Father’s Care

Is this the way, my Father? 'Tis, my child. Thou must pass through the tangled, dreary wild, If thou wouldst reach the city undefiled, - Thy peaceful home above. But enemies are round. Yes, child, I know That where thou least expect'st thou'lt find a foe; But victor thou shalt prove o'er all below, - Only, seek strength above. My Father, it is dark. Child, take my hand; Cling close to me, - I'll lead thee through the land ; Trust my all-seeing care, - so shalt thou stand 'Mid glory...