HE KNOWETH THE WAY THAT I TAKE.
"I know not—the way is so misty—
The joys or the griefs it shall bring,
What clouds are o'erhanging the future,
What flowers by the roadside shall spring;
But there's One who will journey beside me,
Nor in weal nor in woe will forsake;
And this is my solace and comfort,
'He knoweth the way that I take.'" "I stand where the cross roads are meeting,
And know not the right from the wrong;
No beckoning finger directs me,
No welcome comes to me in song;
But my Guide will soon give me a token,
By wilderness, mountain, or lake;
Whatever the darkness about me,
'He knoweth the way that I take.'" "And I know that the way leadeth homeward
To the land of the pure and the blest,
To the country of ever fair summer,
To the city of peace and of rest;
And there shall be healing for sickness,
And fountains life's fever to slake;
What matters beside I go heavenward—
'He knoweth the way that I take.'" Written in pencil at the foot of the slip was the one word "Mother." For eleven years that sweet message of hope had been waiting to be read by him, and with streaming eyes and choking sobs he threw himself on his knees before God, and thanked him in the truest words of all his life that that far-away, yearning, patient mother had been spared to rejoice in the knowledge that her prayers of years had been answered, and her only son had come into his inheritance at last. That night the subject of that son's discourse was "Our Mothers;" and his text was taken from Prov. 6: 20-22.—The Rest Islander.