As she gathered flowers on the pleasant banks of the Sciota, would it
not have brought paleness to her cheek to have whispered her that not
many years would pass over her, before she would be far away from the
scenes of her youth?
And as she uttered the marriage vow, how little did she think that soon
would her broken spirit devote time, energies, life, to the good of
others; as an act of duty and, but for the faith of the Christian, of
despair. For several years she only wept with others when they sorrowed;
fair children followed her footsteps, and it was happiness to guide
their voices, as they, like the morning stars, sang together; or to
listen to their evening prayer as they folded their hands in childlike
devotion ere they slept.
And when the father returned from beside the bed of death, where his
skill could no longer alleviate the parting agonies of the sufferer: how
would he hasten to look upon the happy faces of his children, in order
to forget the scene he had just witnessed. But, man of God as he was,
there was not always peace in his soul; yet none could see that he had
cause for care.
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