One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee,
Shadows passing through the land.
Do not look at life’s long sorrow;
See how small each moment’s pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day, begin again.—A. A. Proctor.
“Well, here it is, and a meagre account enough,” said Elfie, opening the morning paper as she sat with Erminie at breakfast in the library—“not ten lines of description, if it were put in common type, but filling nearly a whole column in great capital letters like posters.”
“What is it, dear?” inquired Erminie, who was arranging her cups and saucers on the breakfast tray.