'I know the flush of pleasure That o'er my spirit came, When far from home with strangers, They caught my father's name; And for his sake the greeting Was mutual and sweet, For if they knew my father too, How glad we were to meet! 'And when I heard them praising His music and his skill, His words of holy teaching, Life-preaching, holier still, How eagerly I listened To every word that fell! 'Twas joy to hear that name so dear Both known and loved so well. 'Once I was ill and suffering, Upon a foreign shore, And longed to see my father, As I never longed before. He came: his arm around me; I leaned upon his breast; I did not long to feel more strong, So sweet that childlike rest. 'The thought of home is pleasant, Yet I should hardly care To leave my present fair abode, Unless I knew him there. All other love and pleasure Can never crown the place, A home to me it cannot be Without my fathers face.' This is no fancy drawing, But every line is true, And you have traced as strong a love As ever daughter knew. But though its fond expression Is rather lived than told, You do not say from day to day, 'I fear my love is cold!' You do not think about it; 'Tis never in your thought-- 'I wonder if I love him As deeply as I ought? I know his approbation Outweighs all other meed, That his employ is always joy, But do I love indeed?' Now let your own words teach you The higher, holier claim Of Him, who condescends to bear A Father's gracious name. No mystic inspiration, No throbbings forced and wild He asks, but just the loving trust Of a glad and grateful child. The rare and precious moments Of realizing thrill, Are but love's blissful blossom, To brighten, not to fill The storehouse and the garner With ripe and pleasant fruit; And not alone by these is shown The true and holy root. What if your own dear father Were summoned to his rest! One lives, by whom that bitterest grief Could well be soothed and blessed. Like balm upon your sharpest woe His still, small voice would fall; His touch would heal, you could not feel That you had lost your all. But what if He, the Lord of life, Could ever pass away! What if _His_ name were blotted out, And you could know to-day There was _no_ heavenly Father, No Saviour dear and true, No throne of grace, no resting-place, No living God for you! We need not dwell in horror On what can never be, Such endless desolation, Such undreamt misery. Our reason could not bear it, And all the love of earth, In fullest bliss, compared with this, Were nothing, _nothing_ worth.