“To think his child is blest above,
     To pray their parting grief,
  These, these may soothe, but death alone,
     Can heal a father’s grief.”

But this grief should never amount to dissatisfaction with God.  Though it is right to weep, it is wrong to murmur.  Many parents murmuringly mourn the loss of their children, and in wrestling with God to spare them, betray the want of a true submission to His will.  It is sinful to murmur at the decrees of God.  We have seen that they are wise, and all designed for our good.  Methinks if your dying babe could respond to your murmuring sighs and tears around its crib, it would thus reprove you:—­

  “Nay, mother, fix not thus on me
    That streaming eye,
  And clasp not thus my freezing hand;
    For I must die. 
  To Him ye gave the opening bud,
    The early bloom;
  Then grieve not that the ripened fruit
    He gathers home.”

But we should not only refrain from murmuring, but meekly submit to the providential afflictions of our home.  We should remember that all the adversities of life are from the Lord, and that when death invades our household, and crushes the fond hopes of our hearts, it is for some wise and good purpose.  Though we may not understand it here, where we look through a glass darkly; but eternity will reveal it.  Though the dying of a child is like tearing a limb from us; but remember God demands it.  Surrender it to Him, therefore, with Christian resignation.  He does not demand it without a cause.  It may offend thee, though it be a right hand or a right eye.  Let the branch be cut off.  At the resurrection you shall see it again.  Give it up willingly; for it is the Lord’s will that you should.  Have the meek submission, to exclaim, “Not my will, but Thine be done!” Whatever may be your pleas to the contrary, they are all selfish; when, you come to look at your bereavement, with the candid, discerning eye of faith, you cannot murmur; but will bend under the stroke with silent tears and with grateful submission.  Faith in God, the hope of reunion in heaven, and true Christian love for the object taken from us, will effectually quell every uprising of complaint in our hearts:—­

  “My stricken heart to Jesus yields
    Love’s deep devotion now,
  Adores and blesses—­while it bleeds—­
    His hand that strikes the blow. 
  Then fare thee well—­a little while
    Life’s troubled dream is past;
  And I shall meet with thee, my child,
    In life—­in bliss, at last!”

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE MEMORIES OF HOME.[A]

[Footnote A:  In this, as in the preceding chapter, we have introduced poetry, for the same reason.]

“The home of my youth stands in silence and sadness: 
None that tasted its simple enjoyments are there,
No longer its walls ring with glee and with gladness
No strain of blithe melody breaks on the ear.