E-text prepared by Al Haines
The golden sunshine, vernal air,
Sweet flowers and fruits, thy love declare;
When forests ripen Thou art there,
Who givest all.
he minister of a fashionable church had noticed Sunday after Sunday alittle old lady with a sad, patient face, dressed in very shabbymourning, sitting in the strangers' pew.
Like Job this good man could say, "The cause that I knew not, I soughtout." He soon learned from the sexton her name and residence, and wassurprised to find her in the very topmost room of a house, amidevidences of real poverty.
In the one little window bloomed a monthly rose and a vigorousheliotrope, and beside the pots lay half-a-dozen books, such as arerarely seen in the homes of the very poor. On the wall hung two fineengravings, and an old fashioned gold watch was suspended from a