their
work as after it. Only where the work of the day is a burden grievous
to be borne, is there cause to fear being unfitted for duty by
antecedent pleasure. But the joy of the sunrise would linger about Mary
all the day long in the gloomy shop; and for Joseph, ho had but to lift
his head to see the sun hastening on to the softer and yet more hopeful
splendors of the evening. The wife, who had not to begin so early, was
walking with her husband, as was her custom, even when the weather was
not of the best, to see him fairly started on his day's work. It was
with something very like pride, yet surely nothing evil, that she would
watch the quick blows of his brawny arm, as he beat the cold iron on
the anvil till it was all aglow like the sun that lighted the
world--then stuck it into the middle of his coals, and blew softly with
his bellows till the flame on the altar of his work-offering was awake
and keen. The sun might shine or forbear, the wind might blow or be
still, the path might be crisp with frost or soft with mire, but the
lighting of her husband's forge-fire, Mary, without some forceful
reason, never omitted to turn by her presence into a holy ceremony. It
was to her the "Come let us worship and bow down" of the daily service
of God-given labor. That done, she would kiss him, and leave him: she
had her own work to do. Filled with prayer she would walk steadily back
the well-known way to the shop, where, all day long, ministering with
gracious service to the wants of her people, she would know the evening
and its service drawing nearer and nearer, when Joseph would come, and
the delights of heaven would begin afresh at home, in music, and verse,
and trustful talk. Every day was a life, and every evening a blessed
death--type of that larger evening rounding our day with larger hope.
But many Christians are such awful pagans that they will hardly believe
it possible a young loving pair should think of that evening, except
with misery and by rare compulsion!

That morning, as they went, they talked--thus, or something like this:

"O Mary!" said Joseph, "hear the larks! They are all saying: 'Jo-seph!
Jo-seph! Hearkentome, Joseph! Whatwouldyouhavebeenbutfor Ma-ry,
Jo-seph?' That's what they keep on singing, singing in the ears of my
heart, Mary!"

"You would have been a true man, Joseph, whatever the larks may say."

"A solitary melody, praising without an upholding harmony, at best,
Mary!"

"And what should