It is not difficult to picture this girl on the rugged Farne Rocks, casting her quiet, observant eyes over the wide sea, and praying for the safety of those who were tossing about in ships. We can imagine her, in her own mind, making heroes out of very common men, and rather exaggerating than under-rating the sorrows of humanity. We are sure that no storm-distressed bird ever came to the window of the lighthouse-home for shelter and was denied by Grace, and no shipwrecked sailor, clinging for life to the rocks, would be afraid of other than most merciful treatment from the hands of such a woman. And God be thanked that there are hundreds of thousands like her, not only along our shores, but in every part of our land—women who fear God and love the right, and delight in nothing so much as self-abnegation, if only they can serve those who are needy or sad.
Let the girls of England resolve to join their ranks. It is better to be poor and noble, than rich and worthless—to be the daughter of a lighthouse-keeper, and fill the life with good deeds of diligence and faithfulness, than to be the daughter of an Earl, and of no real good to anybody. But the life of consecration to God and His service, and for His sake, to all around, is lived only by those who are thoughtful and Christian. Let the young people thus find their joy and strength in prayer, and in earnest resolve that their lives, even if quiet, shall be good, and we will not fear for the future of our world.
"Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;
And o'er your sleep, bright shadows from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth be spread;
Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!
"Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour;
And sunless riches, from affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower!
And to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship—therefore pray!
"Her lot is on you, to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be rain,
Meekly to bear with wrong, and cheer decay,
And oh! to love through all things—therefore pray
"And take the thought of this calm vesper time,
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,
On through the dark days, fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.
Earth will forsake—oh! happy to have given
Th' unbroken heart's first tenderness to heaven!"—Mrs. Hemans
CHAPTER IV.
LIGHTHOUSE HOMES.
"And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
Through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,
With strange unearthly splendour in its glare.