"'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: He guideth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: {290} Thou hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: And I will dwell in the House of the Lord for ever.'"

"Mamma," said Harold, "sheep don't eat at tables, or have cups."

"No," said mamma, smiling, "that shows us that, after all, this psalm is about a man, and not about a sheep. It means that when troubles and dangers are all about us G.o.d still gives all that we need. Sometime that will mean a great deal more to you than it does now."

"I don't understand," said Margaret, "about anointing the head with oil, and dwelling in the house of the Lord."

"In the Bible land," said mamma, "when a man wished to honor a guest whom he had invited to a feast, he poured out a little sweet-smelling oil upon his head. The psalm means that G.o.d makes his people, even when they are in the midst of danger, feel as happy as though they were honored guests at a feast. To dwell in the house of the Lord forever means that we are to feel always perfectly secure, as though we were living in G.o.d's own house, where nothing could ever harm us."

Harold thought a moment, and then he said, "I think that I know what all the stories about sheep in the Bible mean. They mean that people are like sheep, and they can't take care of themselves, but that G.o.d loves them very much, and that he will always take care of them."

"Yes, that is just it," said mamma, "and now! as it is {291} growing dark, let us sing that song which is the twenty-third psalm put into different words."

"The Lord is my shepherd; no want shall I know; I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest; He leadeth my soul where the still waters flow, Restores me when wandering, redeems when oppressed.

"Through the valley and shadow of death though I stray, Since Thou art my guardian, no evil I fear; Thy rod shall defend me, Thy staff be my stay; No harm can befall, with my Comforter near.

"In the midst of affliction my table is spread; With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er; With perfume and oil Thou anointest my head; O what shall I ask of Thy providence more?

"Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful G.o.d, Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above; I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod Through the land of their sojourn, Thy kingdom of love."

{292}

LITTLE BROTHERS OF THE AIR AND FIELDS

Margaret and Harold had learned to be kind to animals. They belonged to a "Band of Mercy," a company of boys and girls who were pledged never to be unkind to any dumb creature, and to rescue any poor beast who might be in distress or suffering cruel treatment. They had many chances to help poor dogs and cats which were being persecuted by cruel boys. One day they came home from school and told about a poor little kitten which they had protected when it was almost dead from fright. "That was very kind," said mamma, "and to-night I will read you some stories and poems about kindness to animals which I have been saving. Margaret and Harold played with their dog Sport and their big cat Spot until supper time. After supper they were ready for the stories and poems.

"Once upon a time," said mamma, "there lived a very good man who came to be known as St. Francis of a.s.sisi. He was very kind to all birds and animals. He called the birds 'little brothers of the air' and the animals 'little brothers of the field and woods.' These stories are told about him:--

"'Once, full of joy, he was going on his way when, perceiving some flocks of birds, he turned aside a little from the road to go to them.

Far from taking flight, they flocked around him as if to bid him welcome.

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{295}

"Brother birds," he said to them, "you ought to praise and love your Creator very much. He has given you feathers for clothing, wings for flying, and all that is needful for you. He has made you the n.o.blest of his creatures; he permits you to live in the pure air; you have neither to sow nor to reap, and yet he takes care of you, watches over you and guides you." Then the birds began to arch their necks, to spread out their wings, to open their beaks, to look at him, as if to thank him, while he went up and down in their midst stroking them with the border of his tunic, sending them away at last with his blessing.'

"'In this same tour, pa.s.sing through Alviano, he began to preach to the people, but the swallows so filled the air with their chirping that he could not make himself heard. "It is my turn to speak," he said to them; "little swallow sisters, hearken to the word of G.o.d; keep silent and be very quiet until I have finished.'"

"'At Rieti a family of redb.r.e.a.s.t.s were the guests of the monastery, and the young birds made marauding expeditions on the very table where the Brothers were eating. Not far from there, at Greccio, at another time, they brought to Francis a little rabbit that had been taken alive in a trap. "Come to me, Brother Rabbit," he said to it. And as the poor creature, being set free, ran to him for refuge, he took it up, caressed it, and finally put it on the ground that it might run away; but it returned to him again and again, so that he was obliged to send it to the neighboring forest before it would consent to return to freedom.'

{296}

"'One day he was crossing the Lake of Rieti. The boatman in whose bark he was making the pa.s.sage offered him a fish of uncommon size. Francis accepted it with joy, but, to the great amazement of the fisherman, put it back into the water, bidding it bless G.o.d.'

"Here is a story which I once read about a very good and distinguished man who tells how he learned when he was a boy not to kill even the smallest animal needlessly.

"'I saw one day a little spotted turtle sunning itself in the shallow water, and I lifted the stick in my hand to kill it, for, though I had never killed any creature, I had seen other boys kill birds, squirrels, and the like, and I had a disposition to follow their wicked example; but all at once something checked my little arm, and a voice within me said, clear and loud, "It is wrong," and so I held my uplifted stick until the turtle vanished from my sight. Then I went home and told my mother, and asked her what it was that told me it was wrong. She wiped a tear from her eye, and took me in her arms, and said: "Some call it conscience, but I call it the voice of G.o.d in the human soul. If you listen to it and obey it, then it will speak clearer and clearer, and always guide you right. But if you do not listen to it, or disobey it, then it will fade out, little by little, and leave you in the dark without a guide. Your life, my child, depends on heeding that little voice."'

"And here are some poems which teach us to be gentle and kind to the dumb animals who depend upon us for life and look to us for mercy. The poet Cowper says:--

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BOY AND DOG By Blume [End ill.u.s.tration]

{299}

"'I would not enter on my list of friends, Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility, the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.'

"Coleridge in a great poem, 'The Ancient Mariner,'

which I will read to you when you are a little older, says:--

"'He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

"'He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us, He made and loveth all.'

"And here are two verses whose author I do not know:--

"'Maker of earth, and sea, and sky, Creation's Sovereign Lord and King; Who hung the starry worlds on high And formed alike the sparrow's wing: Bless the dumb creatures of Thy care, And listen to their voiceless prayer.

"'All-Father! who on Mercy's throne Hear'st Thy dumb creatures' faintest moan,-- Thy love be ours, and ours shall be Returned in deeds to these and Thee.'

"There is a poem by John Ruskin which speaks of that good time coming when cruelty shall cease and terrible wars shall be no more."

{300}

A SONG OF PEACE.

"'Put off, put off your mail, ye kings, and beat your brands to dust; A surer grasp your hands must know, your hearts a better trust.

Nay, bend aback the lance's point, and break the helmet bar, A noise is in the morning winds, but not the note of war!

"'Among the gra.s.sy mountain paths the glittering troops increase; They come! they come! how fair their feet--they come that publish peace.

Yea, Victory, fair Victory, our enemies are ours, And all the clouds are clasped in light, and all the earth with flowers.