'"Why, oh, why wert thou weeping and gazing ever earthward when in thy peerless beauty, sad and disconsolate—and now that thou art fading from us thou art happy?" I asked in my sorrowful regret; perhaps reproach was mingled with my complaint.
'"Is it not ever so?" the gentle flower replied. "Whilst burdened with Life's sorrows, our eyes are tear-dimmed. The cares of this world press heavily upon our hearts, so that we scarce can lift our thoughts from this earth—cold and weary though it is—to gaze upward. It is only when we are passing from all shadows into the Divine Light that we can look heavenward, yet even then the tear-drops linger. But when earthly sojourners have passed through the dark valley into the Eternal Brightness, then, and only then, will they be freed from anguish; then, and only then, will eyes be no longer dimmed by sorrow—for God Himself shall wipe away all tears!"'
PARABLE SEVENTH.
THE TWO LEAVES—DISCONTENT.
nce upon a time, as the good old fairy tales always begin, there grew by the side of a little brook a large Oak tree.
The brook was a bright, sunlit stream, gliding along so cheerfully to join the river, between grassy banks, kissing the willows which bent down towards it, or whispering softly to the blue Forget-me-nots; and so clear was it, you could see the smooth pebbles lying at the bottom, and the fish skimming along gaily, as if there were no such things in the whole world as fishing-rods.