MEMORY.


"O Memory! thou wak'ner of the dead!
Thou only treasurer of vanished past!
How welcome art thou, when bright hope is fled,
And sorrow's mantle o'er the soul is cast!
Back o'er those days too beautiful to last,
Thy gentle hand will lead the saddened thought;
And though the tears may trickle warm and fast,
Yet thy sweet pictures with such peace are fraught,
The heart, beguiled, exclaims, 'This is the fount I sought.'"

Memory! Who has not felt its influence! Who of us would wish to part
with its delights and quiet teachings! Beautifully adapted is the
twilight hour to the cherishing of the recollections of the past. It is
then that the hum of busy life is hushed, and all nature seems resting
from its toil. Then, in undisturbed peace, rise before us the loved ones
we have cherished, and whose memories, like guardian angels, always
attend us. We recall every affectionate word and kindly deed, however
trivial or little heeded at the time. And how sweet then are our
thoughts, and our recompense, if we have never caused them an unhappy
moment! Half the bitterness of affliction is removed by such blessed
memories. Then let us make them ours. Let us so live that it shall be
possible for us to cherish them. Then will they bring to us many happy
hours, and sweet solace to the suffering heart. Each moment, as it flits
by, enters its record upon the tablet of memory, to be read with joy or
sorrow at some future moment.