Hence we may rest assured, that however meagre may be the good we experience, it is vaster by far than we should inherit, if we had been permitted to carry out our own plans and to have our own way in those numerous particulars in which we have been frustrated in our plans and disappointed in our hopes.
THE IVY IN THE DUNGEON
THE ivy in a dungeon grew,
Unfed by rain, uncheered by dew;
Its pallid leaflets only drank
Cave-moistures foul, and odours dank.
But through the dungeon-grating high
There fell a sunbeam from the sky;
It slept upon the grateful floor
In silent gladness evermore.
The ivy felt a tremor shoot
Through all its fibres to the root;
It felt the light, it saw the ray,
It strove to blossom into day.
It grew, it crept, it pushed, it clomb—
Long had the darkness been its home;
But well it knew, though veiled in night,
The goodness and the joy of light.
Its clinging roots grew deep and strong;
Its stem expanded firm and long;
And in the currents of the air
Its tender branches flourished fair.
It reached the beam—it thrilled—it curled—
It blessed the warmth that cheers the world;
It rose towards the dungeon bars—
It looked upon the sun and stars.
It felt the life of bursting Spring,
It heard the happy sky-lark sing.
It caught the breath of morns and eves,
And wooed the swallow to its leaves.
By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed,
Over the outer wall it spread;
And in the day-beam waving free,
It grew into a steadfast tree.
Upon that solitary place,
Its verdure threw adorning grace.
The mating birds became its guests,
And sang its praises from their nests.
Wouldst know the moral of the rhyme?
Behold the heavenly light! and climb.
To every dungeon comes a ray
Of God's interminable day.
THE GARDEN OF EDEN
ONE day little Alice hung about her mother's neck covering her cheeks with kisses, and saying in her pretty, childish way,
"I love you, you nice, sweet mother! You are good—so good!" But her mother answered earnestly,
"Dear child, God is good; if I have any good it is from Him; He has given it to me; it is not mine."
Then the little one unclasped her caressing arms, and putting back her hair with both hands gazed with a look of surprise into her mother's face.
Presently she said—"But if He has given it to you, it is yours."
"No, darling," replied the lady, "you do not quite understand. Listen. Suppose your dear father had a great garden full of all most beautiful things that ever grew in gardens, and he should say to you—'Come and live in my garden; you shall have as much ground as you are able to cultivate, and I will give you seeds of all fruits and flowers you love best, as many as you want. Here no evil thing can ever come to harm you, but every day you will grow happier and stronger, and then I will give you more ground and more seeds, and you shall live with me for ever!' Suppose you were so glad to hear this that you lost no time, but went in, at once, and began to plant the seeds in your little plot, close by the gate—you know it would be a tiny little plot at first, because you are small and weak; and soon your flowers were to grow up and bloom, so tall, and so beautiful, and your trees hang heavy with such delightful fruit that every one passing by would exclaim,
"'Oh, what a beautiful garden! Are these flowers and fruit trees yours?'
"Would you not say—
"Oh, no! they are not mine; they are all my father's. This is his beautiful garden, but he said if I were willing I might stay here always, and I have come to live with him because he is good. Nothing at all here belongs to me, though my father likes me to give away the fruits and flowers that grow in my plot to all who ask for them. I am a great deal happier, all the time, when I think that even the wild flowers in this grass, and the small berries, and the little birds that eat them, belong to him, than I could be if they were mine, and I had no one to love for them.'
"Should you not feel, dearest, as though you were telling a wicked story, and almost as though you were stealing something, if you said, 'Yes, they are all mine,' so that the people would not even know you had a father?"
"Oh, yes! that would be very naughty indeed. I would give the people some of the fruit and flowers, and say they grew on my father's trees, and then they would love him too; but tell me more about the garden."
"I will tell you all I think you can understand, and you must be attentive, for I want you to remember it all your life. Did you ever hear of the Garden of Eden?"
"Yes; that is where Adam and Eve lived."
"Well, that's the beautiful garden I've been telling you about, and God is your good father. You can begin your journey there this very day if you like."
"Is it a very long journey?—and will you go with me? Is there really, really such a garden? Oh, tell me where it is!"
"I desire nothing in the world so much as to lead you there, but the path is rough and steep; I cannot carry you in my arms along that road; you must walk on your own little feet, and I am afraid they will sometimes get—very tired."
"You know, mother, I never do get tired when I am going to a pleasant place; but, oh, dear! I do believe now it is all a dream-story; you smiled and kissed me just as if it were."
"No, you need not look so disappointed, little one, for though it is something like a 'dream-story,' there is nothing in the world half so true and real. Think in that little head of yours, and tell me what seems to you most like this beautiful garden."
"I cannot think of anything at all like it, except heaven.—Oh, yes!—that is it! Heaven, is it not?"
"And what is heaven?"
"The place where good people go when they die."
"Think again. What is heaven?"
"I have thought again, and I cannot think of anything but the place where God and the angels are. I do not know how you want me to think."
"I want you to think why it is heaven, and why the angels are happy. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Being beautiful and so pleasant makes it heaven; and the angels are happy because they are in heaven."
"Then, of course, if you put even such wicked people into a beautiful and pleasant place they would be angels, and happy?"
"Oh, now I see! You mean the angels are happy because they are good."
"Why should that make them happy?"
"I don't know why, but I know the Bible says so. I suppose just the same as when you promise me, in the morning, that if I say my lessons all nicely you will tell me a beautiful fairy-tale after tea."
"No, my little Alice, not exactly in that way, though at