Little by little he has learned to regret without tears. He
is as a father might be who returns to his home in the evening, his
day's work done. He may find his children in tears perhaps, or
playing dangerous, forbidden games; the furniture scattered, glasses
broken, a lamp overturned; but shall he therefore despair? It would
certainly have been better had the children been more obedient, had
they quietly learned their lessons---this would have been more in
keeping with every moral theory; but how unreasonable the father
who, in the midst of his harsh rebuke, could withhold a smile as he
turned his head away! The children have acted unwisely, perhaps, in
their exuberance of life; but why should this distress him? All is
well, so long as he return home at night, so long as he ever keep
about him the key of the guardian dwelling. As we look into
ourselves, and pass in review what our heart, and brain, and soul
have attempted and carried through while we were away, the benefit
lies far more in the searching glance itself than in the actual
inspection. And if the hours have not once let fall their mysterious
girdle on their way past our threshold; if the rooms be as empty as
on the day of departure, and those within have but sat with folded
arms and worked not at all---still, as we enter, shall something be
learned from our echoing footsteps, of the extent, and the
clearness, and the fidelity, of our home.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203