And when the reapers shall lay their grain On the floors of golden light, I feel that mine with its broken sheaves Shall be precious in His sight. Though thorns may often pierce my feet, And the shadows still abide, The mists will vanish before His smile, There will be light at eventide. How successfully Mrs. Harper could draw a lesson from the common objects or occurrences of the world about us may be illustrated by the following poem: TRUTH A rock, for ages, stern and high, Stood frowning ’gainst the earth and sky, And never bowed his haughty crest When angry storms around him prest. Morn, springing from the arms of night, Had often bathed his brow with light, And kissed the shadows from his face With tender love and gentle grace. Day, pausing at the gates of rest, Smiled on him from the distant West, And from her throne the dark-browed Night Threw round his path her softest light. And yet he stood unmoved and proud, Nor love, nor wrath, his spirit bowed; He bared his brow to every blast And scorned the tempest as it passed. One day a tiny, humble seed-- The keenest eye would hardly heed-- Fell trembling at that stern rock’s base, And found a lowly hiding-place. A ray of light, and drop of dew, Came with a message, kind and true; They told her of the world so bright, Its love, its joy, and rosy light, And lured her from her hiding-place, To gaze upon earth’s glorious face. So, peeping timid from the ground, She clasped the ancient rock around, And climbing up with childish grace, She held him with a close embrace; Her clinging was a thing of dread; Where’er she touched a fissure spread, And he who’d breasted many a storm Stood frowning there, a mangled form. A Truth, dropped in the silent earth, May seem a thing of little worth, Till, spreading round some mighty wrong, It saps its pillars proud and strong, And o’er the fallen ruin weaves The brightest blooms and fairest leaves. The story of Vashti, who dared heroically to disobey her monarch-husband, is as well told in simple ballad measure as one may find it. I give it entire: VASHTI She leaned her head upon her hand And heard the King’s decree-- “My lords are feasting in my halls; Bid Vashti come to me. “I’ve shown the treasures of my house, My costly jewels rare, But with the glory of her eyes No rubies can compare. “Adorn’d and crown’d I’d have her come, With all her queenly grace, And, ’mid my lords and mighty men, Unveil her lovely face. “Each gem that sparkles in my crown, Or glitters on my throne, Grows poor and pale when she appears, My beautiful, my own!”