father; she who was complete in herself, as every good child is, not
suggesting to your thoughts what you would have a child be, but filling
out the orb of your ideal beauty, still partly in outline; her seat,
her place at the table, at prayers, at the piano, at church; the sight
of her going out and coming in; her tones of speech, her helpful spirit
and hands, and all the unfinished creations of her skill, every thing
that made her that which the growing associations with her name had
built up in our hearts,--all is gone, for this life; it is removed like
a tree; it is departed like a shepherd's tent.

And all this, too, is saved. It survives, or I would not, I could not,
write thus. There comes to my sorrowing heart some such message as the
sons of Jacob brought to their father, when they said, "Joseph is yet
alive, and he is governor over all the land of Egypt."

Jesus of Nazareth has been in my dwelling, and has done a great work of
healing. He has saved my child; saved her to be a happy spirit; forever
saved her for himself, to employ her powers of mind and heart in his
blissful service; saved her for the joyful welcome and embraces of her
mother, and of a second mother, who laid deep and strong foundations in
her character for goodness and knowledge. He has saved her for me,
through all eternity. She will be my sweet singer again; she will have
in store for me all the wonderful discoveries which her intense love of
beauty will have made her treasure up, to impart, when the child
becomes, as it were, parent, for a little while, to the soul of the
parent in heaven, new-born. I said to her, a day or two before she died,
"Those mothers will show you things in heaven; for we read, '_And he
shewed me_ a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding
out of the throne of God and the Lamb.'"