The Harvest of a Quiet Eye

re, and there seemed little of new and various to tempt us out. But February comes,

d of those sweet buds-little geologists' hammers, with white or violet noses-among their round seeds and drilled leaves, in some warmer corner;26 such, summonings as these woo the steps to the threshold on a strayed mild day late in February. The black, soaked trees have, we find, taken a warm hue of life; the dull willow bushes

s discerned, From those blind motions of

the robin draws near in a cheerful, not to say jovial, sympathy with our humour, and the faint branchy shadows move tenderly on the glistening lawn, to muse

*

hat we stand on the threshold of the next state,-how often do we pause for awhile upon some threshold, and lean back against the door and muse. On the threshold of joy, or on the threshold of misery; on the threshold of hope, or on the threshold of despair; on the threshold of school, or of the holidays; on the threshold of wearing tail-coats; of being flogged or expelled; of gaining the three head prizes of the school,-these gave musings to some in early days. Later, on the threshold of a pluck, or of a double first-class; on the threshold of first love; and-oh, the dim, delicious look-out, and long, ecstatic musings!-on the threshold of being married; of parting with some beloved one,-and ah, how a stern hand seems to drag you forth from your contem

all sweet promise-buds; and there were songs in the distance, and an interminable thronging of inexhaustible flowers; and life seemed too sweet, when the first blossom that was our own was grasped in

at other way of leaving them-the hearing once and again, and gradually heeding, an oft-repeated solemn call, "Follow Me." Out of the sunshine into the shadow; away from dreamy threshold musings, into the rough and stony highway; d

e sunk deeply within them. Day by day they are giving up their old waking dreams; things they have pictured out and acted over in their imaginations and their hopes, one by one they let them go, with saddened but willing hearts. They feel as if they had fallen under some irresistible attraction, which is hurrying them into the world unseen; and so in truth it is. He is fulfilling to

at life's threshold! The January of infancy had past; the February of awakening, conscious life had come, and we came out from our dormant state, and paused upon the threshold, and looked forth upon the world. And now we look back, and with a strange, wondering interest, contemplate that single lonely figure that was ourself, leaning30 in wrapt musing; the small home b

ea or land, The consecrati

kle, and melancholy its charm

in early youth to die, So loved, lamented: in such sweet sleep lying, Th

ued than fruit-germs, or sparkling glass than rough, hereafter-to-be-cut diamonds; it is not only, nor so much, that the world's promises and life's young dreams have failed us, as that we have turned away from them. That our taste has altered; that the things that then were all, are now ne

last fixed our attention. Time was, when we were compelled as it were, at first with hesitating, reluctant step, to follow that Voice and that Look-away from those bright gay paths, or grand aspiring ways, down a lowly, narrow way, strewn with thorns and stones, and sloping into a mist-hid valley. Time was-if we followed still-that the disturbing, distracting sounds and sights above being left behind and hushed,-the mist lifted, and, lo

y? But no; the early flowers depart, and the late, and we leave the threshold and wander on; and February goes, and March goes, and even June, and August; and sorrowfully and wonderingly we look up at

oint at which we would choose to have rested, now that we look back upon the past experiences and events of the journ

u Wouldst lead me on; I loved to see and

hese words are. If by that time you have not forsaken Him, you will be nigher still, walking in strange, it may be solitary paths, in ways that are "called desert"; but knowing Him, as now you know Him not, with a fulness of knowledge, and a bowing of heart, and a holy self-renouncement, and a joy that you are altogether His. What35 now seems too much, shall then seem all too little; what

he silent Winter comes. And what then? Is it to be the same over again-the same promises and disappointments, the sam

t repeated, nor is the "second

ys await us there; What radiancy of

edness at best, to stedfast holiness; beyond the cross, to the crown. We are yet within doors: oh, what will open before us on the threshold of that next year!-when the first wonder of its January36 has passed, and the amazed and almost dizzied soul has straightened and uncrumpled its wings, and collected its powers, and can calmly begin t

threshold, and contemplate the mighty and magnificent panorama outspread before them as their Future. The Voice is still there, and the Look; and they wait its summons, to leave the threshold, and to follow once again. But how different that following then! How far other than of old that summons! Not to paths of humiliat

nobly, more worthily, more truly. Let us not heap their burial with gloom; let not our souls dwell with their bodies under the sodden clay. They are changed, but they are not lost; they are "still the same, and yet are not what they were; they have passed from the humiliation of the body to the majesty of the spirit. The weakness, and the littleness,38 and the abasement of life are gone; they are now excellent in strength, full of heavenly light, ardent with love, above fallen humanity, akin to angels." "Blessed and happy dead!-great and mighty dead! In them the work of

of sight: like as when the head of a far-stretching procession, winding through a broken, hollow land, hides itself in some bending vale, it is still all one; all advancing together; they that are farthest onward in the way are39 conscious of their lengthened following; they that linger with the last are drawn forward as it were by the attraction of the advancing multitude." Or, in another figure, beautifully has it been said, that when the Sun of Righteousness passed out of sight, the splendour of His hidden shining is reflected by His saints, "till the night starts out full of silver stars." "In stedfast and silent course" they pass

ignation," as well as an ardent, and eager, and rapturous anticipation and longing for His coming who cometh quickly, though He seem to tarry. And it is well to ask, when death ends our journey here, upon which threshold shall we prefer to wait, and which musing shall be our choice: the dreadful40 looking-for of judgment, or the ecstatic longing to h