LXXXV A THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS ND is there care in Heaven, and is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is, else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts. But O the exceeding grace Of highest God that loves His creatures so, And all His works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels He sends to and fro To serve to wicked man, to serve His wicked foe. How oft do they their silver bowers leave, And all for love, and nothing for reward: O, why should heavenly God to man have such regard? LXXXVI LITTLE CHRISTEL "Be ye doers of the Word, and not hearers only" I. the House of God, GOING home from the t, and the sun overhead, Little Christel so thoughtfully trod, "Even the youngest, humblest child, Something may do to please the Lord." "Now what," thought she, and half sadly smiled, "Can I, so little and poor, afford?" "Never, never a day should pass Without some kindness, kindly shown." Little Christel looked down at the grass Rising like incense before the throne. "Well, a day is before me now, Yet what," thought she, “can I do if I try? Then a lark sprang singing up from the sod, And Christel thought, as he rose to the blue, "Perhaps he will carry my prayer to God, But who would have thought the little lark knew?" II. Now she entered the village street, The child had a windmill that would not move, It puffed with its round red cheeks in vain, One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove, And baby's breath could not stir it again. Poor baby beat the sail, and cried, While no one came from the cottage door; Then babe was pleased, and the little girl III. No thought of herself was in her head, Drooping and faint with the summer heat. She ran to a brook that was flowing by ; She made of her two hands a nice round cup, And washed the roots of the rose-tree high, Till it lifted its languid blossoms up. "O happy brook!" thought little Christel, "You have done some good this summer's day, You have made the flower look fresh and well"; Then she rose, and went on her way. IV. But she saw, as she walked by the side of the brook, "How these stones obstruct my road! Then little Christel, as light as a bird, Put off the shoes from her young white feet; She moves two stones, she comes to the third, The brook already sings, "Thanks to you, O, then she hears the lark in the skies, And thinks, "What is it to God he says?" And she stumbles, and falls, and cannot rise, For the water stifles her downward face. The little brook flows on, as before, The little lark sings with as sweet a sound; The little babe crows at the cottage door; And the red rose blooms, but Christel lies drowned. V. Come in softly, this is the room; Is not that an innocent face? Yes, those flowers give a faint perfume, Think child, of Heaven, and the Lord His grace. Three at the right, and three at the left, The tapers burn. Have cried till their eyes are swollen and red. Who would have thought it when little Christel But the good wise God does all things well, VI. Then a little stream crept into the place, And touched the corpse on its pale round face, Saying, "I am a river of joy from Heaven; Then a rose-branch in through the window came, And colored her cheeks and lips with red; "I remember, and Heaven does the same," Was all that the faithful rose-branch said. |