Memories

They troop before us—those who have left us— one after another. We see their faces. We feel again the touch of their hands. We hear the lilt and rhythm of their voices. Across the mystery of death, across that wide sea, they come to us; and we find a quiet satisfaction in their spirit presence.

What a blessed thing is memory! At no time are we more grateful for the full storehouse of the past that lies within our minds than when we look back on those who have left us—some wife or father, dearly loved, whose face memory has etched forever on our heart .

What a blessed thing it is to remember.

Anonymous
Heenanville School publication, 1967