The Comforter

MARGARET HOUSTON KAUFFMAN

Like unto one his mother comforteth,
Thou, Father-Mother God, dost comfort me,
Folding me close from dreams of sin and death,
When in the dark I wake and turn to Thee.

And though my dream-path lie through fields of night,
Through hosts of shadows with their dark alarms,
I know the presence of eternal light,
And underneath, the everlasting arms.

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