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~F mde^ccmtia. 
Wending Homewards. 
“Thou art an exile, and must not stay.” 
— Shakespeare. 
“Weary footsteps homeward faring; 
Weary shoulders homeward bent; 
Weary faces, each one wearing 
Just a touch of heart content. 
“Watching thus the laborers, wending, 
Close at nightfall, through the gloam, 
‘Lord, to each, at each day’s ending, 
Grant,’ we pray, ‘a peaceful home!’ ” 
—Ellen Starr. 
rrjT the best estate, indeed, we are only pilgrims and strangers here on 
/-!■ earth. For Heaven, and Heaven alone, is to be our eternal Home. 
Death will never knock at the door of that mansion, and in all those 
realms there will not be a single grave. 
Aged parents, we know, rejoice* very much when on some joyous 
occasion they have their children at home; but there is almost always a 
son or daughter absent —absent from the country, perhaps, absent from 
the world! 
But, oh, how our Heavenly Father will rejoice in the long thanks¬ 
giving day of Heaven, when He has all His children with Him in glory! 
How glad brothers and sisters will be to meet after so long a separa¬ 
tion ! Perhaps a score of years ago they parted at the portal of the tomb. 
How they meet again at the gateway of immortality. Where are now all 
their sorrows and temptations and trials ? Overwhelmed in the Bed Sea 
*A grateful glimpse of home-rejoicings, on the occasion of a general family-reunion, may 
be had in Longfellow’s Hanging of the Crane. 
