How tenderly the dewdrop finds a place...

How tenderly the dewdrop finds a placeUpon the thirsty violet's drooping face!No fury in its course, no haste, no noiseTo mar the beauty of the flow' ret's poise.The child with bleeding hands and tear-filled eyesLifts up its trembling voice, and softly criesFor one whose mother-love and swift caressOf 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 blessAbides the healing touch of tenderness.

Laura Gerahty.

September 21, 1912
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