"Yes; a great trust in God's wisdom and mercy has stolen into my heart. I no longer look despondingly into my future."
"Why? Because you fancy that future will be very short and painless? Ah, Clara, is this trust, when the end comes and there is no more work to do?"
"You are mistaken; I do not see Death beckoning me home. Oh, I have not earned a home yet! I look forward to years of labor, profit, and peace. To-day I found some lines in the morning paper. Nay, don't curl your lips with a sneer at what you call 'newspaper poetry.' Listen to the words that came like a message from the spirit-land to my murmuring heart." Her voice was low and unsteady, as she read:
"'Two hands upon the breast, and labor's done;
Two pale feet crossed in rest, the race is won.
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, all tears cease;
Two lips where grief is mute, and wrath at peace.
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot;
God, in his kindness, answereth not!'"
"Such, Beulah, I felt had been my unvoiced prayer; but now!"
"'Two hands to work addressed; aye, for his praise,
Two feet that never rest; walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above, still through all tears;
Two lips that breathe but love; never more fears.
SO WE CRY AFTERWARD, LOW AT OUR KNEES.
PARDON THOSE ERRING CRIES! FATHER, HEAR THESE!"
"Oh Beulah, such is now my prayer."
As Beulah stood near the lamp, strange shadows fell on her brow; shadows from the long, curling lashes. After a brief silence, she asked earnestly:
"Are your prayers answered, Clara? Does God hear you?"
"Yes; oh, yes!" "Wherefore?"