“Autumn departs--from busy fields no more Come rural sounds, our kindred banks to cheer; Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o’er, No more the distant reaper’s mirth we hear. The last blithe shout hath died upon the ear, And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain: On the waste hill no forms of life appear, Save where, sad laggard of the Autumnal train, Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain.” Thus, when the world’s shouts and glee have passed by him, may we sometimes see the sad late seeker of God occupied. Sometimes, not often; for be it well laid to heart that God’s enemies seldom leave any gleanings on their fields, but are busy with careful rake to collect even life’s last days. Not often; for settled habits are hardest to overcome; and when the character and tastes are formed, there will seldom remain even the hearty wish to alter. Not often, then, but _sometimes_, in later life the worldling, or the devil’s labourer, turns back with wrung hands and tears--smitten and pricked to the heart by some sharp voice from God--and wanders over the bare, desolate fields in life’s chill and fog, and shakes the dreary boughs;--if perhaps there may be a little handful of corn, or an overlooked grape, or any fruit, that yet may be tremblingly offered to the Master of the Harvest, when He comes to take account with His labourers. And now the question is, Is this late labour, labour in vain? “Will God indeed with fragments bear, Snatched late from the decaying year? Or can the Saviour’s blood endear The dregs of a polluted life?” He will: it can. If the heart be _truly_ turned to Him at last, it will not be turned to Him in vain. Many of my readers will recall a beautiful allegory of servants trading for their lord, and how one, late caused to tremble and to turn, brought at the reckoning-day salt tears and rough sackcloth, that changed as he bore them into rich stuff and jewels. Aye, a broken and a contrite heart, if real, at _no_ time in life will He despise. Better give the harvest than only the gleanings, but better these than nothing.