"You see a mother leaning with a mother's pride and tenderness upon a son. The son you know. You know his vices, the evil habits to which he has yielded himself. You pity the mother for her fond blindness to what all others see so plainly. Pity her if you will, but not because she is blind, but because she sees so much. Love is not blind; least of all, a mother's love. Do not believe that she failed to notice the first slight veiling of the pure confidence in his glance that used to be so frank, or the first closing of the heart which used to be open to her as the day, the first sinking of his spirit which use to be so buoyant in its pure affection. She sees all as only love can see. She feels all as only love can feel. And yet because she loves, she trusts, in spite of what she sees, in spite of the sorrow that fills her heart, --- sorrow which she would breathe in no ear but one. Her love sees all, yet for its object it believes all things and hopes all things.

Such is the faith of love. It does not believe because it does not see, or because it does not feel. It believes because it loves." Charles C. Everett, D.D.