Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.
‘Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps ‘twill cost a sigh or tear;
Then steal away, give little warning:
Choose thine own time;
Say not “Good night!” but in some brighter clime
Bid me “Good morning!”
We are always coming to the end of something; nothing earthly is long lived. Many things last but for a day; many, for only a moment. You look at the sunset clouds, and there is a glory in them which thrills your soul; you turn to call a friend to behold the splendour with you, and it has vanished, and a new splendour – as wondrous, though altogether different – is in its place. You cross a field on an early summer morning, and every leaf and every blade of grass is covered with dewdrops, which sparkle like millions of diamonds as the first sunbeams fall on them; but a few moments later you return, and not a dewdrop is to be seen. You walk through your garden today, and note its wondrous variety of flowers in bloom, with their marvelous tints and their exquisite loveliness; tomorrow you walk again along the same paths, and there is just as great variety and as rich beauty, but all is changed.
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