LETTERS OF LIFE.
413
For a time we could not mourn. We had gone with her so near the gates of Paradise that we seemed to have entered into her joy. We could not immediately realize that we were left behind. Then came the sense of bereavement settling slowly down with its dull, heavy weight, to be lifted no more, until in God's good time those parted on earth shall meet in the unchanging Home above.
"Her ministry was o'er;
To cheer earth's pilgrim to the sky,
To dry the tear-drop from his eye
Was hers—then to immortal joy
Resign her brief employ,
Break her sweet harp and die."
And yet, since she must go from us, how gently and mercifully was the summons sent! Taken only a little while from her accustomed employments, with her mind undimmed by the touch of Time, clear and active to the last, the later years of her life growing brighter to her as the sunbeams drew toward the west, loving all, and beloved by all, what was there more to desire? What more could have been added, save that which she has now received, eternal blessedness in the Paradise of God?