The light is all behind, the dark is all
before," a little rosy finger pointed where the sunlight lay upon the hill-
sides. Always its large eyes were sad and thoughtful: always the little
brave mouth was smiling quietly.
When on the sharp stones Life cut her feet, he wiped the blood upon his
garments, and kissed the wounded feet with his little lips. When in the
desert Love lay down faint (for Love itself grows faint), he ran over the
hot sand with his little naked feet, and even there in the desert found
water in the holes in the rocks to moisten Love's lips with. He was no
burden--he never weighted them; he only helped them forward on their
journey.
When they came to the dark ravine where the icicles hang from the rocks--
for Love and Life must pass through strange drear places--there, where all
is cold, and the snow lies thick, he took their freezing hands and held
them against his beating little heart, and warmed them--and softly he drew
them on and on.
And when they came beyond, into the land of sunshine and flowers, strangely
the great eyes lit up, and dimples broke out upon the face. Brightly
laughing, it ran over the soft grass; gathered honey from the hollow tree;
and brought it them on the palm of its hand; carried them water in the
leaves of the lily, and gathered flowers and wreathed them round their
heads, softly laughing all the while. He touched them as their Joy had
touched them, but his fingers clung more tenderly.
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