may
sometimes slip; shadows may obscure our paths; the boulders may bruise
our feet; there may be months of mourning and days of agony; but
however dark the night, hope, a poising eagle, will ever burn above the
unrisen tomorrow. Trials we may have, and tribulations sore, but I say
unto you, O, brothers mine, that while God reigns and the human family
endures, this nation, born of our father's blood, and sanctified by our
mother's tears, shall not pass away, and under heaven, for this great
boon, this great blessing, we'll be indebted to the women of
America--God bless them. Finally, brethren, be serious while I impart
this concluding lesson: "She--was--a--good--wife--to--me. A good wife,
God bless her!" The words were spoken in trembling accents over a
coffin-lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of
life's long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur; her hand was
quick to reach out in helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside,
and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband
had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he
amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon
companions deserted him, when fickle affection selfishly departed, when
pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him.

"Come from your long, long roving,
On life's sea so bleak and rough;
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blest enough."

That hath been her long song, always on her lips or in her heart.
Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone--they
were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning
that has no noon. Then she had comforted him, and sent him out strong
and whole-hearted while she stayed at home and--cried. What can a
woman do but cry and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could
not die until he had promised to "bear up," not fret, but to remember
how happy they had been. They? Yes, it was even so.

It was an equal partnership, after all.
"She--was--a--good--wife--to--me." Oh, man! man! Why not have told
her so when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these
words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gray-haired woman,
whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering
and patient yearning, which so many women's eyes reveal to those who
weep? Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the
ro