LEAD KINDLY LIGHT

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“Lead, kindly light,” The words are lightly spoken by the young, who tread life’s pathway with nimble feet, whose eager hands are outstretched to gather life’s roses, regardless of thorns, whose voice is rippling with laughter and mirth, with blood coursing through the veins and bright eyes looking fearlessly into the future; the words have merely a joyous, musical ring.  “Lead, kindly light.”

“Lead, kindly light.”  The words are gravely spoken by the middle-aged, whose feet have grown a trifle weary, whose hands have gathered the roses, only to find them turned to ashes, whose laughter has more sadness than mirth, whose eyes have grown dim, whose lips tremblingly plead, “Lead, kindly light.”  “Lead, kindly light.”  The words are whispered by the old, whose tired feet are unable to move, whose palsied hands are helpless, whose head is bowed by the weight of years, whose eyes are sightless, from whose trembling lips are scarcely heard the whispered prayer, “Lead, kindly light.”

“Lead, kindly light.”  The sunken eyes are closed in death, the tired hands are folded, the heart has ceased to beat, the mute lips are stilled, the weary feet are at rest, a look of ineffable peace rests upon the still face, while all the air is filled with sweet music and the murmur of gentle voices pleading, “Lead, kindly light.”

A FABLE

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In one of the German forests the stood a tree, which could not be classified by any of the learned scientists.  It was not more beautiful than many others, but there were distinctive peculiarities which no other tree possessed.  Her dress was of a sadder hue than that of her companions, and the birds refused to build their nests in her branches.  She was unable to understand the language of her brothers and sisters and so stood alone and unheeded in the dense forest.  One morning she awakened and found standing by her side a companion tree, odd, like herself, and she said in her heart:—­“I shall be no longer alone.  He will understand my language and we shall hold sweet converse.”  But he, in his heart, was saying—­“What strange tree is this?  We two are unlike all our companions.  I like it not.”  But she did not hear the murmur of discontent, and her heart grew glad within her at the great joy that had come to her and she said in her heart:—­“I will cause him to forget that we are unlike our companions; I will sing to him my softest songs and gradually her dress of sombre green assumed a brighter hue, young buds sprang forth, her branches waved softly in the breeze and she wooed the birds by gentle voice to build their nests in her arms, and,

    “In foul weather and in fair,
    Day by day in vaster numbers,
    Flocked the poets of the air.”