THH WILD ROSE BY THE RAILROAD. 57 But its leaves by the soft dew of Heaven were nourished, And it opened its buds to the warm light of day. I asked why it grew there, where none prized its beauty; For, of thousands that passed, none had leisure to stav; And the answer came, sweetly, "I do but my duty; There to bloom here, by the side of the way." are those on life's pathway whose spirits are willing To dwell where the busy crowd passes them by ; But the dew from above on their lives is distilling, And they bloom in the smile of the All-Seeing They Eve. are loved by the few; let the wild rose remind them, When tempted from duty's lone pathway to stray, They, too, have a place and a mission assigned them, Though it be but to grow by the side of the way. S. 58 PRAYING IN SECRET. PRAYING IN SECRET. I NEED not leave the jostling world, To fold my hands in secret prayer, Within the close-shut closet door. There is a voiceless cloistered room Where, though my feet may join the throng, When I have banished wayward thought, Of sinful works the fruitful seed, No human step approaching, breaks No shadow steals across the light That falls from my Redeemer's face. One listening, even, cannot know When I have crossed the threshold o'er, For He, alone, who hears my prayer Has heard the shutting of the door. WE call them weeds, the while with slender fingers We call them weeds;-did we their forms but study, We call them weeds-the while their uses hidden Send through each wasted frame the balm of healing, flow. Weeds yet they hold in bonds the mighty ocean! Their slender threads bind firm the sandy shore; Navies may sink amid its wild commotion, These humble toilers ne'er their work give o'er. And who shall say the feeblest thought avails not The faintest word some soul with power may reach. 60 THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. I WAS sitting alone, toward the twilight, With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy, Some homely work I was doing For the child of my love and care, In the endless need of repair. But my thoughts were about the "building," And that only the gold, and the silver, And remembering my own poor efforts, "It is nothing but wood, hay and stubble," This useless fruit of the talents One day to be returned. THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. "And I have so longed to serve Him, Just then, as I turned the garment, My eye caught an odd little bungle My heart grew suddenly tender, That sometimes makes us so wise. Dear child, she wanted to help me; I knew 'twas the best she could do; And yet can you understand it? With a tender smile and a tear, Then a sweet voice broke the silence, Than I am tender for thee?" 61 |