If you give a beggar a loaf of bread to save his life, and he spurns you with an oath, you cannot but exclaim, “O horrible ingratitude?” But what should be thought of those to whom you had given away your heart, if they should reciprocate with the damnable lie? “Begone, thou art a villain,—touch not the hem of our garments,—we are pure, but thou art polluted.”
It was the noontide hour, and as I was passing along a lonely and unfrequented road, I discovered a pair of turtle doves quietly cooing to each other on a sandy hillock in the sunshine. It was a picture of exquisite happiness, and yet the longer I gazed, the more deeply did it affect my heart, so that when I left the spot, I found that my eyes were filled with tears. The last time that I had wept before, was when I beheld the wreck of my greatest hope. When, I wonder, shall I be compelled to weep again?
O how my heart clings to the hour of our first acknowledgment of love! aye, and to all the blissful hours that have been mine since then in her society! Like a wealthy prince I gloried in my rare possession, and could not believe that aught on earth would ever make me a beggar. But,—the treasure that I doted on took unto itself wings, and like a beautiful but unclean bird has flown away, to delight and to deceive some other unsatisfied mortal. I am a beggar now. O will not some of the poor and forsaken, that I have cheered with a kind word when I was happy, come forth now and welcome me with a smile of pure affection?
I loved her, and fondly anticipated that she would one day become the star of my home. Home! what place upon the earth is dearer to the heart of man? How pleasing is the anticipation of the absent school-boy as he looks forward to the close of the term, when he shall be welcomed to the fireside of home! The poor farmer toils unceasingly through the long days of summer, cheered by the comforts of home, which he fondly hopes will be the crown of his coming winter evenings! How fortunate is that man who can say—“mine is a happy home!” How thankful should he be! But is there no consolation for those who are homeless and friendless in the world? Ah yes, there is, and it is as sweet as it is invaluable. Our elder Brother, the meek and lowly Saviour, when upon the earth, was compelled to exclaim,—“The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” Homeless and unhappy Christian, cheer up! cheer up! A few more days, and you will be an inhabitant of that blessed world beyond the skies, “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” Yonder, is the home which I pant for now.
Friendship is one of the most beautiful and delicate plants that flourish in the garden of human passions, and to my mind is a holier emotion than love. What though I am no more a Lover! have I not a few well-tried friends, whom I “grapple to my soul with looks of steel?” Why then should there be a weight upon my spirit? Long enough have I played the fool. O that I may be wise enough to renounce my folly!