The Newtown bee., 1904-06-17

when the eyes are closed to their beauty and their fragrance can bring no grateful smile, and the love that prompts the remembrance can call no crimson to the cheek! The hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes brought af- ter the crucifixion, were beautiful tribute to the dead Master, who had been loved in secret, but the little box of precious ointment broken before he died, was worth more to Christ and meant more to him, than all the spices of the East the afternoon they laid him in the tomb.
 "Why do we wait till ears are deaf
 Before we speak our kindly word, And only utter loving praise
 When not whisper can be heard? "Why do we wait till hands are laid Close-folded, pulseless, ere we place Within them roses, sweet and rare, And lilies in their flawless grace?
 "Why do we wait till eyes are sealed To light and love in deaths deep trance
 Dear wistful eyes-before we bend Above them with impassiOned glance? "Why do we wait till hearts are still To tell them all the love in ours, And give them such late mead of praise,
 And lay above them fragrant fowers?" OH, WHY DO WE DELAY so MUCH, TILL DEATH MAKES IT IMPOSSIBLE? Only by breaking the alabaster vase can the ointment that is in us give out it's rich perfume. But why do we wait till the burial to show our tender love and sympathy? We know it is within us; do we imagine 1t is a weakness to reveal it? Each one of us knows how much 8 word of kind- ness, encouragement, or appreciation means to others sometimes. And we know how little it costs to give it. Why not give it to-day! When to- morrow comes, we may be sorry to learn that so much we took for grant, ed is past; for no matter how prodigal we are with our generous words, how unsparing with our tokens of love and appreciation tomorrow, to-day might be the only time when such words or deeds are needed and helpful, and to- morrow they will be of no avail Who does not pity Carlyle as he hears him cry out of the bitter memory o f the years that his irritability and selfish ness had made so hard for the woman he really loved and worshipped deep down in his strong heart! "Oh, if I could have five minutes with her to assure her that I loved her through all that" Yesterday he could have done 1t, but tomorrow came, and it was too late.
 "Be swift to love your own, your own
 who need you so;
 Say to the speeding hour. "I will not
 let thee go
 Except thou give a blessing" Force
 it to bide and stay,
 Love has no sure tomorrow, it only
 has to-day. Oh, hasten to be kind, before the time shall come
 When you are left behind, in an all- lonely home;
 Before in late contrition, vainlY you weep and pray,
 Love has no sure to morrow, it only has to-day.
 Swifter than sun and shade, move the fleet wings of pain;
 The chance we have today, may never come again.
 Joy is a tickle rover, he brooketh no delay,
 Love has no sure tomorrow, it only has to-day.
 Too late to plead or grieve, too late to kiss or sigh,
 When death has laid his seal on the cold lip and eye;
 Too late our gifts to lavish upon the burial clay, - Love has no sure tomorrow, it only has today" In the course of our lives there MUST BE MANY TIMES WHEN THOUGHT LESS WORDS
 are spoken by us which wound the hearts of others. And there are also many little occasions when the word of cheer is needed from us, times when speech is golden, and we remain silent. A little girl stood at the entrance of an alley, looking down the street with show of expectancy in her bright, young face. It was the hour when the street was full of weary workers returning from the days labor. In a few moments man wearing the garb of day laborer came in sight. h. stantly the little girl came to his side and looked up into his face with lov- ing expression which told how glad she was to see her father coming home. The man glanced at the child, but did not say word. Neither did he take the little hand that evidently had hoped to be placed in his. The alley was the short cut to the home in the