2i8 IN THE GREEN LEAF 



one of our Surrey hills. So bright is it, that 

 we can read the records of the departed on the 

 tombstones. The old tower with its shingled 

 spire glistens in the light that plays and lingers 

 around the quaint porch, touching here and 

 there, until at last a flood of light falls on the 

 flagstones of the porch, silently showing the 

 old oak door, iron-clamped and nail-studded, 

 that guards the entrance to the House of God. 

 There, where old and young alike rest in 

 peace until the dawn of the hereafter, on one 

 stone, full in the light, we read : 



" Come unto Me all ye that are weary, and I will give 

 you rest." 



All the pleasure of living, all the hopes and 

 fears, the disappointments and bitterness of 

 heart, will soon be over. This is a strange 

 life, this life of ours ; for if a man can barely 

 know himself, search himself as he will, it is 

 surely rashness on his part to judge others. 

 The why and the wherefore of things we shall 

 perhaps know when all that is mortal of us rests 

 in peace there under the moonlight. 



Just before the dawning of light all things 



