back a little truant who had turned his face away from the distant
light, but the angel over the _right shoulder_--wrote it down. Sometimes
she did but soothe an angry feeling or raise a drooping eye-lid, or kiss
away a little grief; but the angel over the right shoulder--_wrote it
down_.

Sometimes, her eye was fixed so intently on that golden horizon, and she
became so eager to make progress thither, that the little ones, missing
her care, did languish or stray. Then it was that the angel over the
_left shoulder_, lifted his golden pen, and made the entry, and followed
her with sorrowful eyes, until he could blot it out. Sometimes she
seemed to advance rapidly, but in her haste the little ones had fallen
back, and it was the sorrowing angel who recorded her progress.
Sometimes so intent was she to gird up her loins and have her lamp
trimmed and burning, that the little children wandered away quite into
forbidden paths, and it was the angel over the _left shoulder_ who
recorded her diligence.

Now the observer as she looked, felt that this was a faithful and true
record, and was to be kept to that journey's end. The strong clasps of
gold on those golden books, also impressed her with the conviction that,
when they were closed, it would only be for a future opening.

Her sympathies were warmly enlisted for the gentle traveller, and with a
beating heart she quickened her steps that she might overtake her. She
wished to tell her of the angels keeping watch above her--to entreat her
to be faithful and patient to the end--for her life's work was all
written down--every item of it--and the _results_ would be known when
those golden books should be unclasped. She wished to beg of her to
think no duty trivial which must be done, for over her right shoulder