Grace.
I thought you convert to his sophistry.
It makes no difference to him, you know,
Whether I plague or please.
Ruth.
It does to you.
Israel.
There, children! No more bitter words like those!
I do not understand them; they awake
A sad uneasiness within my heart.
I found but Christian meaning in the hymn;
Aye, I could say amen to every line,
As to the breathings of my own poor prayer.
But let us talk no more. I'll to my bed.
Good-night, my children! Happy thoughts be yours
Till sleep arrive—then happy dreams till dawn!
All.
Father, good-night!
[ISRAEL retires.]
Ruth.