How much he
communed with his own heart of his neglected duty to that departed boy,
we know not, but dreadful was the anguish he endured, and the mother
had the joy to perceive that his manner afterward was far more tender to
his remaining children, whom he seemed now for the first time to realize
he might not always have with him, to be neglected and put aside, as a
trouble and as a care, rather than as a precious gift, to be most
carefully trained up for God.
But all wondered at the perfect calmness of that afflicted mother. So
devoted--so saintlike--it would seem that she was in constant and sweet
communing with the redeemed spirit of her boy. No regret, no repining
escaped her lips, and many who knew how fondly she loved her children,
and had feared that this sudden blow would almost overwhelm her, gazed
with wonder at her perfect submission, her cheerful touching tenderness
of voice and speech. And though tears would at times flow, yet she would
say in the midst of them, "These are not tears of grief but of joy, that
my darling son is safe, and holy, and blessed forever. Tears of
gratitude to God for His goodness." And when hours of sadness, and of
longing for her absent one came, as they _will_ come to the bereaved at
times, a faint voice seemed to whisper in her ear. "Mother, you have
saved me, you have saved my soul!" And sweetest comfort came with that
never to be forgotten whisper from the dying bed of her precious child,
to sustain her in the darkest hour.
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