A very godly man said to us recently, “I thank the Lord daily, hourly, for the jewel of a wife God hath given me.” A distinguished writer—speaking of the value of a good wife—remarks thus: “In the true wife the husband finds not affection only, but companionship—a companionship with which no other can compare. The family relation gives retirement without solitude, and society without the rough intrusion of the world. It plants in the husband’s dwelling a friend who can listen to the details of his interests with sympathy, who can appreciate his repetition of events, only important as they are embalmed in the heart. Common friends are linked to us by a slender thread. We must retain them by ministering, in some way, to their interest or their enjoyment. What a luxury it is for a man to feel that in his house there is a true and affectionate being, in whose presence he may throw off restraint without danger to his dignity; he may confide without the fear of treachery, and be sick or unfortunate without being abandoned. If in the outward world he grow weary of human selfishness, his heart can safely trust in one whose soul yearns for his happiness, and whose indulgence overlooks his defects.”
Give your wives to understand that you esteem them above all others; make them your confidants; confide in them and they will confide in you; confidence begets confidence, love begets love, sweetness begets sweetness.
Above all, sympathize with the wives of your bosoms in the hour of affliction. Rejoice with them when they rejoice, and weep with them when they weep. Who, if not a bosom companion, will wipe from the cheek the falling tear of sorrow? Finally, husbands, remember that death will soon sever the connubial cord! When you behold her, with whom you lived, and toiled, and wept, and rejoiced, cold and lifeless, laid in the coffin—
“Think of the happiness so deep and tender
That filled thy heart when wandering by her side,
Think how her faintest smile had power to render
The darkest moment one of love and pride.
“And now that this frail form in death grows colder,
A sweet, calm rapture fills the parting hour,
That thou art with her, though a sad beholder,