THE FATHER'S LOVE.
HE moon came out of her cloudy bower,With a golden veil flung over her face,
She seemed to frown on the twilight hour—
Not in her silver of bridal grace.
Yet through the rents of her misty veil,
Glimmered pale flowers from her wreath,
Blossoms which glinted o'er hill and dale,
Kissing the night with their dewy breath.
Glimmered pale flowers from her wreath,
Blossoms which glinted o'er hill and dale,
Kissing the night with their dewy breath.
Thus thro' the rents of the ragged cloud,
Beams the smile of the Father's love,
Dropping in flowers down on our path,
From star-lit gardens that bloom above.
Beams the smile of the Father's love,
Dropping in flowers down on our path,
From star-lit gardens that bloom above.
