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160 LIVE NOT TO YOURSELF. 
. LIVE NOT TO YOURSELF. 
On the frail little stem in the garden hangs the 
opening rose. ^Go ask why it hangs there. 
" I hang here," says the beautiful flower, " to 
sweeten the air which man breathes, to open my 
beauties, to kindle emotion in his eye, to show 
him the hand of his God, who pencilled each leaf, 
and laid them thus on my bosom. And whether 
you find me here to greet him every morning, or 
whether you find me on the lone mountain side, 
with the bare possibility that he will throw me 
one passing glance, my end is the same. I live 
not. to myself." 
Beside yon highway stands an aged tree, solita- 
ry and alone. You see no living thing near it, 
and you say. Surely that must stand for itself 
alone. " No," says the tree, " God never made 
me for a purpose so small. For more than a hun- 
dred years I have stood here. In summer I have 
spread out my arms and sheltered the panting 
flocks which hastened to my shade. In my bo- 
som I have concealed and protected the brood of 
young birds, as they lay and rocked in their nest ; 
in the storm I have more than once received in 
my body the lightning's bolt, which had else de- 
stroyed the traveller ; the acorns which I have ma- 
tured from year to year have been carried far and 
near, and groves of forest oaks can claim me as 
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