"THE TIME OF THE SINGING OF BIRDS. "We mourn, my friend; for the summer day That the time of the singing of birds' is before us. "Not here, not here, while this valley we tread, Do we look for one sunny hour to shed The light of joys departed o'er us; But far beyond, all bright and fair Is the land we travel to; and there "The time of the singing of birds' is before us. "Each flower that, beautiful and gay, Adorned awhile our pilgrim way, And shed its fragrant breathings o'er us, We'll find arrayed in fadeless bloom, And undying sweets, when once we come Where the time of the singing of birds' is before us. "And shall we again-oh, joy untold! Shall the weary head be laid to rest Where the time of the singing of birds' is before us? "Shall the kindred mind that was wont to share 66 Our inmost thought, our joy, our care, That watched like a guardian spirit o'er us, In our dark mysterious journey here Shall we meet it where all is bright and clear, Where the time of the singing of birds' is before us? Shall it share our ecstasy sublime, When no more through the dusky glass of time We look, but in cloudless glory o'er us The Sun of righteousness shall rise, And we walk in the light of cloudless skies, Where the time of the singing of birds' is before us? "Shall the voice, whose sound in weal or woe, Was the loveliest music we heard below, Unite with ours in that glad chorus That all the ransomed ones shall raise, Hallelujah, the Saviour God to praise, Where the time of the singing of birds' is before us? "Yes: God has promised that he will set In families the desolate.* Then fear not; though clouds may gather o'er us, Our pilgrimage will soon be done, The desert past, the winter gone, And the time of the singing of birds' is before us." *Psa. lxviii. 6. HAYMAKING. The sun, a shy Ir was a brilliant sabbath-morning. stranger for many weeks, looked out from his morning veil, and was all smiles and promise-for that day, not longer. The most sanguine only dared to hope for "a borrowed day" of brightness, and summer beauty. There were too many hovering mists clinging to mountain sides; too clear an atmosphere, showing in sharp pencilling each rock and fissure on their gray sides; too many fine masses of heaped-up clouds, forming grand floating islands across the blue ocean overhead-for the fine weather to last: it was sure, every one said, to rain again to-morrow. How will the hay-crop stand such long-continued, perpetual rain? How will it make up the losses of the past year? Many felt, as they walked under the unwonted luxury of sunshine to their places of worship, that it was no small exercise of "the obedience of faith" not to make hay that sabbath morning while the sun shone. "Well, Mr. Crosthwaite," said a neighbour that evening to one of the farmers who had not appeared in the house of prayer, "how is the hay coming on?" All right, sir. Got in beautifully this morning.' "Are you quite sure it is all right? Do you remember there is a command, and a promise too, about keeping the sabbath holy?" "No doubt about it. It would have been a sin and a shame to have lost all that heavy crop, when it is going to rain, like enough, for a month to come." 66 Perhaps, if you had done your duty, God would have taken care of the rest." "Not a bit of it, sir: I know that. There's John Dickenson, down below, he tried that gate* once; and he paid for it, I can tell you." "How did that happen, Mr. Crosthwaite ?" "It was years ago, sir: just sic like summer as this. Rain, rain, nothing but rain. There was no weather for getting in the corn. At last one Sunday come-beautiful weather-warm sun-drying wind. What did I see but that man going off to church-every bit of his corn reaped, and standing in the fields in 'stooks?' Sure,' says I, 'thou be'stn't such a fool as to leave them there over night? Why, it's gathering up to rain in the sou'-west, as thick as ever.' So says he, Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy. I'll do that and trust God for the rest.' "And what was the end of it?" "Why he couldn't lead his corn for five weeks; and the grain sprouted; and it wasn't worth the straw." This last was spoken with a smile of triumphant satisfaction. "And you-" inquired the friend. "And I went to work to be sure; and by the evening I had my crop well housed; and a fine sample it was.' دو "The balance seems at first sight to be in your favour," said the friend; "but tell me a little more about what has happened since. It was some years ago, you say, and one would like to judge by the long run. You are not a very prosperous man I'm afraid?” 