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VOICES OF SPRING – 11

     When the white-winged dove feeds her callow brood, nestles them under her wings, and, in tones tremulous with tenderness, calls them to her breast, do mortals remember their cradle hymns, and thank God for those redemptive words from a mother’s lips which taught them the Lord’s Prayer?

O gentle presence, peace and joy and power; O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour; Thou Love that guards the nestling’s faltering flight! Keep Thou my child on upward wing to-night.

(Eddy, Mary Baker, Misc Writ 331:12-21)

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