Each hath a separate mission to fulfill, And when their path diverges from our own, And they have said farewell! and turned away From our embrace—oh, then, we are _alone!_ We miss them in all places, everywhere, And feel a shadow, and an emptiness Forever by our side—but most of all In the departed one’s accustomed place. We turn to speak to them—they are not there— The thought we would have uttered curdles back Upon our heart, a stifling agony— We turn our tearful gaze along the track By which the dear one went—’tis desolate— Our home—our heart—our world is desolate— In all the places where our joy has been Dark shades, and weeping memories, congregate. But when our only one—the dearest, best, The angel of our household, bids good-bye And goes forth weeping—then the tortured heart Reels with the anguish of the broken tie. Yes—parting is the bitterness of life— The agony of death—the ban of earth— The inevitable doom—to love—to part— Is the condition of our human birth. Thank God! there is a world where loved ones meet In perfect beauty, and unclouded joy, Where all is love—where parting never comes The everlasting rapture to destroy. * * * * * [Illustration] * * * * * MONTGOMERY’S HOUSE. THE HEAD-QUARTERS OF GENERAL JACKSON AT THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. [SEE ENGRAVING.]