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her beauty, for before the Sun rises again, all that 
life has fled, and he is denied the happiness of see¬ 
ing his loveliest child. His warmth vivifies her ; 
his beams draw her from the dark earth ; why does 
she not show herself to him ? When you gaze into 
her deep chalice, his very rays seem to be impris¬ 
oned there. Light and motion that vie with the 
brilliancy of his golden sunset skies, dwell below 
and pour their radiance upon the darkness. Yet he 
beholds her not. Can it be that the light is not his ? 
Is there any other source of light ?” 
“ It must be God’s light,” said Mary. 
“ Is God your Sun ?” said the Leaf. 
Mary did not answer, for she was thinking deeply, 
and the Leaf went on. 
“ Look at that Wild Rose-bush by your side. You 
saw it in its early beauty covered with flowers. It 
is now ornamented by the crimson seed-vessel. 