66 Nay. I've been a hard-working man all my life, and a steady man; but somehow 'tis never easy to make ends meet." "And your neighbour?" "What he that lost his corn? Well, to be sure, he's a man well to-do,' one may say; but 'tisn't the farming that has done it. Some money was left to him. I can't exactly say how it came. Howsomever, it wasn't leaving the corn out on Sundays." "I'm not sure of that, Mr. Crosthwaite. He seemed to lose for that time; but it is my belief, because the Bible says so, that Godliness has the promise of the life that now is, as well as of that which is to come.' It would not be easy to describe the peculiar shade which crept over the farmer's strongly-marked countenance, as the inference drawn from comparing the two ways, and the two lots, gradually found its way into his slow but clear brain. Gratifying the result was not. Self-congratulation plainly was shaken to its centre, and a wholesome doubt took its place. We cannot say whether next summer John Crosthwaite's hay and corn will bide the trial of a fine Sunday in a wet season; but we do believe that if, trusting in Christ, we prefer duty towards God to present interest, he will reap a harvest, and house it too : not keeping the sabbath merely, but a loving obedience to Him who appointed it, will be accepted. Men and brethren, do your duty, and God will take care of the rest. THE COTTAGE DOOR. THE PEDLAR. "Each of these unlovely ones, if thou couldst hear his story, Hath much to urge of just excuse, at least as men count justice." TUPPER. MOST towns and villages have their periodical hawkers who carry on a profitable trade, if an opinion may be formed from the fact of their persevering re-appearance; and it required much of my mother's watchful care to save her invalid from their persecution. However one day, as I sat quite alone, a man laden with a large basket of earthenware presented himself before me; and, without heeding my assurance that we did not require anything of the kind, he deposited his load on the path, and in a few moments surrounded my chair with plates and dishes, jugs and teapots, while, with a civil but voluble tongue, he poured forth the praises of his goods for cheapness, beauty, and durability. It was annoying and disagreeable; but I did not forget my dear mother's desire that these intrusive persons should always be treated with kindness, though with firmness also, at her door. She said it was a hard and toilsome life, and subjected those who pursued it to many rude ungracious words, and many selfish bargainings, which she believed often needlessly roused enmity, and increased the temptation to falsehood and fraud. She inculcated decision in dealing with them, patience with their troublesome perseverance when refused, and insisted that the time spent in speaking kindly, and closing the door upon them gently, was not lost, but formed a part of the Christian exercises in the ministry of life. Just as my forbearance was getting severely taxed, my mother suddenly appeared. I knew she would be annoyed at my position; but she did not allow even her affection for me to set aside the exercise of those principles which she had learned from the word of her God, and which, she often said, were more truly developed in the little affairs of daily life, than in the weightier matters that arrest the world's attention. "A conscience void of offence," she would say, "is a most sweet companion, dear Ruth: it is not the ground of peace, but it is one of the handmaids, as it were, attendant on the heart that rests on Jesus; and there is no balancing of duties before him-no setting off a few little faults against one great virtue, keeping up alternate light and shadow in the conscience. No, we must try to exercise ourselves, as the apostle calls it, in avoiding offence towards God and man." She advanced quickly towards us; and the man looked abashed for a moment before the calm dignity of "the real mistress." 66 66 Friend," said she," have you a home, and children?" Why, yes, I has, bless 'um; else mayhap I wouldn't be walking my legs off to earn a penny for their bread." "Then do at once as you would wish done by a daughter of your own on whom God has laid the hand of affliction. Put up your things and go quietly away." 66 Well, I beg pardon. Miss didn't say she was ill; and we gets so many doors shut in our faces that, if we catch sight of a lady to speak for herself, we hopes to do a bit of business. No harm done I hope, ma'am.' "I hope not, excepting your own useless trouble in unpacking these wares.' "As to that, nothing venture, nothing win,' as the saying is; but now isn't there anything your ladyship would buy of a poor fellow, just to lighten his load? You shall have anything here a bargain, dirt-cheap, my lady, and no profit to me, no, not a penny. See now-this lot, a real bargain." "I do not buy bargains; and I do not deal with persons who will not speak the truth." “The truth, my lady? I'll swear to every word I say." "Not in my presence," said my mother gravely. "And you mistake if you think I am to be imposed on by a show of liberality on my behalf. You require a suitable return for your outlay, your labour and time; and if I do not give it I injure you." 66 Why sure that's the very thing," exclaimed the man with delight. "If people would remember that, and not higgle and grumble over the price of a thing, wanting it for less than it can be got anywhere else, maybe we shouldn't say so much about bargains." "But, if you demand more than that honest return, you would injure me," added my mother. 66 Well, ma'am, it aint difficult to see who ought to begin to mend first. Ladies, what hasn't their living to get, shouldn't grudge the honest price to them that has." |