unconsidered, seeing it is the pain within pain of all our mourning--the
sorrow, namely, with its keen recurrent pangs because of things we have
said or done, or omitted to say or do, while we companied with the
departed. The very life that would give itself to the other, aches with
the sense of having, this time and that, not given what it might. We
cast ourselves at their feet, crying, Forgive me, my heart's own! but
they are pale with distance, and do not seem to hear. It may be that
they are longing in like agony of love after us, but know better, or
perhaps only are more assured than we, that we shall be comforted
together by and by.

Bethink thee, brother, sister, I say; bethink thee of the splendour of
God, and answer--Would he be perfect if in his restitution of all things
there were no opportunity for declaring our bitter grief and shame for
the past? no moment in which to sob--Sister, brother, I am thy slave? no
room for making amends? At the same time, when the desired moment comes,
one look in the eyes may be enough, and we shall know one another even
as God knows us. Like the purposed words of the prodigal in the parable,
it may be that the words of our confession will hardly find place. Heart
may so speak to heart as to forget there were such things. Mourner, hope
in God, and comfort where thou canst, and the lord of mourners will be
able to comfort thee the sooner. It may be thy very severity with
thyself, has already moved the Lord to take thy part.

Such as mourn the loss of love, such from whom the friend, the brother,
the lover, has turned away--what shall I cry to them?--You too shall be
comforted--only hearken: Whatever selfishness clouds the love that
mourns the loss of love, that selfishness must be taken out of
it--burned out of it even by pain extreme, if such be needful. By cause
of that in thy love which was not love, it may be thy loss has come;