Allegories of Life | Page 6

waters, and that he never forsakes us in time of need.

IV.
FAITH.
"Children," said a faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters, "I
have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks,
from you; and as we have no power over conditions,--such as storms,
sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life,--I may be detained
long beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you
will each have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or others
detain me, that you will all trust and wait."
"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his
ears.
With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down the
winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his
children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he
might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his
soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and
dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his
soul to heaven for blessings on his household.
With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days went
down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold and
scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their strong
boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly the
tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows like
snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill.
Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to
gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so
much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely
restless at his long delay.
"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might
delay him?"
"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest."
"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as yet
was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for miles around
us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, let us trust
our father," he added, with a depth of feeling which touched them all;
and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would come and be

again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust of the human
heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passing clouds, nor
stretch forth its hand in darkness.
Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness,--again in
the shadows of distrust.
"He will never return," said one of the group, in sad and sorrowing
tones.
"My father will come," lisped the youngest of them all,--the one on
whom the others looked as but a babe in thought and feeling.
"I am weary with watching," said another, as she went from the
window where she had been looking, for so many days, for the loved
form. "Our father has forgotten us all," she moaned, and bowed her
head and wept.
There was no one to comfort; for all were sad, knowing that naught but
a few crusts remained for their morrow's food--and who would provide
for the coming days? Lights and fuel too were wanting, and winter but
half gone. Even the faith of the eldest had long since departed, and he
too had yielded to distrust.
"My father will come," still whispered the little one, strong in her
child-trust, while the others doubted.
"It's because she's so young, and cannot reason like us," they said
among themselves.
"Perhaps God can speak to her because she is so simple," said one of
the household with whom words were few.
They looked at each other as though a ray of sunlight had flashed
through their dwelling. Something akin to hope began to spring in their
hearts, but died away as the chilling blasts came moaning around them.
Three days passed, while the storm raged and threatened to bury their
home beneath the heavy snows. There was no food now to share
between them. The last crumb had been given the child to soften her
cries of hunger.
"I can stand this no longer," said the eldest, wrapping his garments
around him, and preparing to go forth to find labor and bread for his
brothers and sisters. "Ah, that I should ever have lived to see this
day!"--he murmured--"the day in which we are deserted and forgotten
by our father."
The sound of murmuring within now mingled with the sighing of the

winds without. He stepped to the door; but for an instant the fierce
blasts drove him back--yet but for an instant. "I