  There is a hand, whose grasp is love, Though not a lover’s grasp; Its touch wakes feelings far above The lover’s fondest clasp. There is an eye, whose sparkle shows The tender holy flame Of deep affection, and o’erflows With love for each dear name. There is a heart, whose throbs proclaim A constant, ceaseless flow Of life and love for all; the same In happiness or woe. A lip, whose words—to man on earth, Are words of life and peace; To God, are prayers of priceless worth, Which never, never cease. Such is our Saviour dear, our Heavenly Friend. Most like Him is the mortal friend, who tries To lead us ever nearer to that land Where Friendship blooms in sunny, cloudless skies. Rev. F. J. Ochse. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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