"'Rest is not quitting the busy career: Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere'?"

"I remember them well, father," the youth replied; "but I never felt their meaning until now."

"And if you sense it now, my son, what is your duty?"

"To return, I suppose."

"But how--cheerfully or otherwise?"

"Gladly and willingly," said the son, born from the old to the higher self.

"I will provide you with more means," remarked his father, while a feeling of joy thrilled his being at the thought that his son was going to give his life to human needs.

They parted on the morrow, though that separation was the nearest approach of their lives; for they were united by a truth which is ever the essence of a divine union. Many years pa.s.sed by. The hair of the father grew whiter, and his ears longed to hear the voices of his sons, yet he would not call, in word or feeling, so long as the busy throng was receiving or giving them life.

One evening, when his thoughts were taking a somewhat pensive turn, a messenger came to his door with a letter from the long-absent and eldest, who had not returned to his home since the day of his departure.

Its words were these:--

"Dear Father,--I cannot come to the home I love so well, nor to your side, while this land is so full of need of human words and deeds.

With your blessing I shall remain here my lifetime; and when age comes on, and I can no longer serve the people, may I return?"

The tears fell over the good man's face. G.o.d had blessed him greatly in bestowing on him so worthy a son; and he penned warm and glowing words of encouragement to his child, and sent by the messenger, with gold to alleviate the wants of the needy.

"Tell him a thousand blessings await him when his work is done," said he to the messenger as the latter mounted his horse to ride away.

Long after, when the father grew old and helpless, the sons returned laden with rich experiences and abundantly able to care for him.

They had learned the great and valuable lesson that all must learn ere they truly live,--that we must give to receive, sow if we would reap, and lose our life to find it.

XVIII.

THE FEAST.

There was once a husbandman who had laborers in a valley, clearing it of stones and brush, that it might become fit for culture. He resided near, on a fine hill, where he raised rare fruits and flowers of every variety.

The view from the hill-top was extensive and grand beyond description, and it was the kind owner's desire that each day the laborers should ascend and be refreshed by whatever he had to offer them, beside catching the inspiration of the lovely and extensive landscape. Some days he had not much to offer them; at other times, the repast would be sumptuous and most tempting: so those who went each day were sure of receiving in their season the delicious fruits which ripened at different periods.

There had been a succession of days in which there was nothing but dry food on the hill, with none of the luscious fruits which invigorate and refresh; for they had been slow in ripening, and the kind husbandman would not gather them before they were mellow and fit to spread before his laborers.

"_I_ am not going to climb the hill to-day for a few crumbs," said one dissatisfied toiler, as he sat by the roadside at noon-day, looking very unhappy.

"Nor I!" "Nor I!" added a second and a third, until there was quite a chorus of the dissatisfied.

The remainder went up as usual. A most tempting repast was before them, of fruits and cake and refreshing wines, while the table was decked with rare and fragrant flowers.

How glad was the good man to spread the bounties before them! for well he knew of the murmurs which had gone out of their hearts for a few days past. "Are they not all here?" he asked of those who had ascended the hill, while a look of disappointment came over his face.

"Oh! let us go down and tell them what a nice feast is waiting," said one of the group, as he gazed on the well-filled table.

"Nay, not so," answered the husbandman, in a gentle but commanding tone. "My people should have faith in me, and know that I spread for them all I can each day. My power, even like that of the Infinite, is limited by conditions. It is not my pleasure ever to have them go unrefreshed; but how much better for them, could they be content with whatever comes each day, though sometimes meager. How it cheers me to see those who have come in good courage and faith, _not_ knowing that the feast was here. Eat and give thanks," he said; while a band played some lively airs.

Shall we refuse to ascend each day the mount whereon dwells our Father? Shall we, because some days no feast awaits us, linger in the valley of doubt, and lose the bounties which his hand at other times has ready for us? No: the faithful and believing will go up to the mount each day, and take without murmur the morsel, or the fruits with thanksgiving.

XIX.

THE LESSON OF THE STONE.

It was with feelings of satisfaction and pride that a builder looked upon a large and costly edifice which, after much exertion, was just completed. Long had the workmen toiled to place one stone upon another.

Many hours of thought had the designer spent in perfecting its proportions, and a deep sense of relief came over him as he saw the last stone deposited on the summit of the structure. Yet it was only to be followed by one of pain; for, as he walked one evening to enjoy the beautiful symmetry of his building, he heard words of contention and strife among the various stones of which it was composed.

"Just look at my superior finish," said one of the top pieces to those beneath it. "You are only plain pieces of granite, while I am polished, elegantly carved, and the admiration of all eyes. Do I not see all the people, as they pa.s.s by, look up at me?"

"Not so fast," replied one of the foundation stones. "A little less pride would become you; for do you not see that, but for us below, you could not be so high? And it matters very little, it strikes me, what part of the building we are placed in, if we but remain firm and peaceful."

The words of the wise stone pleased the owner so much that he resolved to remove a little of the vanity of the top one, and lay awake a long time that night, thinking of some plan by which to effect his purpose. The elements, however, spared him any effort on his part, for the next day a terrible hail-storm swept over the land, and its hard stones defaced all the ornaments which had led the lofty one to boast so loudly of its superiority.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" moaned the vain piece of granite. "How I wish I had been taken for a foundation stone, instead of being here to have all my beauty destroyed by this awful storm! I'd much rather have been in the middle of the building than up here, where all the force of the storm is spent on my head."

The stone at the foundation could not help smiling, though he really pitied the vain thing above him. "It will teach her wisdom," he said to himself; "and she may learn that none in life are lowly if they bear their part, and that a lofty position is far more dangerous than a humble one."

There was a fearful crash in the air at that instant. The foundation stone thought the building was coming down. Something struck him, which he recognized as a part of the top stone; for he had seen the workmen cutting and smoothing it day after day for many weeks prior to its elevation. Now she could boast no more of superior finish or position.

The following day, the remaining shattered portion was removed and left by the roadside, where it could see another prepared to take its place.

"I thought that stone was a little weak when we raised it," said one of the workmen as it was placed aside.

It lay by the roadside until it grew to be humble and glad to be of any use,--even delighted when one day the owner of the building took it to finish a wall which was being built around some pasture land.

"Here I can be of use," she said, as the workmen deposited it on a sunny corner as the place it was to occupy. It was glad to be there and find itself useful and at rest; for it had been obliged to listen to the remarks of the pa.s.sers-by each day, and to endure their comments on its misfortune.

"I suppose I shall never know any other life but this; so now, being firmly set, I can sleep a little:" for the stone was sadly in need of rest.

After what seemed to be a long period of repose, the stone awoke, with new pulsations and finer emotions thrilling within it. The sound of children's voices were heard in the air. How sweet and life-giving they were! far more pleasant than the words of admiration which men uttered when she was on the building's top. A new joy was hers also, for soft hands were caressing her. Beautiful mosses had grown on her surface, and delighted children were gathering them.

Useful and beautiful too! and the stone was silent with happiness.

She hoped the children would come again; and they did, bringing others with them.

"I wonder how this beautiful moss grew on me," she said one day to herself--at least she thought no one heard her. But an older stone beside her replied, "By being perfectly quiet we become covered with this lovely moss, firmer than gra.s.ses of any lawn."

The once vain stone grew to be perfectly contented, and never longed for her former position. When the storms came, it knew it was close to the earth. It had no fearful height to be pulled from, and the beautiful lichens which grew upon its surface were far more ornamental than its former carved and elegant adornings.