "Ye did it unto Me."