The things
of that home are spiritualized and changed into the thoughts of home; we
enjoy them again; and we live our life over again with those we loved the
most.
"Why in age
Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood, but that there the soul discerns
The dear memorial footsteps, unimpaired,
Of her own native vigor; thence can hear
Reverberations, and a choral song
Commingling with the incense that ascends,
Undaunted, towards the imperishable heavens,
From her own lonely altar?"
The memories of home are both pleasing and painful. When we leave the
parental home for some distant land, how many pleasing recollections sweep
over our spirits then. Even when tossed to and fro upon the angry wave,
far from our native land.
"There comes a fond memory
Of home o'er the deep."
The memory of departed worth is a kind of compensation for the loss we
sustain. The pious mother's recollection of her sainted husband or child
becomes the soother of her grief, and casts a pleasing light along her
pathway, and awakens a new joy in her widowed heart. Pious memories, when
they reflect the hope of reunion in heaven, are like the radiant sky
studded with brilliant stars, each shining through the clouds which move
along the verge of the horizon. They sweep as gently over the troubled
heart as the summer zephyr over the blushing rose, touching all the chords
of holy feeling, making them vibrate sadly sweet, in blended tones, too
sweet to last.
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