Yet the soul was looking forth from its despised tenement, and eagerly essaying to grasp things beyond its reach.
"Could he die agin, Miss Janet ?" asked Lydia.
Poor child! thought Miss Janet, how the soul pinioned and borne down, longs to burst its chains, and to soar through the glorious realms of light and knowledge.

I thought but now that there was no more for me to do here; that tired of the rugged ascent, I stood as it were on the tops of those mountains, gazing in spirit on the celestial city, and still not called to enter in.

Now, I see there is work for me to do.

Thou art a slave, Lydia; yet God has called thee to the freedom of the children that he loves; thou art black, yet will thy soul be washed white in the blood of the Lamb; thou art poor, yet shalt thou be made rich through Him who, when on earth, was poor indeed.

Jesus, forgive me! I murmured that I still was obliged to linger.