tremble amid our happiness, if we took not refuge in Him.
I have seen a young and beautiful mother, herself like a brilliant and graceful flower. Nothing could divide her from her infant. It was to her, as a twin-soul. She had loved society, for there she had been as an idol. But what was the fleeting delight of adulation, to the deep love that took possession of her whole being? She had loved her father's house. There, she was ever like a song-bird, the first to welcome the day, and the last to bless it. Now, she wreathed the same blossoms of the heart, around another home, and lulled her little nursling with the same inborn melodies.
It was sick. She hung over it. She watched it. She comforted it. She sat whole nights with it in her arms. It was to her, like the beloved of the King of Israel, "feeding among the lillies." Under the pressure of this care, there was in her eye, a deep and holy beauty, which never gleamed there, when she was radiant in the dance, or in the halls of fashion, the cynosure. She had been taught to love God, and his worship, from her youth up; but when health  again glowed in the face of her babe, there came from her lip, such a prayer of flowing praise, as it had never before breathed.
And when in her beautiful infant, there were the first developements of character, and of those preferences