It was an hour well spent.  Never have I felt nearer the divine presence, nor more of the joy, the rest that springs from intimate communion with the blessed Saviour.  How strange the revulsion of feeling in a few moments of time.  I had looked with a little of pleasantry upon the quaint figures and novel costumes of the worshippers; now, I saw only the earnest attitude, the anxious gaze, the loving look.  Jesus was all in all, and their love for him beautified their faces.

As we went home many kindly words were interchanged, the pastor seeking out the elderly feeble ones, and Maude speaking with the mothers, and patting the heads of little children, while I found my way to a group of youths, to deepen if possible the impression of the morning.

After dinner there was a repetition of the Bible-class, though now they met at the pastor’s house.  As it was warm and pleasant we seated ourselves in the garden, dividing into three groups.  This class was entirely different from the one of the morning, being made up of those, many of them mothers, who could not leave their children to go out earlier; and with some, this service was the principal one of the day.  The attention was quite as good, and the manner the same.  It was a pleasure to teach, and the sun was throwing his last red beams on the hillside as the last one left the garden.  It had been a long day, but we felt repaid.

“You have had a glimpse of our family and of our work,” said the pastor.  “How do you like it?”

“Is this a specimen of all your Sabbaths?”

“Just the same, with the fluctuating difference of numbers; scattered as our people are, many of them living halfway up the mountains, they are not always able to be here.”

“I agree with Maude that your service is needed here.”

“I knew you would.  There are souls to save here as well as in Basle, and sometimes I think the love of these simple hearts is sweeter to Jesus.”

Far away the mountains were lifting their heads, bathed in the golden glory from the setting sun.  Maude caught the direction of my eyes.

“Perhaps I fear to much the effect upon my own soul; but these grand temple-gates are always open, and from their entrance we seem to catch glimpses of the celestial city beyond, inspiring only good and noble thoughts, with an anxious, earnest endeavor to reach higher resting-places.”

“And you fear this would be less in the noise and din of the city.”

“Not quite that, for the heart that loves Jesus can live and work for him anywhere; but with a free choice I prefer this.”

I felt that she was right, it was the work God had given her to do, and she was willing to do it; while the question returned to me with tenfold force, Are you as willing to labor in the field that He has given to you?  The man with a vineyard places his laborers as he would have them, giving each one according to his capacity, be it more or less.  Our Father has a vineyard; it is the world, and his children are the laborers.  “Go work in my vineyard,” is the command.  The choice is His who placed us there; to work is ours.