Allegories of Life | Page 5

she's gone, the surer the sign she's reached the mountain
top. It's a long way up there, and a weary journey back. My feet have
trod it often, and I know all the sharp rocks and the tangled branches in
the way. But she will come yet. I hear footsteps not far away."
"But too late, we fear, for your eyes to behold the blossom, should she
bring it."
"Then put it on my grave--but hark! she comes--some one approaches!"
Through the crowd, holding high the spotless flower, came the fair girl,
with torn sandals and weary feet, but with beaming eyes. The old man
raised himself in bed, while she knelt to receive his blessing.
"Fair girl,"--he spoke in those clear tones which the dying ever
use,--"the whiteness of this blossom is only rivaled by the angels'
garments. Its spotless purity enters ever into the soul of him who plucks
it, making it white as their robes. To all who persevere to the mountain
top and pluck this flower, into all does its purity, its essence, enter and
remain forever. For is it not the reward of the toiler, who pauses not till
the summit is gained?"
"Oh! good man, the mountain view was so grand, I fain would have
lingered to gaze; but, longing to lay the blossom in thy hand, I hastened
back."
"Thou shalt behold all the grandeur thy toil has earned thee. Unto those
who climb to the mountain summit, who mind not the sharp rocks and
loose, rough grass beneath their tread,--unto such shall all the views be
given; for they shall some day be lifted in vision, without aid of feet, to
grander heights than their weary limbs have reached."
The old man lay back and died.
They buried him, with the flower on his breast, one day just as the sun
was setting. Ere the winter snows fell, many of the laborers, both men
and women, went up the mountain to its very top, and brought back the
white blossoms to deck his grave.
* * * * *
The summit only has the view, and the white flower of purity grows
upon it. Shall we ascend and gather it? or, like the youth, climb but half

the distance, and cheat our eyes and souls of the view from the height?

III.
THE PILGRIM.
One sultry summer day a youthful pilgrim sat by the roadside, weary
and dispirited, saying, "I cannot see why I was ordered to tarry beside
this hard, unsightly rock, after journeying as many days as I have.
Something better should have been given me to rest upon after walking
so far. If it were only beside some shady tree, I could wait the
appearance of the guide. My lot is hard indeed. I do not see any pilgrim
here. Others are probably resting beneath green trees and by running
brooks. I will look at my directions once more;" and she drew the paper
from her girdle and read slowly these words: "Tarry at the rock, and do
not go on till the guide appears to conduct you to your journey's end."
She folded and replaced the paper with a sigh, while the murmur still
went on: "It's very hard, when beyond I see beautiful green trees,
whose long branches would shelter me from the burning sun. How
thirsty I am, too! My bread is no longer sweet, for want of water. Oh,
that I could search for a spring! I am sure I could find one if permitted
to go on my journey. If the rock was not so hard I could pillow my
head upon it. Ah me! I have been so often told that the guide had great
wisdom, and knew what was good and best for us pilgrims; but this
surely looks very dark."
Here weariness overcame the pilgrim, and involuntarily she laid her
head upon the rock; when, lo! a sudden spring was touched, and the
waters leaped, pure and sparkling, from the hard, unsightly spot. This
was the guide's provision for his pilgrim. It was no longer mystical why
he had ordered her to tarry there.
When she had drank, and the parched throat was cool and the whole
being refreshed, the guide appeared rounding a gentle curve of the road,
and bade her follow him through a dense forest which lay between the
rock and the journey's end. The steps of the pilgrim now were more
firm, for trust was begotten within her, and the light of hope gleamed
on her brow--as it will at last upon us all, when the waters have gushed
from the bare rocks which lie in the pathways of our lives.
At last we shall learn that our Father, the great Guide, leads us where
flow living