Holiday Journal

One Void.

Perhaps there is no stronger tendency of the human heart than to have one object of our affections; and the folly of having the flowers of human hope rooted in earthly evils is apparent when cruel frosts destroy them. A mother, among her interesting family, seemed to cling with devotion to her eldest child, a young lady whose amiability and intellectual gifts charmed every one. But, like a heavenly exotic, the rude blast of earth called her—she faded and died. The shock was too much for the worshiping mother, and life became a blank to her. In vain she tried to arouse herself to the duty she owed to her promising children still around her; a settled melancholy clouded the sunny sky of domestic interest. How touching is the sight when those who possess so many blessings, and with loving duties awaiting them, sit with listless hands and heavy hearts, famishing in a land of plenty! We often see faces lined with care, whose surroundings seem so prosperous and rose colored that we find ourselves wondering what hidden, fatal grief is cherished in the heart. One void alone causes more unhappiness than do those awful calamities from which we shrink. Do not most natures become worn and wearied by regrets and disappointments more than from heavy grief and misfortune? Indeed, it requires more real heroism to become resigned to part with one idol than to sacrifice necessary good. One object alone is worthy to claim our supreme love, and that is our Maker; then it is we find His ready hand supplies our needs even before we ourselves realize them.