A PLEASANT WORD.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 3, 17 January 1901, Page 15

A PLEASANT WORD.

Through life how selfish we are with our sunshine. Acts of kindness that would brighten the lives of others we never perform. Words that would cheer and encourage some despondent friend in some dark hour are never spoken. Never casting an inquiring glance to see where a cheery ' hello ' might bring a pleasure, we silently go our ways unconscious that any but us live. But ah, the change when that friend is no more I Then we weave chaplets Of flowers for the graye — roses, pansies, and forget-me-nots woven and interwoven, that deck the coffin-lid, to brighten the end. We speak words of comfort, and console if we can by our tribute the broken hearts left behind. In the grave is buried every error, and by its dust every resentment is extinguished, and from its cold bosom comes only a flood of regrets and tender recollections. Eulogies are spoken, virtues dwelt upon, tears of sorrow course down the cheek, and he sleeps beneath a wilderness of flowers. But paupe for a moment and think how much happier, brighter and better perhaps that life might have been had these f riendi not waited until those lips were dumb, those eyes sightless, and those ears deaf, to have spoken kind words and covered the last resting plaoe with nature's flowers. After one is dead eulogies and flowers reflect no brightness back over life's pathway.