She teaches them the privilege of prayer.
Look! How their infant eyes with rapture speak;
Mark the flushed lily on the dimpled cheek;
Their hearts are filled with gratitude and love,
Their hopes are centred in a world above,
Where, in a choir of angels, Faith portrays
The loved, departed, father of their days.
Rufus Dawes.
By thee, dear Mother, o’er whose darksome bed
Summer now pours his beams in vain—by thee