“Life, we’ve been long together
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.
‘Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps ‘twill cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning:
Choose thine own time;
Say not ‘Good-night!’ but in some brighter clime
Bid me ‘Good-morning!’”
We are always coming to the end of something; nothing earthly is long-lived. Many things last but for a day; man, for only a moment. You look at the sunset-clouds, and there is a glory in them which thrills your soul; you turn to call a friend to behold the splendor with you, and it has vanished, and a new splendor — as wondrous, though altogether different — is in its place. You cross a field on an early summer morning, and every leaf and every blade of grass is covered with dewdrops, which sparkle like millions of diamonds as the first sunbeams fall on them; but a few moments later you return, and not a dewdrop is to be seen. You walk through your garden one summer morning, and note its wondrous variety of flowers in bloom, with their marvelous tints and their exquisite loveliness; tomorrow you walk again along the same paths, and there is just as great variety and as rich beauty, but all is changed. Many of yesterday’s flowers are gone, and many new ones have bloomed out.
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