nied here. Because he
loves the slave, Livingstone, falling in the African forest, need not
fear, for love will make his work immortal. The sweet mother, whose
love overarches the cradle with thoughts that for number are beyond the
stars, need not fear to leave behind the gentle babe, for everlasting
love will encircle it. Falling into unconsciousness and putting out
upon the yeasty sea midst the falling darkness, man may call back: "I
still live." For God is love and God is eternal. Therefore man who
loves is immortal also.

HOPE'S HARVEST, AND THE FAR-OFF INTEREST OF TEARS.

"Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let Darkness keep her raven gloss;
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with Death to beat the ground!"--_Tennyson_.

"Soul, rule thyself. On passion, deed, desire,
Lay thou the laws of thy deliberate will.
Stand at thy chosen post. Faith's sentinel:
Though Hell's lost legions ring thee round with fire,
Learn to endure. Dark vigil hours shall tire
Thy wakeful eyes; regrets thy bosom thrill;
Slow years thy loveless flower of youth shall kill;
Yea, thou shalt yearn for lute and wanton lyre.
Yet is thy guerdon great; thine the reward
Of those elect, who, scorning Circe's lure,
Grown early wise, make living light their lord.
Clothed with celestial steel, these walk secure,
Masters, not slaves. Over their heads the pure
Heavens bow, and guardian seraphs wave God's sword."--_V. A. Symonds_.

CHAPTER XIV.

HOPE'S HARVEST, AND THE FAR-OFF INTEREST OF TEARS.

The soul is monarch of three kingdoms. Man lives at once in the
present, the past and the future. Memory presides over yesterday;
to-day is ruled by reason; to-morrow is under the sway of hope. The
ancient seer who stood by the historic vine reflecting how the rain of
yesterday had disappeared to give its sweet liquors to the roots only
to reappear to-morrow in purple clusters, gave us a beautiful image of
himself. Each human life is like unto a vine--its trunk manifest in
the present; its roots deeply buried in the past; its branches throwing
themselves forward, ripening fruit for days to come. Life is a solid
column of days all compacted together. To-day's usefulness is in the
number of wise, happy and helpful yesterdays, whose accumulated
treasures crowd forward the soul's present activities. But for his
yesterdays stored up in memory man would be impotent for any he