The Harvest of a Quiet Eye

the work

over the land since we had our Spring scamper among the fields. It will befit these graver months of the year sob

ooping oat-grass; here trembling, delicate pyramids; here miniature bulrushes; and, choice and rare, the graceful quaking grass, with its thin filaments, and its fruit shot with faint purple, and pale green, and light brown. Nu

at the first note of the cuckoo is to the ear. There the deep swathes lie in long rows, the innocent sweet flowers looking up at first with something of sad wonder, but soon drooping in a death which shall not be called untimely, because it is useful, an

heaths of the wheat begin to open, and to divulge the secret wealth of the green ear. The pointed flag falls over it; but very soon it bursts the swaddling bands, and rises proudly above the now obsequious deposed leaves, like an heir above his nu

with its satin-black eye,-a flower of dazzling splendour, but calumniated and ill-used beyond my endurance. "Flaunting poppies," indeed! Why, they are the drooping banners of God's army of the corn! Here they are waving out in all their glory; here they are folded up (somewhat crumpled) within that green case, out of which they are gleaming, just ready to be unfurled for the march. I love the violet-none better; but I protest against the folly, and, in a

t back to Summer days, and the fallen gr

he delicate paleness of the new-born ear passes away, and

0

ath a crowd of the tawny-armoured bees; Sumptuous forests, filled with twilight, li

or dazzling white blossom, but of hushed, sober colour, and of somewhat of monotony and sameness. The fair Bride fruit-trees are clad in dark garments now, and busy with their families of little unripe things, that have to be educated into ripeness and usefulness. The oaks are no more clad in "glad light green" or very red leaves, and the elms have toned down even the little brightening up of Summer growth at the end of their br

e ago every day was different; now every109 day seems much the same. There is not the constant progression, the still developing beauty, the ever

e, where the thickeni

ot believe this, in those old inexperienced days, when it cast away blossom and freshness of leaf as things that did but impede it, in the impatience of its hurry after that Perf

clear," that rang out through the groves-the song of the willow-wren, the thrush, the blackbird, the blackcap, the nightingale-all are silent. Eve

ear th' autumnal eve; But few delights can

And ever Fancy's wing Speeds from beneath

weet the old man's rest; But middle age by

's complaint has some ground of reason. We miss something in Summer days: it must ever be so in this world. Attainment must ever disappoint: reality is another thing from the image of o

year. It has its Spring and its Summer, its Autumn and its Winter. We, too, pass out of youth, and excitement, and impetuosity, and hope, into manhood, and gravity, and ca

s gravely, quietly, perseveringly at work. And earnest, hearty, steady111 work at that which God has

ion and eager energy have gone. The Autumn repose has not yet come. The year is gravely, and steadily, and prosaically at work now; its ardour and ecstasies calmed, its wil

he summer, And gathereth

te now, and busied with their nests, and with the care of rearing their family. There is little change, save a deepening of colour; the morning finds the e

n, Like the lifting of a veil before the inner courts of heaven

e still disc

the harvest, and the wide

heat, and toil, when our spirits sometimes seem to flag, and the very sameness of labour brings over us a depression, and a lingering longing after the time of blossom, and of clear new verdure; there being this resemblance between u

e implicitly obedient than man

d findeth to do, do

th nations, there were the chosen people, and there were those left yet degraded-and as with individuals, there are those whose work is to eva

! There are some plants busy maturing groundsel-seed and beech-mast, some maturing strawberries, and peaches, and113 pines. But each does its utmost, and the work of the infe

his difference between this parable and that of the Pounds: that in the one case the work was equal in quality, bearing exactly the same proportion to the advantages, which were d

ng, and a matter of much thankfulness, to recollect that it was possible, in a low condition, and with less advantages, to serve God in the same proportion with the great

e five talents: behold, I have gai

ollowed-it was exceedingly

said, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents:

1

y, impotently longing to do great things, to fight a good fight, for Him who died for thee and rose again. Yea, be of good courage, and do even thy best with that thou hast. The one had ten talents to bring, the other but four, yet c

but there is much to surprise us in the allotment of work in God's world. So, art thou an oak, capable, as it seems to thee, of great deeds and noble fruit? Scorn not, however, to spend thy life making and maturing acorns, if thus it please God to employ thee. Art thou a lowly strawberry plant, weak, and easily trampled, and (thou deemest) capable of nothing worthy? Shrink not, at God's bidding, to endeavour to fas

strength and material, and then undoubtedly it is for us to116 use them. Yet the principle of growth is His gif

,-through Christ whi

mazed at life, but just to give all our heart to the maturing and perfecting the work which God has entrusted to us to do for Him-if in the garden

leisurely, bringing forth fruit with patienc

n, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and, turning yellow, Falls and floats adown the air. Lo! sweetened with the Summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drop

d trustfully leave all to Him.117 There is no hurry, though there is no idleness or slackness. Agai

o time for work deferred; Her wings are not to

the damps about it fleet, All day it basketh

r happy myriads birth, And after harvest fears n

1

to our work! How distrustful, how impatient we are! How apt to be in a hurry! We would have the whole long Summer's work done in the first short Spring day. We want the leaves perfect, and

pains me to read the stories that are so prized by some people. They force upon one the sense of such utter unreality. What experience has that infant mind gathered of the deep feelings and inward struggles, the defeats and victories, the repentances and recoveries, the depressions and ecstasies, the wrestlings in prayer

battle flas

arnings. You long to know certainly that your child is indeed a faithful and obedient child of God. Nevertheless, to hurry the work is often to mar it. Forced fruit, if you get it, is poor and flavourless, compared to the natural growth. And how much falls blighted

labour,-an

hen trust to God and wait. Dig not up the seed to see if it is sprouting; despair not if through long Winter months scarce any tende

ient succession of day and night, and sun and shower, through this dusty toilsome Summer of our life. And depression, discouragement, sometimes120 falling away, results on this unwise hurry. The seed tries to grow with unnatural rapidity, and, therefore, having no root, it wi

every night's dew, add a little. And at last the grain bows heavy and ripe, and the fruit reddens upon the bra

couragement; of the loss of many dreams, and the experience of many failures. Its songs have gone; its freshness is over-gloomed; and dust has gath

d by showers, and with many a leaf curling, many a fruit dropping. Though life often seems monotonous, and p

led, and we are not that we wished to121 be, and we do not that we wished to do;

ents we paus

sweat of the struggle and the contest; when this is so, let us gravely, solemnly settle down to the, at first sight, uncheered duties and bla

We ply our weary task, While vainly for so

our stedfast and brave-if it be done heartily and well, as to the Lord, and not as unto men. Think of St. Paul making tents-yea, of Christ in the carpenter's shop-and weary not-oh sick at

strain pass by a little, and something of the old-remembered brightness of colour and beauty flushes over the land. Whether or no such an Autumn-quiet be attained, the Summer will pass, and the great Winter sleep will come. And beyond that there shall be Spring with