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Updated: May 6, 2025
At morn, bow with thy loved ones round the throne; At noon-tide read and pray; and in the hour When evening's shades close round thee, let the truth Subdue thy heart by its transforming power; That thou, whom God has blessed, may'st serve him from thy youth. Affection's ties oft sunder; and the home Of peace and love, sorrow and death can enter.
But I was inclined to think it sincere, the production of a weak but gushing mind, just as the feminine nomenclature of streets in the vicinity was evidently bestowed by one in habitual communion with "Friendship's Gifts" and "Affection's Offerings."
No purity of the marriage bed is stained, for none is supposed to have a being. No deep affections are disquieted, no holy wedlock bands are snapped asunder, for affection's depth and wedded faith are not of the growth of that soil. There is neither right nor wrong, gratitude or its opposite, claim or duty, paternity or sonship.
"Her lot is on you! silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches from affection's deep To pour on" something "a wasted shower!" Yes, wasted, indeed! I hadn't answered a word to his question. "It seems warm in this room," said he again, languidly; "shall we walk on the piazza?" "I think not," I answered, curtly; "I am not warm."
Having listened to it, thou wilt be emancipated from sorrow and the touch of affection's tie. Listen to me, O sire, as I recite this ancient history. This history is, indeed, excellent. It enhanceth the period of life, killeth grief and conduceth to health. It is sacred, destructive of large bodies of foes, and auspicious of all auspicious things.
"O, man can seek the downward glance, And each kind word, affection's spell, Eye, voice, its value can enhance; For eye may speak, and tongue can tell. "But woman's love, it waits the while To echo to another's tone; To linger on another's smile, Ere dare to answer with its own."
Spread the long table's full array, There sits a ghost in every chair! One breathing form no more, alas! Amid our slender group we see; With him we still remained "The Class," without his presence what are we? The hand we ever loved to clasp, That tireless hand which knew no rest, Loosed from affection's clinging grasp, Lies nerveless on the peaceful breast.
No damp distrust be on thy spirit laid; And let affection's words and deeds be one. Thy soul's warm fountain shall not gush in vain; From Love's deep source it shall be filled again; For they who love, are loved. And wouldst thou happy be? Then make the truth thy talisman, thy guide. Be truth the stone in all thy jewels set.
The broad lands, mountain, hill, and valley, over which they had roamed, the springs and streams of water by whose side they had been wont to encamp, and above all the graves of their sires, where affection's altar had been hallowed by their sighs and tears, these were still in view, but they appeared not as in days gone by, to wear for them the smiles of old and long tried friends.
No purity of the marriage bed is stained, for none is supposed to have a being. No deep affections are disquieted, no holy wedlock bands are snapped asunder, for affection's depth and wedded faith are not of the growth of that soil. There is neither right nor wrong, gratitude or its opposite, claim or duty, paternity or sonship.
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