"
And as the Dahcotah woman inquires of the justice of God, the faces of
her children rise up before her--first in health, with bright eyes and
lips parted with smiles, and then as she last saw them--their hands
white to transparency, the hue of death upon their features; the
shrouds, the little coffins, the cold lips, as she pressed them for the
last time.
The Dahcotah looked in astonishment at the grief which for a few moments
overcame the usual calmness of her kind friend; and as she wondered why,
like her, she should shed bitter tears, she heard herself thus
addressed--
"Do not think that you alone have been unhappy. God afflicts all his
children. There is not a spot on the earth which is secure from sorrow.
Have I not told you why? This world is not your home or mine. Soon will
our bodies lie down in the earth--and we would forget this, if we were
always happy.
"And you should not complain though your sorrows have been great. Do not
forget the crown of thorns which pressed the brow of the Saviour, the
cruel nails that pierced his hands and feet, the desertion of his
friends, his fear that God his Father had forsaken him.
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