How few homes are such gates to heaven.  And yet they who expect angels to abide with them, must not forget to entertain the lowly and the erring.  Many have houses decked and garnished, but how rarely do we find on life’s journey, these wayside inns for the weary pilgrims who have wandered away into forbidden paths.

Not alone did Dawn administer to her; her father and mother soothed the dying girl’s pillow, and infused into the otherwise dark and troubled soul, rays of eternal light.

Ye who would have beautiful garlands beyond, must care for the neglected blossoms here, and wash the dust of life’s great highway from their drooping petals.  Ye who would seek life, must lose it; the flowing stream alone is pure and vital.  Lives are selfish that are stagnant, and generate disease and death.

How poor, because destitute of enduring wealth, are those who, rich in worldly goods, neglect their opportunities, and hence know not the blessedness of doing good.  There is no provision in all God’s universe for such pauperism.  Slowly must they, who by their own acts, become its subjects, work themselves from it into the sphere of true life.  Another world will more plainly reveal this, and it will be found that they who value not such opportunities here, will beg for them there.  In that existence will be many, who, forgetful or neglectful of their duty while on earth, must remain in spirit about this world, and through other organisms than their own, do that which they should have done, and could have accomplished far easier, when occupants of their earthly temples.  There is no escape from the law of life, for God is that law, and that law is God.  Happy they who become willing instruments in his hand.

In selfhood, nothing can be done, for life is always in conjunction.  All potent forces are combinations, and egotism ever limits that power which is daily and hourly seeking lodgment in the midst of mankind.  He who trusts only to himself, destroys his own usefulness, and blindly turns away from every source of highest enjoyment.

The sun passed slowly over the western hills, tinging with a beautiful mellowness the clouds along the horizon.  It was a pleasant hour to die, when the earth was still, and weary feet were turning from labor to rest.

“Shall we know each other there?” asked the dying girl of Dawn.

“It is there as here.  We are ever known and loved, for God’s provision for his children extends beyond the vale.”

“And are the sinful, the erring, received into peace and rest?”

“None are without sin; none spotless; peace and rest are for the weary.”

“O, comforting words.  They must be from God,” softly whispered Margaret; she closed her pale blue eyes as though she would shut out everything but that one consoling thought.

When she opened them, they shone with a heavenly radiance, and she reached forth her thin, white hand towards Dawn, who clasped it in her own.  A few short breaths, a single pressure,—­it was Margaret’s last token as she went over the river to find that life and rest which on earth had been denied to her.