"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and
whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die."
She believed; and, while a beautiful world linked her to life, and
duty called to constant and cheerful labor, death lost its hideous
aspect. With a firm faith in the Gospel of Christ, she felt that
earth with all its loveliness was but a probationary dwelling-place;
and that death was an angel of God, summoning the laborers to their
harvest home. She had often asked what is the aim and end of life?
One set of philosophers told her it was to be happy. Another
exclaimed it was to learn to endure with fortitude all ills. But
neither satisfied her; one promised too much, the other too little,
and only in revelation was an answer found. Yet how few pause to
ponder its significance! With the majority, life is the all: the
springtime, the holiday; and death the hated close of enjoyment.
They forget that "Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day."
The path of Christianity is neither all sunshine nor all shadow,
checkered certainly, but leading to a final abode of unimaginable
bliss; and, with the Bible to guide her, the orphan walked
fearlessly on, discharging her duties, and looking unto God and his
Christ to aid her. She sat on the steps of the sepulcher, watching
the last rays of the setting sun gild the monumental shafts that
pointed to heaven. Her grave face might have told the scrutinizing
observer of years of grief and struggle; but it also betokened an
earnest soul calmly trusting the wisdom and mercy of the All-Father.
She sighed as she thought of the gifted but unhappy woman who slept
near her, and, rising, walked on to Lilly's tomb. Ten years had
rolled their waves over her since that little form was placed here.
She looked down at the simple epitaph: "He taketh his young lambs
home." The cherub face seemed to beam upon her once more, and the
sweet, birdlike tones of her childish voice still lingered in the
secret cells of memory. She extended her arms, as if to clasp the
form borne up by the angels, and said tremulously: "Lilly, my sister, my white-robed darling, but a little while and we
shall meet where orphanage is unknown! 'He doeth all things well!'
Ah, little sleeper, I can wait patiently for our reunion."