The speaker ceased, and immediately the air resounded with loud shouts and huzzas.

The struggle for independence came.  Victory ensued.  Peace rested once more upon all the land, But not as before.  It rested upon a free people.  Then, beneath that same tree, gathered a mighty host; and, as oft as came the second month of summer, in the early part of it the people there assembled, and thanked God for the lesson of the old tree.

An old man lay dying.  Around his bedside were his children and his children’s children.

“Remove the curtain,” said he.  “Open the window.  Raise me, and let re see the sun once more.”

They did so.

“See you yonder tree?  Look upon it, and listen.  I was a child once, and I knew and loved an old man; and he knew me and loved me, and he led me aside, placed in my hand a tiny seed, and bade me bury it in the earth, and I did so.  Night came, with its shade and its dew; day, with its sunshine and its showers.  And the seed sprang up,—­but the old man died.  Yet, ere he went, he had taught me the lesson of that seed, which was, that those who go down to the earth like that, will arise, like that, towards heaven.  You are looking upon that tree which my friend planted.  Learn from it the lesson it hath taught me.”

The old man’s task was performed, his life finished, and the morrow’s light lit the pathway of many to his grave.  They stood beneath the shadow of that tree; and deeply sank the truth in every heart as the village pastor began the burial service and read, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT-LAND.

    In the silence of the midnight,
        When the cares of day are o’er,
    In my soul I hear the voices
        Of the loved ones gone before;
    And they, words of comfort whispering,
        Say they’ll watch on every hand,
    And my soul is cheered in hearing
        Voices from the spirit-land. 
    In my wanderings, oft there cometh
        Sudden stillness to my soul;
    When around, above, within it
        Rapturous joys unnumbered roll. 
    Though around me all is tumult,
        Noise and strife on every hand,
    Yet within my soul I list to
        Voices from the spirit-land. 
    Loved ones who have gone before me
        Whisper words of peace and joy;
    Those who long since have departed
        Tell me their divine employ
    Is to watch and guard my footsteps,—­
        O! it is an angel band! 
    And I love, I love to list to
        Voices from the spirit-land.

THE BEACON-LIGHT.

    Dimly burns the beacon-light
    On the mountain top to-night;
    Faint as whisper ever fell,
    Falls the watcher’s cry,—­“All’s well;”
    For the clouds have met on high,
    And the blast sweeps angry