of Mystery." Coming after the
sermon, it was sweet and clear to all the people's hearts. Before the
sermon it would have seemed obscure.

The Gospel of Mystery.

Good tidings every day,
God's messengers ride fast.
We do not hear one half they say,
There is such noise on the highway,
Where we must wait while they ride past.

Their banners blaze and shine
With Jesus Christ's dear name,
And story, how by God's design
He saves us, in His love divine,
And lifts us from our sin and shame.

Their music fills the air,
Their songs sing all of Heaven;
Their ringing trumpet peals declare
What crowns to souls who fight and dare,
And win, shall presently be given.

Their hands throw treasures round
Among the multitude.
No pause, no choice, no count, no bound,
No questioning how men are found,
If they be evil or be good.

But all the banners bear
Some words we cannot read;
And mystic echoes in the air,
Which borrow from the songs no share,
In sweetness all the songs exceed.

And of the multitude,
No man but in his hand
Holds some great gift misunderstood,
Some treasure, for whose use or good
His ignorance sees no demand.

These are the tokens lent
By immortality;
Birth-marks of our divine descent;
Sureties of ultimate intent,
God's Gospel of Eternity.

Good tidings every day.
The messengers ride fast;
Thanks be to God for all they say;
There is such noise on the highway,
Let us keep still while they ride past.

But the sermon which of all others her people loved best was one on the
Love of God. This one she was often asked to repeat,--so often, that she
said one day to Angy, who asked for it, "Why, Angy, I am ashamed to.
Everybody must know it by heart. I am sure I do."

"Yes, that's jest the way we do know it, Mis' Kinney, by heart," said the
affectionate Angy, "an' that's jest the reason we want it so often. I
never told ye what George Thayer said the last time you read it to us, did
I?"

"No, Angy," said Draxy.

"Well, he was singing in the choir that day, 'n place o' his brother, who
was sick; 'n' he jumped up on one o' the seats 'n' swung his hat, jest 's
you was goin' down the aisle, 'n' we all ketched hold on him to pull him
down, 'n' try to hush him; for you can't never tell what George Thayer'll
do when his blood's up, 'n' we was afraid he was agoin' to holler right