The Harvest of a Quiet Eye

PY NE

d commonly with more of meaning and sincerity than fall to the lot of many almost-of-course salutations. Words in which there is

-bye to the Old Year. And it seems unkind to turn from him who has s

s seem to stand out in bolder relief, now that we feel that we shall never see him again. Such experiences, too, we have

, And though his foes speak ill

deed to part-as we sit in silence by the flickering fire,

that must come from time to time, are perhaps most of all brought prominently, sadly before us, at such a gathering as this. We miss the husband, the brother, the sweet girl-daughter, the little one's pattering feet-ah, sorely, sorely then! Last year the familiar face was here, and now, now, far away, under the white sheet of snow. This is sad, but it is not a mere unstarlit night of gloom. N

a stiller guest, Perchance, perchance, among t

ioned, but ever new comfort-balm, inde

hren, concerning them which are asleep, that y

and rose again, even so them also which

ncreasing, lead the heart to glad thought of that reunion hereafter, in

ants came in, and the last family prayers have been offered up, and the last thanksgiving of the assembled household for this year; and the chamber candlesticks have been set out, and

ul of the Old Year's cast-off leaves. The clock on the mantelpiece gives eleven sharp, clear tings. The year has but an hour to live. And now t

lls, loads, grain after grain, the descending scale of your spirits. It is a solemn time, a time for

r the dear names, sweet beads of the heart's rosary, telling them one by one to God, with their several wants and needs. You mention once more the special blessings to them and to yourself of the past year. You put, once more, all the future for them and for yo

s in bursts, and now dies in whispers-that a sort of abstract of many thoughts that have hovered about you all day is

hough a door Were shut b

hese experiences, these wearing, shaping, refining operations of the kind Father are part of your memories of the dying year. While their bitterness was present with you, you would have said that it was impossible that you could ever regret to part with the year that brought them. "Ring out," you would have said, "ring out, wild bells, this unkind and bitter year; this year that hath b

is dying-l

ned God's lesson in it, and can thank8 Him, though the ache still dwells in the heart's heart; at any rate, the Old Year is passing away; the sad Ol

when the time comes which is to end that connection for ever. There may have been some old grudges, discontents, heart-burnings, jealousies, disappointments. Bu

whatever little disagreements we may have had, whate

u, you are not glad to part with

lose up to the window, and still pass away hardly perceived into the distant fields. The dying Year brought some happiness, some love;

a true, true love, And the

its gripe, to crush out all that more tender sentiment. Yet some soft, faint shadows of darker hours do, unaccountably, fall early across the daisy fields of youth. And thus in youth a certain foreshadowing, in mature years a stern experience, brings into the heart at this time a thoughtful dread of losing what we already have; an undefinable a

n bird's nest f

rned to trust in God; and rest, rest peacefully, brigh

nst the window. Before you join the group downstairs there is yet another, the saddest subject for regretful thought. Th

caused to die out into smoke when they should have been eager leaping fire. An opportunity came, once and again, of doing something for God. The duty was a laborious one, a painful one; nevertheless, however painful, it must be done; you had resolved that it should be done; you had even sought help upon your knees for the work. But mark the carnal coward spirit creeping over the spiritual manly resolve: a friend came in, a persuasion turned you; your heart, alas! hardly really in earnest, did not set itself as a flint to its purpose; too willing to be turned aside, it basely accepted the tempting excuse, and laboured thereupon to believe itself really acquitte

s you are of the want of heart in even your best endeavours; you cannot but feel how hard the world's votaries have been working for their master, and how slackly you have been labouring for your Master and only

looked straight forward, that turned not to the right hand nor to the left

d that dividing

st advance, whenever they would have interposed to hinder it. A life that really and in good earnest, not half-heartedly and in pretence, should leave all to follow Christ. Something of the unflinching, unswerving, unpausing persistency of those old Jesuits; only in the servic

ed the blessed Lord more; and he who has gained but five pounds will surely wish that it had been ten. For our opportunities, it often seems to me, are such as angels might long to have. Where all are serving God, and we have no longer a sinful nature dragging us back, nor a glittering world around us, nor a subtle tempter at our ear-it will seem little, methinks, to serve God then and there. But

grace, be the point on which you have collected your powers and ener

passing with them. Five minutes more. First you bow your head, and adore the Almighty and the All-loving-God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost-for the Past, for the

bdued tone. You might almost think that they were indeed standing by some bedside, watching the last breathing of a friend; for a solemn thing it is, the passing

bells are running away; you might almost fancy them the sands, the last few grains of the Old Year's life. Suddenly they s

ker that has seemed to pause for a moment in the air, down bursts the glad, the melancholy ring of bells again,16 and

ong mourning; not much time can be spared to meditate by the fresh grave of the past. Forward, towards the unknown future: grasp its opportunities, its sorrows, its joys, to be woven into some fabric for the Master's use! On

dead past bury its dead; Act, act in the liv

l, though the Old Year be dead, and sentry January have relieved sentry December. Only for a time you will find yourself dating s

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ittle of such musings trouble them, as they bound out of bed in the morning, and scuttle off in their night-gowns, patter patter, in a race, to be the first to wish father and mother a happy New Year. They are growing out of childhood: that is the joy for them: another of those vast periods has passed. Happy Spring, that does but long to shed and cas

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me of manhood, is drawing near: that time which shall transform into realities the great things,-the noble, world-stirring deeds, that have hitherto been only schemes. That

many a brave effort fallen dead as bullets against a stone wall, many a seeming hopeful struggle forced back by the sheer dead weight of evil, has made the heart sick and the knees to tremble, and brought an early weariness and hint of despair over the amazed Recruit; a touch of that felt by the Sage of old: "It is enough: evil is too strong for me: I can do no more than others have done before: my schemes have come

et before it. How much more, when its fire was lit from earth; and earth's loves, or fame, or pleasure, or power, were the prizes for which life's battle was to

man, nothing but bitter irony. But much of the19 early hope, and m

blessing may prolong? Who, through the world's

e word. It need not be a freedom from sorrow: this is an ennobling, useful discipline, tha

stars watch alone over the smooth, sparkling, white face of the land. Not a footstep, so far as you see, has impressed the smooth, pure snow; not a dark cart-track has yet left a long stain on the spotless

from the casement of the Old Year, before yet one step has been pl

And then the traffic, the hurrying of many feet, the crushing of many wheels; thought, word, and deed, too often

churned up into yellow mud. The clinging spotless moments-flakes that, in innumerable combination, made up the great stainless carpet of the untrodden New Year; for them there will be many a trickling rivulet of penitential t

ese things write I unto

tance, and a true, lively, cleansing faith follow upon our many

ith the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous

holiness, striving because of the hope within us, to purify ourselves, even

appear, we shal

of the New Year of ETERNITY, unsullied, spotless, pure and white; and we need not then be afraid to enter upon that. The blood of Jesus, which cleanseth from all sin, will have so cleansed us, that even our footprints will not stain nor mar it. The spots and the defilements, the tears and the sighs, they will lie all behind us then, in the Old Year which is d