If this law of unselfish kindness were thoroughly understood; if all, particularly the young, could realize the rich reward for every kind act, repaying them tenfold even in this life,--it would extract many thorns from weary feet, prevent much heart-burning, and give a glory to the life below only second to that blessed life above, where, when they enter, they may hope to hear, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” LXXIX. IF WE KNEW! “If we knew the baby fingers Pressed against the window-pane Would be cold and stiff to-morrow, Never trouble us again, Would the bright eyes of our darling Catch the frown upon our brow? Would the print of rosy fingers Vex us then as they do now? “Ah! those little, ice-cold fingers, How they point our memories back To the hasty words and actions Strewn along our backward track! How those little hands remind us, As in snowy grace they lie, Not to scatter thorns, but roses, For our reaping by and by! “Strange we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown! Strange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone! Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seemed one half so fair As when winter’s snowy pinions Shake the white down in the air! “Lips from which the seal of silence None but God can roll away, Never blossomed in such beauty As adorns the mouth to-day; And sweet words that freight our memory With their beautiful perfume Come to us in sweeter accents Through the portals of the tomb! “Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff; Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day; With a patient hand removing All the briers from our way.” THE wind is playing with the long gray beard on the grand old live-oak over our heads; the air, soft and balmy, brings the slightest intimation of perfume from the orange-trees around us; the golden fruit, half hidden in the rich, glossy leaves, and here and there a bud just opening into the delicate blossom, give promise of another harvest before the first is fully gathered. Before us lies the beautiful St. John’s river, smooth and tranquil as a summer sea; but a steamer in the distance, like a graceful swan, approaches the wharf, and will soon disturb its calm, and toss the placid waters into merry ripples or foaming, sparkling waves. Only for a moment she touches the wharf, then glides away, and the river subsides into its wonted calm. Her coming and going have no interest for us, save that which a glimpse, however transient, of beauty, strength, and grace must always awaken. She brings none to greet us and claim the welcome, so gladly given by one far from home.