Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 5

As the clouds grow darker o'er him, Brighter grows the light before him; G.o.d, who doeth all things right, Hath preserved the beacon-light.

Thus upon the path we tread G.o.d a guiding light hath shed; Though at times our hearts are weary, Though the path we tread is dreary, Though the beacon's lingering ray Seems as if 't would pa.s.s away,-- Be our prayer, through all the night, "G.o.d, preserve the beacon-light!"

Threatening clouds may gather o'er us, Countless dangers rise before us: If in G.o.d we seek for strength, He will succor us at length: He his holy light will send, To conduct us to the end.

Trust thy G.o.d, through day and night, He'll preserve thy beacon-light.

BEAR UP.

BEAR up, bear up, though Poverty may press thee, There's not a flower that's crushed that does not shed, While bowing low, its fragrance forth to bless thee, At times, more sweet than when it raised its head;

When sunlight gathered round it,

When dews of even crowned it, By nature nursed, and watched, and from its bounty fed Bear up, bear up! O, never yield nor falter!

G.o.d reigneth ever, merciful and just; If thou despairest, go thou to his altar, Rest on his arm, and in his promise trust.

There Hope, bright Hope, will meet thee;

There Joy, bright Joy, shall greet thee; And thou shalt rise to thrones on high from out the dust.

A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING.

SHOUT a welcoming to Spring!

Hail its early buds and flowers!

It is hastening on to bring Unto us its joyous hours.

Birds on bough and brake are singing, All the new-clad woods are ringing; In the brook, see Nature flinging Beauties of a thousand dyes,

As if jealous of the beauties Mantling the skies.

Hail to Beauty! Hail to Mirth!

All Creation's song is gladness; Not a creature dwells on earth G.o.d would have bowed down in sadness!

Everything this truth is preaching, G.o.d in all his works is teaching, As if man by them beseeching To be glad, for he doth bless;

And to trust him, for he's mighty In his tenderness.

THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN.

CHAPTER I.

IT was at the close of a beautiful autumnal day that Edward Dayton was to leave the place of his nativity. For many years he had looked forward, in joyous antic.i.p.ation, to the time when he should repair to the city, and enter upon the business of life. And now that that long looked-for and wished-for day had arrived, when he was to bid an adieu to the companions of his youth, and to all the scenes of his childhood, it was well for him to cast a retrospective glance; and so he did.

Not far distant, rearing its clear white steeple far above the trees, stood the village church, up the broad, uncarpeted aisle of which he had scores of times pa.s.sed; and, as the thought that he might never again enter those sacred walls came to his mind, a tear glistened in his eye that he could not rudely wipe away.

Next was the cot of the pastor. He had grown old in the service of his Master, and the frosts of nearly three-score winters rested their glory upon his head. All loved and respected him, for with them he had wept, and with them he had rejoiced. Many had fallen around him; withered age and blooming youth he had followed to the grave; yet he stood forth yet, and, with clear and musical voice, preached the truths of G.o.d.

An old gray building, upon whose walls the idler's knife had carved many a rude inscription, was the village school. There, amid those carvings, were seen the rough-hewn initials of many a man now "well-to-do in the world." Some, high above the rest, seemed as captains, and almost over-shadowed the diminutive ones of the little school-boy, placed scarce thirty inches from the ground.

Edward was a pet among the villagers. He had taken the lead in all the frolickings, and many a bright-eyed la.s.s would miss his presence, and loud, clear laugh, at the coming "huskings."

Young and old reluctantly bade him "good-by," and, as the stage wound its circuitous way from the village, from many a heart ascended a prayer that He who ruleth over all would prosper and protect him.

"Good luck to him, G.o.d bless him!" said dame Brandon, as she entered the house. "He was always a kind, well-meant lad," she continued, "and dame Brandon knows no evil can befall him; and Emily, my dear, you must keep your eye on some of the best fruit of the orchard, for he will be delighted with it, and much the more so if he knows your bright eyes watched its growth and your hands gathered it."

These words were addressed to a girl of seventeen, who stood at an open window, in quite a pensive mood. She seemed not to hear the remark, but gazed in the direction the stage had pa.s.sed.

The parents of Edward had died when he was quite young, and he, their only child, had been left to the care and protection of dame Brandon; and well had she cared for him, and been as a mother to the motherless.

"Now, Emi', don't fret! Edward won't forget you. I've known him long; he has got a heart as true as steel."

'T was not this that made her sad. She had no fears that he would forget his Emi', but another thought pressed heavily on her mind, and she said,

"But, aunty, city life is one of danger. Temptations are there we little think of, and stronger hearts than Edward's have quailed beneath their power."

"Well done!" quoth Mrs. B., looking over her gla.s.ses; "a sermon, indeed, quite good for little you. But girls are timid creatures; they start and are frightened at the least unusual sound." She a.s.sumed a more serious manner, and, raising her finger, pointing upwards, said, "But know you not there is a Power greater than that of which you speak?"

Emily seemed to be cheered by this thought. She hummed over a favorite air, and repaired to the performance of her evening duties.

Emily Brandon was a lovely creature, and of this Edward Dayton was well aware. He had spent his early days with her. His most happy hours had been pa.s.sed in her company. Together they had frolicked over the green fields, and wandered by their clear streams. Hours pa.s.sed as minutes when in each other's company; and, when separated, each minute seemed an hour.

Now, for the first time, they were separated; and ever and anon, as she pa.s.sed about at her work, she cast a fitful glance from the window, as if it were possible he might return.

How she wished she could have gone with him, to gently chide when sinners should entice, and lead him from error's path, should gay temptation lure him therein! She was young in years, yet old in discretion; and had a heart that yearned for the good of all.

"Well, aunt," said she, "I hope good luck will betide him, but sad thoughts will come when I think of what he will have to bear up under."

"O, hus.h.!.+" said the old lady; "simple girls have simple stories."