How tenderly the dewdrop finds a place...

How tenderly the dewdrop finds a place
Upon the thirsty violet's drooping face!
No fury in its course, no haste, no noise
To mar the beauty of the flow' ret's poise.
The child with bleeding hands and tear-filled eyes
Lifts up its trembling voice, and softly cries
For one whose mother-love and swift caress
Of tender arms will surely soothe and bless.
The sinner yearns to lose sin's chastening rod,
And loathing sin creeps lowly back to God,
Sure above all that in His might to bless
Abides the healing touch of tenderness.

Laura Gerahty.

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September 21, 1912

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