Where thou would'st only faint and yield."
Magnify his virtues and be tenderly charitable to his many frailties, for he is "not as other men" and too well he knows it. Love at its best is so complex that it easily goes awry, but death will one day dissolve all its complexity, and when, maybe after "many a weary mile"
"The voice of him I loved is still,
The restless brain is quiet,
The troubled heart has ceased to beat
And the tainted blood to riot"—
it will comfort you to reflect that you did your duty and, to best the of your ability, fulfilled your solemn pledge to love and honour him.
To quote George Eliot:
"What greater reward can thou desire than the proud consciousness that you have strengthened him in all labour, comforted him in all sorrow, ministered to him in all pain, and been with him in silent but unspeakably holy memories at the moment of eternal parting?"