given you to trade with, and see how much of this world's sorrow it will neutralize or disperse. You will not inquire then how much it will increase or diminish your own happiness; that thought will not enter into your calculation at all. We are not our own, we are bought with a price, and all we are and all we have belongs to Another. I was reading some lines the other day, which reminded me of you, Effie, and I think the writer must have had some one like you in her mind when she wrote them, or must have felt as you feel. If you will reach me that writing-folio, I will give them you to look over at home." "Who wrote them, Miss Wilson ?" "I don't know. They were sent me, with several books and papers, by a friend who copied them out for me. Here they are. No, you must take them home, not read them now, for I am not going to lose one minute of your society, so just fold them up, put them in this envelope, and read them at your leisure." "Just let me look at the title," said Effie. "The Message Recognized.' No I don't know what that means: no message has been sent to me. Well, I am content to wait." And as she folded up the paper, the door opened, and Julia Wilson came in, and soon after, thinking that her friend looked tired, Effie rose and departed. She walked leisurely home, in rather a musing mood, her intelligent fourfooted companion catching the infection of her quiet spirit, and walking soberly beside her. Presently, she sat down upon a knoll of grass among the furze-bushes, which were in their first and freshest blossom. Rover crouched down at her feet with his head on her lap, and then unfolding the lines which her friend had given her, she conned them quietly over, They were as follows: THE MESSAGE RECOGNIZED. What is this gleam of golden sunshine hov'ring And travelling with me thro' life's cloudiest day? What are these voices which, like music, stealing, It is not that my waning years have brought From that bright hour when first my wond'ring eye Watched with delight the flickering beam that played Among the branches of the chesnut bower, Which formed in infancy our noontide shade. How often did my young and eager thought Hold converse then with things too bright for earth, Wond'ring the while from whence such influence came, Which brought a deeper joy than childish mirth. And still I wonder. Time, with all his lore, A blank, unlettered pupil; all I can, Is, with the deepest sense (both heart and wil!) Of warm and grateful love, to recognize His bounteous hand who thus has shed o'er mo A dowry of such value, better far Than that famed stone sought for so fruitlessly! Now, then, my soul awake! If this be so, Sure there is work appointed unto thee! Where much is given, much will be required, And thou hast much-oh, use it faithfully! Look thou abroad; around, on every side, The heaving bosom sighs, but finds no rest. Carry thy hopeful spirit to some haunt Where these dark clouds are brooding heavily, And with a skill which Christian love can teach, Pierce the thick mist with thy heart's sympathy. Grasp in thy thought the leading points which form And show how energy and hope can deal If some poor fainting spirit is bowed down Until he catch from thee the healing ray Until the memory of the bitter past Is lost in Faith's bright view of future good. And fear not thou, nor faint in thine employ; Thy light shall not grow dim, but brighter burn From lighting others. It is God's decree, Such radiance shed shall back to thee return. Each good and perfect gift is from above, Not for ourselves, but for God's glory given; And wheresoe'er it lights this charge it brings"Go thou, and work, as angels work in heaven." G |