entrancing music. Men in the fields
paused in their work to listen and were made glad. People in their
homes and travellers on the highways were thrilled by the marvellous
bell-notes that fell from the chimes.

There are many lives which to those who dwell close beside them seem to
make no music. They pour out their strength in hard toil. They are
shut up in narrow spheres. They dwell amid the noise and clatter of
common task-work. They appear to be only striking wooden hammers on
rattling, noisy keys. There can be nothing pleasing to God in their
life, men would say. They think themselves that they are not of any
use, that no blessing goes out from their life. They never dream that
sweet music is made anywhere in the world by their noisy hammering. As
the bell-chimer in his little tower hears no music from his own ringing
of the bells, so they think of their hard toil as producing nothing but
clatter and clangor; but out over the world where the influence goes
from their work and character, human lives are blessed, and weary ones
hear with gladness sweet, comforting music. Then away off in heaven,
where angels listen for earth's melody, most entrancing strains are
heard.

No doubt it will be seen at the last that many of earth's most
acceptable living sacrifices have been laid on the altar in the
narrowest spheres and in the midst of the hardest conditions. What to
the ears of close listeners is only the noise of painful toil is heard
in heaven as music sweet as angels' song.

The living sacrifice is "acceptable unto God." It ought to be a
wondrous inspiration to know this; that even the lowliest things we do
for Christ are pleasing to him. We ought to be able to do better,
truer work, when we think of his gracious acceptance of it. It is told
of Leonardo da Vinci, that while still a pupil, before his genius burst
into brilliancy, he received a special inspiration in this way: His old
and famous master, because of his growing infirmities of age, felt
obliged to give up his own work, and one day bade Da Vinci finish for
him a picture which he had begun. The young man had such a reverence
for his master's skill that he shrank from the task. The old artist,
however, would not accept any excuse, but persisted in his command,
saying simply, "Do your best."

Da Vinci at last tremblingly seized the brush and kneeling before the
easel prayed: "It is for the sake of my beloved master that I implore
skill a