_What is Left._
But much as there is gone of life, and of its joys, very much
remains,--very much in earnest, and very much more in hope. Still you
see visions, and you dream dreams, of the times that are to come.
Your home and heart are left; within that home, the old Bible holds its
wonted place, which was the monitor of your boyhood; and now, more than
ever, it prompts those reverent reaches of the spirit, which go beyond
even the track of dreams.
That cherished Madge, the partner of your life and joy, still lingers,
though her step is feeble, and her eyes are dimmed;--not as once
attracting you by any outward show of beauty; your heart, glowing
through the memory of a life of joy, needs no such stimulant to the
affections. Your hearts are knit together by a habit of growth, and a
unanimity of desire. There is less to remind of the vanities of earth,
and more to quicken the hopes of a time when body yields to spirit.
Your own poor, battered hulk wants no jaunty-trimmed craft for consort;
but twin of heart and soul, as you are twin of years, you float
tranquilly toward that haven which lies before us all.
Your children, now almost verging on maturity, bless your hearth and
home.
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