Favorite Songs and Hymns For School and Home, page: 0264

450 Of The World's Best Songs And Hymns, With Lyrics & Sheet music for voice & piano.

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2o4
Boys and girls, both young and older grown, do not miss this secret of happiness for yourselves and others: Be kind—and show your love now! Do not wait until some late to-morrow; or until the eclipse of death has come to eyes that now beam with a light clear and bright and tender. One day I met my father on the road to town. " I wish you would take this package to the village for me, Jim," he said hesitatingly. Now, I was a boy of twelve, not fond of work, and just out of the hay-field, tired and hungry. It was two miles into town. I wanted to get my supper and to dress for singing class. My first impulse was to refuse and to do it harshly, for I was vexed that he should ask me after my long day's work. If I did refuse, he would go himself. He was a gentle, patient old man. But something stopped me—one of God's good angels, I
think. " Of course, father, I'll take it," I said heartily, giving my scythe to one of the men. He gave me the package. "Thank you, Jim," he said; "I was going myself, but somehow I don't feel very strong to-day." He walked with me to the road that turned off to town, and as he left he put his hand on my arm saying, " Thank you, my son. You've always been a good boy to me, Jim." I hurried into town and back again. When I came near the house, I saw a crowd of farm­hands at the door. One of them came to me, the tears rolling down his face. "Your father!" he said. " He fell dead just as he reached the house. The last words he spoke were to you." I am an old man, now, but I have thanked God over and over again, in all the years that have passed since that hour; and those last words were, " You've always been a good boy to me."
"FATHER JOE."
The hands are such dear hands; they are so full; they turn at our demands so often; they reach out, with trifles scarcely thought about, so many times; they do so very many things for me, for you—if their fond wills mistake we may well bend, not break. They are such fond, frail lips that speak to us. Pray, if love strips them of discretion many times, or if they speak too slow or quick, such things we may pass by; for we may see days not far oft" when those small words may be held not as slow, or quick, or out of place, but dear, because the lips are no more here. They are such dear, familiar feet that go along the path with ours—feet fast or slow, and trying to keep pace—if they mistake, or tread upon some flower that we would
take upon our breast, or bruise some reed or crush poor Hope until it bleed, we may be mute, not turning quickly to impute grave fault: for they and we have such a little way to go—can be together such a little while along the way—we will be patient while we may. So many little faults we find; we see them, for not blind is Love. We see them; but if you and I perhaps remember them some by-and-by they will not be faults then—grave faults— to you and me, but just odd ways—mistakes, or even less—remembrances to bless. Days change so many things—yes, hours ; We see so differently in suns and showers.
Mistaken works to-night
May be so cherished by to-morrow's light,
We may be patient: for we know
There's such a little way to go.
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