“But I don’t,” said Dulcibel. “Of course one speaks of heaven as one’s home; and I suppose it ought to seem so. But I don’t feel the least like an exile on earth. And the pain is in expecting things to change, knowing death must come; not in being away from heaven now.”
“Dulcie, I would leave off expecting and fearing,” said her husband.
“I can’t. It is my way.”
George turned a few pages, and read aloud once more, in his strong deep voice:—
“I say to thee—do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet,
In lane, highway, or open street—”
“That he and we and all men move
Under a canopy of love,
As broad as the blue sky above;”