Our Father

What kind, strong fingers of a father's hand, Touched with compassion, now could smooth away The sorry traces of this storm-racked day? What father's pity now could understand The shattered dreams a foolish heart had planned— The mirage hopes, alluring to betray And lead the wanderer down an unknown way, Through the dry desert of a weary land?

God understands our every need. Even yet His hand is near to lift the shame-bowed head, To wipe away the anguish, the regret For other things, and stablish hope instead. Then at his Father's table man is set, Completely satisfied and comforted.

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Signs of the Times
April 17, 1937
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