t emergency of life and death;
the heart cries out like a child waking frightened in the night, and
there answers it, from some depth far below its fear, a voice that says
"Peace!" In that hour the soul finds its father. Thereafter passing
doubts and fears can but ruffle the surface for a moment.

In our northern winter, how perfectly the trees blend with the scene
about them! They seem wholly a part of winter's grand but lifeless
world, and with what beauty do they crown that world,--the columnar
trunks, the mighty grip of the roots upon the firm earth, the arching
sweep of stalwart boughs, the delicate tracery against the sky! They
answer to the season's mood, bending in patient grace beneath a load of
snow, casing themselves in jewels, or springing up again in slender
strength; silent, except when the deep voice of the wind speaks through
them. Their shadows soften the sunlight glittering on the snow, or weave
a black fretwork when the cold moon shines. Yet vital in their hearts
the trees hold summer's secret. A little while, and they will be clothed
in the leafy glory of June. The robin and catbird and oriole will sing
hidden among their branches. Of that summer season the trees will be the
delight and crown, that now stand like true children of winter. They
stand now so strong and true because of that hidden life within them
which summer will fully disclose. It is because it is alive that the
trunk bends to the storm but does not break, and the twigs hold up their
load of snow. So, there are lives that so fit themselves to this world
in which they stand that they become its finest part. Their sympathy
finds out the secret needs and possibilities of those about them. Their
insight discerns the work which society most needs, and their fidelity
accomplishes that part of the work which falls to them. Their natures
stand open to all the glad influences of earth; their hearts rejoice with
them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. They make full proof
of those experiences in which fortitude and silent endurance are the only
resource. Sometimes they are happy, and sometimes they are sad; but
always other people are happier because of them. They are the children
of a better country. For them the soul's full summer waits. Knowing
them, we do indeed know something of God and the eternal life.

There is freedom to be achieved from the pettiness of our lives. They
never, perhaps, look so pitif