Think you, when the stars are glinting,
Or the moonlight's shimmering gleam
Paints the water's rippled surface
With a coat of silvered sheen--
Think you then that God, the Painter,
Shows his masterpiece divine?
That he will not hang another
Of such beauty on the line?
Think you, when the air is trembling
With the birds' exultant song,
And the blossoms, mutely fragrant,
Strive the anthem to prolong--
Think you then that their Creator,
At the signal of his word,
Fills the earth with such sweet music
As shall ne'er again be heard?
He will never send a blessing
But have greater ones in store,
And each oft recurring kindness
Is an earnest of still more.
If the earth seems full of glory
As his purposes unfold,
There is still a better country--
And the half has not been told!
"MY HOUSE" AND "OUR HOUSE."
These houses are opposite each other in a beautiful suburban town. "My
house" is large and handsome, with a cupola, and has a rich lawn
before it. It is surrounded by a broad piazza, and graced and shaded
by ancestral elms and huge button-wood trees. Its barns and stables
are large and well-filled; its orchards are gorgeous with fruit, in
the season, and the fields around it seem alive with golden grain that
waves in the wind. Everything about the place tells of long-continued
prosperity. The rich old squire who lives there rides about with fine
horses, and talks a great deal to his neighbors about "my house, my
orchards, and my horses."
His wife is evidently the lady of the region. She was a model
housekeeper and dairywoman in the days when they worked the farm, and
is now an oracle on many questions. She, too, talks of "my house, my
horses, and my estate."
These persons each brought property to the other, and the two
interests have, unfortunately, never flowed together and formed one
estate as they should have done; so there are always two separate
interests in the house.
Of course the property belongs, legally, to both; but as each has a
snug little fund laid away, the question is always to be settled, if
repairs are to be made, or horses or furniture bought, who shall pay
for it.
It seems but proper to the husband that carpets, and sofas, etc.,
shall be bought by his wife; also the cows, as the lady is at the head
of the house. But she says, "You walk on the carpets, sit on the
sofas, and eat the cream and butter just as much as I do, and I see no
reason why you should not, at least, help to pay for them."
Such discussions often occur, but, on the whole, each upholds the
interest of the other against outsiders, and gets along without open
rupture. They ride about in better dress than their neighbors, they
receive and return visits, and are called the leading family in town.
But "my house," as some have named the great square mansion, is
nobody's house but its owners'. No guest who can not return
hospitality in equal style is asked to tarry for a night there. All
ministers sojourning in the place are directed by them to the humble
parsonage for entertainment. Every weary, homeless wanderer is pointed
to the distant almshouse; and a neighbor's horse or cow which has
strayed from its own enclosure, is at once put into the pound by the
squire's man.
If an appeal is made for any benevolent object the squire says, "Go to
my house and ask my wife to give you something." She, in turn, points
the applicant to the field or the orchard, and says, "Go down there
and ask my husband to give you something." So one puts it on the
other, and nothing is given; and neither the town nor the world is the
better for their living.