"Entreat me not to leave thee; where thou goest I will go, where thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried." And as the Dahcotah woman inquires of the justice of God, the faces of her children rise up before her--first in health, with bright eyes and lips parted with smiles, and then as she last saw them--their hands white to transparency, the hue of death upon their features; the shrouds, the little coffins, the cold lips, as she pressed them for the last time.
The Dahcotah looked in astonishment at the grief which for a few moments overcame the usual calmness of her kind friend; and as she wondered why, like her, she should shed bitter tears, she heard herself thus addressed-- "Do not think that you alone have been unhappy.

God afflicts all his children.

There is not a spot on the earth which is secure from sorrow.
Have I not told you why?
This world is not your home or mine.

Soon will our bodies lie down in the earth--and we would forget this, if we were always happy.
"And you should not complain though your sorrows have been great.

Do not forget the crown of thorns which pressed the brow of the Saviour, the cruel nails that pierced his hands and feet, the desertion of his friends, his fear that God his Father had forsaken him.