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I must take my turn at the mill;

I must grind out the golden grain ;

I must work at my task with a resolute will, Over and over again.

We cannot measure the need

Of even the tiniest flower,
Nor check the flow of the golden sands
That run through a single hour:
But the morning dews must fall;
And the sun and the summer rain
Must do their part, and perform it all
Over and over again.

Over and over again

The brook through the meadow flows;

And over and over again

The ponderous mill-wheel goes:

Once doing will not suffice,

Though doing be not in vain ;
And a blessing, failing us once or twice,
May come if we try again.

The path that has once been trod

Is never so rough to the feet;
And the lesson we once have learned
Is never so hard to repeat.
Though sorrowful tears may fall,

And the heart to its depth be driven With storm and tempest, we need them all To render us meet for heaven.

M

XXXIX.

THE LITTLE BELL IN THE HEART.

Y heart keeps knocking all the day!
What does it mean? what would it say?

My heart keeps knocking all the night!
Child, hast thou thought of that aright?
So long it has knocked, now loud, now low:
Hast thou thought what it means by knocking so?

My child, 'tis a lively little bell,

The dear God's gift who loves thee well:
On the door of the soul by him 'tis hung,
And by his hand it still is rung;
And he stands without, and waits to see
Whether within he will welcome be;
And still keeps knocking, in hopes to win
The welcome answer, "Come in, come in!"

So knocks thy heart now day by day;
And when its strokes have died away,
And all its knockings on earth are o'er,
It will knock itself at heaven's door,
And stand without, and wait to see
Whether within it will welcome be,
And to hear Him say, "Come, dearest guest,
I found in thy bosom a holy rest:
As thou hast done, be it done to thee;

Come into the joys of eternity!"

Translated from the German.

66

XL.

THE CHILD'S WAY TO HEAVEN.

H! I am weary of earth," said the child, As he looked with a tearful eye On the snow-white dove that he held in his

hand;

"For whatever I love will die."

Then the child came out of his little bower;
And he came, and looked abroad;

And he said, "I am going, this very hour, —
I am going to heaven and God."

There was shining light where the sun had set,
And it seemed as if earth and heaven met.

All round in the distant blue,
And red and purple too,

As the child looked out on the far, far west,
He saw a golden door,

Where the burning sun had gone to his rest
But a little while before.

There was one bright spot on the cloud's dark

face,

As if it had been riven.

Said the child, "I will go to that very place;

For it must be the gate of heaven!"

Then the child set out to follow the sun:

But the heavens would not stay;
For, ever the faster he tried to run,

They seemed to go farther away.

And the evening shades fell heavily,
With night-dews cold and damp;
While each little star in the dark-blue sky
Lit up its silvery lamp.

A light wind wafted the fleecy clouds;
And it seemed to the child that they
Were travelling on to the west, while the stars
Were going the other way.

So the child called out, as he saw them stray,
By the evening breezes driven,

"Little stars, you are wandering out of the way: That is not the way to heaven."

Then he wandered on through the rough, waste lands

Where the tangled briers meet,
Till the prickles scratched his dimpled hands,
And wounded his little feet.

He could not see before him well,
And the night grew dark and cold :
And at last he cried; for he could not tell
His way on the open wold.

Then the child knelt down on the damp, green

sod,

And he said his evening prayer;
And he fell asleep as he thought of God,

Who was listening to him there.

A long, long sleep; for they found him there
When the sun went down next day;
And he looked like an angel, pale and fair;
But his cheek was as cold as clay.

The sunbeams glanced on the drops of dew

That lay on his ringlets bright,
Glistening in every varied hue

Like a coronet of light.

From the German.

XLI.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

HAST thou sounded the depths of yonder sea?

Hast thou counted the sands that under it

be?

Hast thou measured the height of heaven above? Then mayest thou speak of a mother's love.

Hast thou talked with the blessed of leading on To the throne of God some wandering son? Hast thou witnessed the angels' bright employ? Then mayest thou speak of a mother's joy.

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