[Sidenote:  Emerson’s “Compensation”]

“And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to the understanding also after long intervals of time.  A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss and unpayable.  But the sure years reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all facts.  The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminating an epoch of infancy or youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation or a household or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character.  It permits or constrains the formation of new acquaintances, and the reception of new influences that prove of the first importance to the next years; and the man or woman who would have remained a sunny garden flower, with no room for its roots and too much sunshine for its head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect of the gardener is made the banian of the forest, yielding shade and fruit to wide neighbourhoods of men.”

[Sidenote:  Upon the Upland Ways]

That life alone is worth the living which sets itself upon the upland ways.  To steel one’s self against joy to be spared the inevitable hurt, is not life.  We are afraid of love, because the might and terror of it has sometimes brought despair.  We are afraid of belief, because our trust has been betrayed.  We are afraid of death, because we have seen forgetfulness.

We should not fear that someone might take our place in the heart that loves us best—­if we were only loved enough.  The same love is never given twice; it differs in quality if not in degree, and when once made one’s own, is never to be lost.

There are some natures whose happiness is a matter of persons and things; some to love and some to be loved; the daily needs amply satisfied, and that is enough for content.

There are others with whom persons and things do not suffice, whose love is vital, elemental, and indestructible.  It has no beginning and no end; it simply is.  With this the Grey Angel has no power; the grave is robbed of its victory and death of its sting.

“Love never denied Death and Death will not deny Love.”  When the bond is of that finer sort which does not rely upon presence for its permanence, there is little bereavement to be felt.  For mutely, like a guardian angel, that other may live with us still; not as a shadowy presence, but rather as a dear reality.

That little mound of earth upon the distant hill, over which the sun and stars pass in endless sequence, and where the quiet is unbroken through the change of spring to autumn, and the change of autumn to spring, has not the power to destroy love, but rather to make it more sure.

The one who sleeps is forever beyond the reach of doubt and misunderstanding.  Separation, estrangement, and bitterness, which are sometimes concealed in the cup that Life and Love have given, are forever taken out by Death, who is never cruel and who is often kind.