The fact of sin--so much;--it must needs be Offenses come; if woe to him by whom, Then with good reason; but the fact of sin Unlocked the door to highest destiny, That Christ might enter in and lead the way. God loves not sin, nor I; but in the throng Of evils that assail us, there are none That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling arm With such munificent reward of power As great temptations. We may win by toil Endurance; saintly fortitude by pain; By sickness, patience; faith and trust by fear; But the great stimulus that spurs to life, And crowds to generous development Each chastened power and passion of the soul, Is the temptation of the soul to sin, Resisted, and re-conquered, evermore. _Ruth_. I am content; and now that I have caught Bright glimpses of the outlines of your scheme, As of a landscape, graded to the sky, And seen through trees while passing, I desire No vision further till I make survey In some good time when I may come alone, And drink its beauty and its blessedness. I've been forgetful in my earnestness, And wearied everyone with talk. These boys Are restive grown, or nodding in their chairs, And older heads are set, as if for sleep. I beg their pardon for my theft of time, And will offend no more. _David_. Ruth, is it right To leave a brother in such a plight as this-- Either to imitate your courtesy, Or by your act to be adjudged a boor? _Ruth_. Heaven grant you never note a sin of mine Save of your own construction! _Israel_. Let it pass! I see the spell of thoughtfulness is gone, Or going swiftly. I will not complain; But ere these lads are fastened to their games, And thoughts arise discordant with our theme, Let us with gratitude approach the throne And worship God. I wish once more to lead Your hearts in prayer, and follow with my own The leading of your song of thankfulness. Then will I lease and leave you for the night To such divertisement as suits the time, And meets your humor. [_They all arise and the old man prays_.] _Ruth_. [_After a pause_.] David, let us see Whether your memory prove as true as mine. Do you recall the promise made by you This night one year ago,--to write a hymn For this occasion? _David_. I recall, and keep. Here are the copies, written fairly out. Here,--father, Mary, Ruth, and all the rest; There's one for each. Now what shall be the tune? _Israel_. The old One Hundredth--noblest tune of tunes! Old tunes are precious to me as old paths In which I wandered when a happy boy. In truth, they are the old paths of my soul, Oft trod, well worn, familiar, up to God. THE HYMN. [_In which all unite to sing_.]