p willingly; for it is the Lord's will that you should.
Have the meek submission, to exclaim, "Not my will, but Thine be done!"
Whatever may be your pleas to the contrary, they are all selfish; when, you
come to look at your bereavement, with the candid, discerning eye of faith,
you cannot murmur; but will bend under the stroke with silent tears and
with grateful submission. Faith in God, the hope of reunion in heaven, and
true Christian love for the object taken from us, will effectually quell
every uprising of complaint in our hearts:--

"My stricken heart to Jesus yields
Love's deep devotion now,
Adores and blesses--while it bleeds--
His hand that strikes the blow.
Then fare thee well--a little while
Life's troubled dream is past;
And I shall meet with thee, my child,
In life--in bliss, at last!"

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE MEMORIES OF HOME.[A]

[Footnote A: In this, as in the preceding chapter, we have introduced
poetry, for the same reason.]

"The home of my youth stands in silence and sadness:
None that tasted its simple enjoyments are there,
No longer its walls ring with glee and with gladness
No strain of blithe melody breaks on the ear.

* * * * *

"Why, memory, cling thus to life's jocund morning?
Why point to its treasures exhausted too soon?
Or tell that the buds of the heart at the dawning,
Were destined to wither and perish at noon?

"On the past sadly musing, oh pause not a moment;
Could we live o'er again but one bright sunny day;
'Twere better than ages of present enjoyment,
In the memory of scenes that have long passed away.

"But time ne'er retraces the footsteps he measures;
In fancy alone with the past we can dwell;
Then take my last blessing, loved scene of young pleasures;
Dear home of my childhood--forever farewell!"

CHIEF JUSTICE GIBSON.

The bereavements of home fill up the urn of memory with its most hallowed
treasures. Though these memories of the household have an alloy of sorrow
and are the product of its adversities, yet there is no pleasure so
delicate, so pure, so painful, so much longed after, as that which they
afford. They bring to our hearts the purest essence of the past, and cause
us to live it over again. They come over us like the "breath of the sweet
south breathing over a bed of violets." When we revert to the happy scenes
of our childhood, we live ami