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God's Children ...The Fatherless


Speak softly to the fatherless,
And check the harsh reply
That sends the crimson to the cheek,
The teardrop to the eye.
They have the weight of loneliness
In this rude world to bear;
Then gently raise the falling bud,
The drooping floweret spare.


Speak kindly to the fatherless--
The lowliest of their band
God keepeth as the waters
In the hollow of his hand.
'Tis sad to see life's evening sun
Go down in sorrow's shroud;
But sadder still when morning's dawn
Is darkened by a cloud.


Look mildly on the fatherless;
Ye may have power to wile
Their hearts from sadden'd memory
By the magic of a smile.

Deal gently with the little ones;
Be pitiful, and He,
The Friend and Father of us all,
Shall gently deal with thee.

Ida F. Johnson.

 


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