Its fevered outbursts must be kept for those silent hours when no
young eyes are watching, and no young hearts will "catch the trick of
grief."
When the household is quiet and darkened,--when Madge is away from you,
and your boy Frank slumbering--as youth slumbers upon sorrow,--when you
are alone with God and the night,--in that room so long hallowed by her
presence, but now--deserted--silent,--then you may yield yourself to
such frenzy of tears as your strength will let you! And in your solitary
rambles through the churchyard you can loiter of a summer's noon over
_her_ fresh-made grave, and let your pent heart speak, and your spirit
lean toward the Rest where her love has led you!
Thornton, the clergyman, whose prayer over the dead has dwelt with you,
comes from time to time to light up your solitary hearth with his talk
of the Rest for all men. He is young, but his earnest and gentle speech
win their way to your heart, and to your understanding. You love his
counsels; you make of him a friend, whose visits are long and often
repeated.
Frank only lingers for a while; and you bid him again--adieu. It seems
to you that it may well be the last; and your blessing trembles on your
lip.
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