There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all spring up into joys for others; whose earthly hopes, laid in the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed.
What is it that sometimes speaks in the soul so calmly, so clearly, that its earthly time is short? Is it the secret instinct of decaying nature, or the soul's impulsive throb, as immortality draws on? Be what it may, it rested in the heart of Eva, a calm, sweet, prophetic certainty that Heaven was near; calm as the light of sunset, sweet as the bright stillness of autumn, there her little heart reposed, only troubled by sorrow for those who loved her so dearly.
Still, still with Thee when purple morning breaketh, When the bird walketh, and the shadows flee Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight Dawns the sweet consciousness I am with Thee. Alone with Thee amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born. Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings oershading, But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there. So shall it be at last in that bright morning, When the soul walketh and lifes shadows flee. Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylights dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought I am with Thee.
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