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These words are not my own. I copied them, for my own use, from a book I read 30-35 years ago.
Unfortunately, I do not recall the name of the book or the author.
" When the last notes of the summer symphony steal through the garden, I shall prepare for a journey.
I shall close the book of the hours and set my seal thereupon with unfaltering hand. " Never again from this
window shall I see the chaste eastern maiden coming, rosy from slumber, or the argosy flying the golden
fleece, sailing into the west.
" But I shall never forget them; They are embalmed in the storehouse of memory; their gifts are preserved
in the shrine of the spirit. I shall need no gold for the journey; only the treasures of love, the first-fruits of
sacrifice. having nor these, I must depart empty-handed.
No creed writ on paper shall serve as a passport; only the laws of devotion-right thinking, right doing-
engraven by the sculptor of life on the scroll of the heart. " I shall take leave of those who have loved me.
Their trembling words of farewell I shall cherish for ever. With my hand on the latch, smilingly shall I look
back at them and give them my blessing.
The land to which I travel is not distant. Though I move to a new house, we shall still be as neighbors.
The hedge which divideth is not an impenetrable thicket; it shall be pierced by the arrows of love sped by a
reverent desire.
" They shall hear my voice comforting them in the night of their sorrow. My hand shall clasp theirs on the
helm when they steer over seas that are perilous. " Then, when the gong of the night stricketh the amen
to the discourse of time, I shall fling wide open the door and go forth into the dawn, singing.
" How shattered and silent the house after my going ! none shall see me or hear me depart, save those
having vision.
" Upon sandals winged as thought shall I travel the road-way. I shall lift my eyes unto the hills crested
with glory. There, at the end of the journey, someone lovelier than the rose, tenderer than a mother,
more understanding than the wise, will be waiting for me. " My greeting, only these words;
" Is it thou, love ? " In answer, only these; " come ! it is I ! " Then in silence, after the seeking, the tilling,
the sowing, after the watching, the sorrowing, the hoping, into the field of harvest shall we go hand in hand. "
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