"Bits of verse and lines from her daily reading have gone into the
Pleasure Book of this world-wise woman, until its pages are a storehouse
of truth and beauty.[1]

"'Have you found a pleasure for every day?' the Fretful Woman asked.

"'For every day,' the low voice answered; 'I had to make my theory come
true, you know.'"

The Fretful Woman ought to have stopped there, but did not; and she
found that page where it was written--"He died with his hand in mine,
and my name upon his lips." Below were the lines from Lowell:--

"Lone watcher on the mountain height:
It is right precious to behold
The first long surf of climbing light
Flood all the thirsty eat with gold;

"Yet God deems not thine aeried sight
More worthy than our twilight dim,
For meek obedience, too, is light,
And following that is finding Him."

In one of the battles of the Crimea, a cannon-ball struck inside the
fort, crashing through a beautiful garden; but from the ugly chasm there
burst forth a spring of water which is still flowing. And how beautiful
it is, if our strange earthly sorrows become a blessing to others,
through our determination to live and to do for those who need our help.
Life is not given for mourning, but for unselfish service.