"Begone, you wretch!" the father cried,
"I curse the hour that gave
Birth to a wretch whose sin has laid
My wife within the grave."
"My mother dead! and I still live?
Ah! whither shall I fly?
O God! protect my hapless babe,
And suffer me to die."
The storm increased; she wandered on
Almost till break of day,
Till weary, wet and almost dead,
She knelt in the path to pray.
The sky was lit from end to end
By the lightning's awful glare,
And a falling tree pinned both to earth
As they knelt in the act of prayer!
They found them thus in the morning light,
And the father's grief was wild.
He tenderly looked on the touching scene
And at last forgave his child!