The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1904-04-01

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pressed hse. When y robin. one Of the
| earliest az the season. 1lighted IA a tree
by the open easement and poured forth
his little soul in burst Of melody. AZ
mes involuntarily put her hands to hef
ears. At last she impulsively donned
her wraps and fed from the house.
The home of the Norwoods was well
out on the outskirts of the city. Only
q mile away was beautiful Woodvale
cemetery. Spring had come early. The
snow was nearly gone, and In places the
ground was already quite dry. This
Easter morning south wind blew softly
and the warm sun fingered lovingly on
| the low mounds in the sacred city OF the
dead. It shone with particular bright
ness on one marked by q slender gran.
ito shaft.
Agnes entered the cemetery and walked
rapidly down the avenue that lay nearest
this mound. Leaning her head YEARLY
against its monument, she remained mo-
tionless, with closed eyes and drawn
brows. What though the south wind
caressed so lightly the silent home OF
the sleepers? 1t would pass on to riot
among scenes of gaiety. The sunshine.
too, would soon desert them for some
less lonely spot. Darkness would come
as the darkness that had settled over her
life. How could there be light hearts
and songs and gladness in this sad, sad
world? Life was so pitifully brief. and
death was over all. Yes. life itself was
death. They had tried to tell her that
she would meet her dearest again, but
did they know? No, no, they could not.
And she was young yet. How could she
endure the long life that stretched be-
fore her, the years that must pass be-
fore she could interpret the mystery III
death? Oh, if she might only receive
some message, some least token that
Arthur still lived!
She shifted her eyes for moment
to tho blue sky and then brought them
YEARLY back to earth. Close by the
monument a little pale flower, one OF
springs first hepaticas, had pushed its
frail petals above the ground and was
lifting its tiny head to the sunlight.
Agnes bent over it and ts?derly drew
away the dead grass. How came 1t
there? BY human hand? No. it had
risen from the dead. Risen from the
dead" she repeated softly to herself.
Yes, it had died with the summer. but
only to await earth's resurrection day,
when from the germ of its old dead
self sprang this wondrous new life,
this pure and beautiful thing. She
touched tenderly its petals with 4
strange feeling of awe. 1t seemed to
breathe out message of hope and
trust. a token of Gods own love. It
told her of the new life that begins with
the decay of the old, of Immortality
beyond death. of an eternity when
time shall end. 1t whispered of
faith that is stronger than sight, and
of a God Of love.
Long Agner knelt over the little
blossom that spoke comfort to her soul,
until she had come TO learn that life is
not death, but death is life; that love
lives beyond the grave, for it is eternal.
Her heart was softened at last. Then
came tears like rain-the first that had
wet her lashes since that terrible day.
When, after long time, the passion OF
her sobs had worn away, she rose and
left the cemetery, taking with her the
little flower that had brought her mes
sage from him who, though the doorway
of death, had passed into life.
The morning service in First church
was not yet concluded when little fig
ure clad in black entered softly and
stole into the first vacant pew. The
beautiful Easter lilies at the altar had
a message for at least one soul in the
congregation that morning. From the
pulpit came the closing words of the
sermon: because live, We shall live
also" They are the words of the Son
of God himself, who hath tasted death
for every man. In the face of this d.
vine attestation to the immortality of
the soul, we canont but cry: "Oh, Death,
where is thy sting? o Grave, where is
thy victory"
Upon the hush that followed the min
ister's words came the strains ut the
great organ. which swelled and throhbed
with it's glad message. The congregation
arose and sang. Christ, the Lord. is risen
to-day"
With the last stanZa. voice of Won
derful power and pathos rose arove
the others, and the people turnee to
see fair, sweet face. upon which sBone
the light of a faith triumphant, as Az
mes Norwood sang the words, as she
had never sung before:
made like Him, like Him we rise,
Ours the cross, the grave, the Skies
The Housekeeper.
In Austria and Hungary.
In the Austrian Tyrol Easter pranks,
like our April fool day Jokes, are perpe-