MY DEBT TO THEM. 121 
hours of pain forgotten and of sorrow soothed — 
hours in which, when alone, the soul, winging 
itself from the material things around, has flown up 
on bright thoughts to the blessed world whence 
it came. Who could number these thoughts, or 
count the blessings that have arisen from them ? 
A friend of mine, once walking in Yorkshire, 
during a severe drought, met a labouring man, 
and in passing said, " What a blessing a shower 
would be, my friend." " Ah," said the man in 
reply, " it would let loose a many prisoners." — 
The imprisoned seed, parched and thirsty, waiting 
bound in the fetters of its husk — the million buds 
on every tree, all waiting for the genial shower 
to loose their prison-bonds and set them free. 
What beautiful thoughts the good God must have 
given to this poor labouring man ere he could 
have framed his simple touching speech ! 
Bulwer says that the face of Nature is the only 
face that as we grow old never changes to us. 
Friends grow old, change, and pass away ; but the 
old oak of our youth is the old tree still. The 
