XXXIII. The White Guard - Page 2

sight to see! He smiled an' murmured o' the days gone. The man o' guilt lay dead--the child of innocence was living. An' he woke, an' again the shadow fell upon him, an' he wept.

"'I have been wandering in the land o' love,' he said.

"'Get thee back, man, get thee back,' said I to him.

"'Alas! how can I?' said he; 'for 'tis only Sleep that opens the door.'

"'Nay, Sleep doth lift the garment o' thy bitterness, but only for an hour,' said I. 'Love, Love shall lift it from thee forever.' An' now, I thank the good God, the smile o' that brief hour is ever on his face. Ye know him well, men. Were I to bid him stand before ye, there's many here would wish to kiss his hand. Even here in the frowning shadow o' these walls he has come into a land o' love, an' when he returns to his people ye shall weep, men, ye shall weep, an' they shall rejoice. O the land o' love! it hath a strong gate. An' the White Guard, he hath the key.

"Remember, men, ye cannot reap unless ye sow. If any would reap the corn, he must plant the corn.

"Have ye stood of a bright summer day to watch the little people o' the field?--those millions that throng the grass an' fly in the sunlight--bird an' bee an' ant an' bug an' butterfly? 'Tis a land flowing with milk an' honey--but hear me, good men, not one o' them may take as much as would fill the mouth of a cricket unless he pays the price.

"One day I saw an ant trying to rob a thistle-blow. Now the law o' the field is that none shall have honey who cannot sow for the flower. While a bee probes he gathers the seed-dust in his hairy jacket, an' away he flies, sowing it far an' wide. Now, an ant is in no-wise able to serve a thistle-blow, but he is ever trying to rob her house. Knowing her danger, she has put around it a wonderful barricade. Down at the root her stem has a thicket o' fuzz an' hair. I watched the little thief, an' he was a long time passing through it. Then he came on a barrier o' horny-edged leaves. Underneath they were covered with thick, webby hairs an' he sank over his head in them an' toiled long; an' lo! when he had passed them there was yet another row o' leaves curving so as to weary an' bewilder him, an' thick set with thorns. Slowly he climbed, coming ever to some dread obstruction. By an' by he stood looking up at the green, round wall o' the palace. Above him were its treasure an' its purple dome. He started upward an' fell suddenly into a moat, full o' sticky gum, an' there perished. Men, 'tis the law o' God: unless ye sow the seed that bears it, ye shall not have the honey o' forgiveness. An' remember the seed o' forgiveness is forgiveness. If any have been hard upon thee, bearing false witness an' robbing thee o' thy freedom an' thy good name, go not hence until ye forgive.

"Ah, then the White Guard shall no longer sit in the tower."

The voice had stopped. There was