The sound of a voice becomes precious the touch of a hand, the pressure of a step, the silent presence is a benediction. Here also mother and father, sons and daughters, bound together in the tender relationship of a family. Mother and father grow old and fade back into the dust, leaving heartbreak and a sense of loneliness and longing in the hearts of children, where they will be cherished as long as life shall last. There is nothing in this world as inexorable as time. Change and decay in all around we see.
Nothing remains as it is.
Recently I revisited a little town in Ohio where, as a boy, I spent many happy summers at the home of my grandparents. I walked the old familiar streets, noting that houses, great to my once childish eyes, were now small and unimpressive, and I contemplated solemnly the evidences of change everywhere. I missed many people who once were prominent citizens of the place, but who had joined that ever-moving and innumerable caravan, which had gone over the hill into the sunset. Many whom I had known in the vigor of their lives were now broken and bowed with the weight of years. I came finally to the home of a beloved aunt, where I had played with my cousins and my brothers in days long gone.