Truly, my mother, these afflictions fall very heavily on
our heads. The guides of our souls are cut off from us. What shall
we do?
Dearly loved sister Mrs. Stoddard, sorrow and mourning are ours.
There is hope that you will soon meet the ornament of your life. But
in his school and in ours are those for whom there is no hope that
they will ever see him. Wounded sister, blessed is the heavenly
pilgrim who has spent his life in a strange land, and been a well of
living water to many thirsty souls. I know this separation is bitter
to you; but there is consolation for you, for it is not eternal. But
what shall I say of our poor people?
O, how much more than any of you knew we loved that dear brother. It
was a quarter past three o'clock this morning when your letter
reached us (Miss Fiske's). I handed it to Miss Rice, and never saw
such a bitter night except that in which my father died. I did not
sleep till almost dawn; and when I slept, I saw the loved one
standing in Miss Rice's room, his face shining like the morning
star. Both his hands were raised to heaven, when suddenly he stooped
and looked in my face.
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