And when my fainting heart
  Desponds and murmurs at its adverse fate,
  Then quietly the angel’s bright lips part,
    Murmuring softly, “Wait!”

    “Patience!” she meekly saith—­
  “Thy Father’s mercies never come too late;
  Gird thee with patient strength and trusting faith,
    And firm endurance wait!”

THE GRANDFATHER’S ADVICE.

IT was a golden sunset, which was fondly gazed upon by an old man on whose broad brow the history of seventy winters had been written.  He sat in the wide porch of a large old-fashioned house:  his look was calm and clear, though years had quelled the fire of his eagle glance; his silver hair was borne mildly back, by the south wind of August, and a smile of sweetness played over his features, breathing the music of contentment.  His heart was still fresh, and his mind open to receive an impress of the loveliness of earth.  The dew of love for his fellow-creatures fell upon his aged soul, and pure adoration went up to the Giver of every good from its altar.  He lifted his gaze to the cerulean blue above him, and dwelt upon his future, with a glow of hope upon his heart—­then he turned to the past, and his beaming expression gradually mellowed into pensiveness:  in thought, he travelled through the long vista of years which he had left behind him, and his mental exclamation was,

“There has not been a year of my life since manhood, that I might not have lived to a better purpose.  I might have been more useful and devoted to my race.  I might more fully have sacrificed the idol self, which so often I have knelt to, in worship more heartfelt than I offered the Divinity.  Yet have I laboured to become pure in thy sight, oh, my God! build thy kingdom in my breast!”

A tear trembled in the aged suppliant’s eye, and the calm of holy humility stole over him; the gentle look was again upon his countenance, when a young man of about twenty years, swung open the gate leading to the house, and, approaching, saluted the old man with a cordial grasp of the hand; flinging his cap carelessly down, he took a seat in a rustic chair, and exclaimed with a smile of mingled affection and reverence, which broke over his thoughtful features, making him extremely handsome,

“Well, grandfather, I believe you complete seventy years to-day!”

“Yes, my son, and I have been looking back upon them.  I do not usually dwell upon the past with repining, yet I see much that might have been better.  My years have not always been improved.”

The young man listened respectfully; presently he asked, with sudden interest, “Pray tell me, if there ever was a whole year of your life, so perfectly happy that you would wish to live it all over again?”

“I have been perfectly happy at brief intervals,” was the reply, “yet there is not a year of my long life, that I would choose to have return.  I have been surrounded by many warm friends now gone to their homes in the spirit-world,—­I have loved, and have been loved, and the recollection yet thrills me; still I thank God that I am not to live over those years upon earth.  I have struggled much for truth and goodness, and there has not been one struggle which I would renew, though each has been followed by a deep satisfaction.”