died in ashes on the cold hearth. Our light is the one free gift to all, that is poured alike on the peasant as on the king. We keep no brighter rays to shed on the sleeping little princess in her gilded cradle, than we do to shine on the ragged bed of the beggar.

"Children of earth, you may value your little separate lights as each good and bright in its own way and for its own purpose, but you must not cavil at or undervalue us. My beams have shone since the beginning of the world on many a scene of sorrow or death, of holy love and trust. I have smiled on many a humble grave-indeed that has been one of my pleasantest tasks. For I have often kissed the quiet eyes that are to know tears no more, and I know their rest is great, so that I shine brightly, oh! so brightly and calmly, over their low green bed. And my brother, the Sun, shines on them too, and his smile draws up the daisies and violets.

"And that Sun is the emblem of its great Maker's love, for it smiles on all alike. Its rays lie as golden and warm on the thatched low roof of the mud cabin, as they do on the gilt vanes of the palace. Like the quiet, obedient Rain, it falls on the just and the unjust; it feeds the grand cedar as

E

it does the humble daisy. As a good old man once said of it:

'He never tires or stops to rest,

But round the world he shines.'

"And after he has brightened and ripened on one side of the great globe, he travels on, never wearying, never failing in little duties, never failing in great ones. Whether it is turning to golden sheaves the great corn harvest that is to feed a hungry people, or ripening to purple blushes the fruit in the clustering vineyards, he is there in his place; he never, amidst all his great work, forgets to visit with his long golden rays the narrow prison window, or omits to shed a last cheerful gleam of comfort on the white sails passing away on the pathless sea. Clouds may come between, like earthly sorrows and trials, but still the bright sun is there, although veiled for a while; and he will break forth more golden and lovely when the cloud has passed away. And the true meaning of all this, in my mind, is this, that it is, as I said before, a sign of the great love of our merciful Creator, that great and wonderful love that can feel for and forgive, and embrace all. That tender All-seeing Care can paint the delicate harebell and tint the downy wing of the butterfly, and can give

་ །

us the spring flowers and the autumn fruits, and clothe the green earth with its grand vesture of green and gold. The whole world seems wrapped and steeped in the glorious golden light of His boundless Charity, whose other name is Love. Nothing is too great, nothing too small, to be folded and cherished in those Loving Arms. The tiny fly, the feeble lamb, the small weed by the wayside, and, more than all, the weak, helpless infant, are all fed and cared for by that Mighty Father who has sent His glorious Sun to give light and food to this world, as a forerunner of a still more glorious Sun that is to arise hereafter.

"And so," said the Moon, "I have done my sermon; and now do you, little Glow-worm, go home quietly, and do your best with your little light to shine brightly and pleasantly on all around you, and lend your pretty soft lamp to the wondering child, who fancies you are a splinter dropped from a star: his mother will tell him all about you, by-and-by. And for you, good Fire, make haste and boil poor Mike's potatoes, for he is coming home wet and weary; and don't you mislead him, you wicked Will! Go along with you, and dance over your pet bog, and keep out of harm's way. I am going to send a bright ray just across his path to lead him safe home!"