Manuscript:
Transcription:
take up my little cross again of sad- sad separation. How
vain it seems to write, when one knows how to feel- how
much more near and dear to sit beside you, talk with you,
hear the tones of your voice[;] so hard to "deny thyself, and
take up thy cross, and follow me - " give me strength,
Susie, write me of hope and love, and of hearts that
endured, and great was their reward of "Our Father who art
in Heaven." I dont know how I shall bear it, when the
gentle spring comes; if she should come and see me and
talk to me of you, Oh it would surely kill me! While the
frost clings to the windows, and the World is stern and
drear; this absence is easier[;] the Earth mourns too, for all
her little birds; but when they all come back again, and she
sings and is so merry- pray, what will become of me?
Susie, forgive me, forget all what I say, get some sweet
little scholar to read a gentle hymn, about Bethleem and
Mary, and you will sleep on sweetly and have as peaceful
dreams, as if I had never written you all these ugly things.
