The Kinsley graphic. [volume] (Kinsley, Kan.) 1890-1940, 1904-04-01

bay window OF the breakfast room Op7
pressed her. When a robin. one Of the
earliest Of the season, alighted in tree
by the open easement and poured forth
his little soul in burst of melody, Ag-
mes inTolunta rily put her hands to her
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
a 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 a south wind blew softly
| and the warm sun fingered lovingly on
the low mounds in the sacred city OF the
dead. 1t shone with particular bright
| ness on one marked by slender graz
| lite shaft.
Agnes entered the cemetery and walked
| rapidly down the avenue that lay nearest
this mound. Leaning her head weariiy
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 he1
| 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 oil
death? Oh, if she might only receive
some message, some least token that
Arthur still lived!
/ She shifted her eyes for moment
to the 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 tenderly drew
away the dead grass. How came ii
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 a
strange feeling of awe. 1t seemed to
breathe out a message of hope and
trust, a token of Gods own love. II
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 q
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 10 learn that life i:
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 a mes,
sage from him who, though the doorwa!
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 an(
stole into the first vacant pew. TIL,
beautiful Easter lilies at the altar hat
message for at least one soul in thu
congregation that morning. From tn,
pulpit came the closing words of thu
sermon: Because live, We shall liv,
also" They are the words of the Sol
of God himself, who hath tasted dealt
for every man. In the face of this Di
vine attestation to the Immortality o
the soul, we canont but cry: ooh, Death
: where is thy sting? o Grave, where i
thy victory?"
Upon the hush that followed the min
/ listers words came the strains of tn
great organ, which swelled and throbbe,
with its glad message. The congregation
: arose and sang, Christ, the Lord, is rise
to-day"
With the last stanZa, a voice of won
derful power and pathos rose abov
the others, and the people turned t
see fair, sweet face, upon which shon
the light of faith triumphant, as Ag
mes Norwood sang the words, as sh
had never sung before:
Made like Him, like Him We rise,
Ours the cross, the grave, the Skies
/ The Housekeeper.