Part 12 (1/2)
”'Rest is not quitting the busy career: Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere'?”
”I remember them well, father,” the youth replied; ”but I never felt their meaning until now.”
”And if you sense it now, my son, what is your duty?”
”To return, I suppose.”
”But how--cheerfully or otherwise?”
”Gladly and willingly,” said the son, born from the old to the higher self.
”I will provide you with more means,” remarked his father, while a feeling of joy thrilled his being at the thought that his son was going to give his life to human needs.
They parted on the morrow, though that separation was the nearest approach of their lives; for they were united by a truth which is ever the essence of a divine union. Many years pa.s.sed by. The hair of the father grew whiter, and his ears longed to hear the voices of his sons, yet he would not call, in word or feeling, so long as the busy throng was receiving or giving them life.
One evening, when his thoughts were taking a somewhat pensive turn, a messenger came to his door with a letter from the long-absent and eldest, who had not returned to his home since the day of his departure.
Its words were these:--
”Dear Father,--I cannot come to the home I love so well, nor to your side, while this land is so full of need of human words and deeds.
With your blessing I shall remain here my lifetime; and when age comes on, and I can no longer serve the people, may I return?”
The tears fell over the good man's face. G.o.d had blessed him greatly in bestowing on him so worthy a son; and he penned warm and glowing words of encouragement to his child, and sent by the messenger, with gold to alleviate the wants of the needy.
”Tell him a thousand blessings await him when his work is done,” said he to the messenger as the latter mounted his horse to ride away.
Long after, when the father grew old and helpless, the sons returned laden with rich experiences and abundantly able to care for him.
They had learned the great and valuable lesson that all must learn ere they truly live,--that we must give to receive, sow if we would reap, and lose our life to find it.
XVIII.
THE FEAST.
There was once a husbandman who had laborers in a valley, clearing it of stones and brush, that it might become fit for culture. He resided near, on a fine hill, where he raised rare fruits and flowers of every variety.
The view from the hill-top was extensive and grand beyond description, and it was the kind owner's desire that each day the laborers should ascend and be refreshed by whatever he had to offer them, beside catching the inspiration of the lovely and extensive landscape. Some days he had not much to offer them; at other times, the repast would be sumptuous and most tempting: so those who went each day were sure of receiving in their season the delicious fruits which ripened at different periods.
There had been a succession of days in which there was nothing but dry food on the hill, with none of the luscious fruits which invigorate and refresh; for they had been slow in ripening, and the kind husbandman would not gather them before they were mellow and fit to spread before his laborers.
”_I_ am not going to climb the hill to-day for a few crumbs,” said one dissatisfied toiler, as he sat by the roadside at noon-day, looking very unhappy.
”Nor I!” ”Nor I!” added a second and a third, until there was quite a chorus of the dissatisfied.
The remainder went up as usual. A most tempting repast was before them, of fruits and cake and refres.h.i.+ng wines, while the table was decked with rare and fragrant flowers.
How glad was the good man to spread the bounties before them! for well he knew of the murmurs which had gone out of their hearts for a few days past. ”Are they not all here?” he asked of those who had ascended the hill, while a look of disappointment came over his face.