Dawn

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

Their conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of a
visitor, who proved to be Miss Weston, whom Dawn was delighted to
see.

"I had a singular feeling," she said, to Dawn "as I came up the
steps of the portico, what do you suppose it was?"

"I am not clairvoyant to-day. Be kind enough to tell me."

"I felt as though I was coming to a home, one which I should never
wish to leave."

"And you need not, so long as you can be happy with me. I have long
needed some one like yourself to help me. Will you stay?"

"Dawn, may I?"

"Nothing would give me more happiness, because you have come in this
way; of your own spontaniety-simply gravitated to my life-and when
the exhaustion of our mental and vital forces demands our separation
we will part, and consider that as natural and agreeable to each as
our present coming together."

"O, if these principles could be understood and lived out, how
happy, how natural we all should be; and happy because natural."

"The world is slowly coming to an understanding of them, and you and
I may help its advance by living what we feel to be true lives."

"Dawn, you are life and light to every one, I shall stay here the
rest of my life."

With the clasp of true friendship about them, they lived and worked
together. Winter came, and they sat at evening by the fire-side and
talked of the past, and the golden future for mankind. The textures
of their lives were fast weaving into one web of interest. Dawn's
excess of spiritual life flowed into Edith's, who never forgot the
hour upon the seashore, and the awakening there of her spiritual
trust.

Miss Weston proved to be one of those household angels who see
things to do, and seeing, perform. Silently she slipped into her
sphere of usefulness, and became Dawn's helper in the thousand ways
which a woman of tact and delicacy can ever be.

Silently the pines waved over the graves of Florence and her
children. The snow of many winters fell on their tasselled boughs,
while her husband learned through the beautiful philosophy, that our
loved ones find death no barrier to the affections. Gradually he
learned the great lesson of patience, which must be inwrought in
every soul-that all our experiences of life are necessary, and in
divinest order; that everything which happens is a part of the great
whole, and that none of the bitter could have been left out of his
cup. The unrest, produced by what he once considered his loss passed
away, as the recognition of life's perfect discipline flowed unto
his vision.

The nearest person on earth, now, was his friend and sister Dawn,
kin of spirit, heart and mind. Regardless of people's speech, he
went often to her home, and received the sympathy he needed. To him,
she was life and inspiration. Why should he not seek where he could
find? It was her soul-life he needed, and long and earnestly they
conversed of those interior principles which so few perceive.

"I have learned by experience what true relationship may exist
between men and women," said Dawn to Edith, one day when every
moment had been given to Herbert, "and how God intended us for each
other?"

"And I see how your own life is increased by giving it to others, as
you are every day doing. If I had a husband, Dawn, I should enjoy
him most after he had been in your society. Uplifted and toned by
the life of another, he could be far more to me,--far dearer and
vital. I wonder women do not see this great truth."

"They cannot on the merely human plane, which is ever selfish. Raise
them out of that, place them on the mount of vision, and they would
at once see it, and be glad to give their husbands the liberty of
true women's society, knowing that they were extending their own
lives in so doing. If men are unduly restrained, they take a lower
form of freedom."

"It is too true. I can now see that had I been allowed the earthly
alliance, I might have been selfish and contracted. I almost know I
should. O, Dawn, how much life is worth to us all; how much we have
to thank our heavenly father for,--most of all for the clouds with
silver linings."

"I am glad that you see it thus, my friend, my sister. That is the
soul's only sure position. Life is a great and glorious gift. If all
its hours were mixed with pain, even to have lived is grand." Then
with her eyes looking afar, as if discerning scenes invisible to
others, she repeated these beautiful lines:

"Two eyes hath every soul:
One into Time shall see;
The other bend its gaze
Into Eternity.
In all eternity
No tone can be so sweet
As where man's heart with God,
In unison doth beat.
What'er thou lovest, Man,
That too become thou must;
God-if thou lovest God;
Dust-if thou lovest dust.
Let but thy heart, O man!
Become a valley low,
And God will rain on it
Till it will overflow."

Golden bars of light lay in the room. The sun was sinking peacefully
to rest, like a great soul who had been faithful to every duty, and
rayed out its life on the barren places of earth. In that calm
evening, in the greater calm of their lives they sat, gathering rest
for the morrow, and peace for their midnight dreams-dreams which
brought to them the forms of their loved ones who had gone but a
little while before, and who loved them still, rippling the silent
stream with memory-waves, till they broke on the shore and cooled
their weary feet.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22