If the cares or sins of earth, ever threaten  to gain the victory, will she not see its little hand reaching from the skies, and be guided by the cherub voice which implores, "Oh mother come to me."
Sometimes, grief loses itself in gratitude, that those who once called forth so much solicitude, are free from the hazards of this changeful life. Here, temptations may foil the strongest, and sing overshadow those, whose opening course was most fair. From all such dangers, the early smitten, the "lambs whom the Saviour taketh untask'd, untried," have forever escaped. To be sinless, and at rest, is a glorious heritage. Sorrow hath no more dominion over them. No longer may they be racked with pain, or pale with weakness, or emaciated by disease. No longer will their dove-like moaning distress the friend watching by their sleepless couch, nor the parent's shudder with untold agony to find that they have no power to soothe the last fearful death-groan. We, who still bear the burdens of a weary pilgrimage, who have still to meet the pang of disease, and to struggle ere we pay our last debt to the destroyer, cherish as our strongest consolation, the hope of entering that peaceful haven which they have already attained.
How affecting was the resignation of the poor Icelandick mother: "Four children were given me. Two are with me, and two with God.