l generations."

Her mind swept back to the martyr ages,--to times when the church's
road has been in darkness and in light, and the long train of pilgrims
have gone over it in light and in darkness, each with that staff in his
hand. Faith looked long at those words, seeming to see the great "cloud
of witnesses" pass in procession before her. How true the words were to
Abraham, when he left his home. How true to Daniel when he was thrown
to the lions. How true they were to Stephen when he uttered his dying
cry!--how true to the little child whom she had seen go to be with
Christ for ever!--"In all generations."

The prophets, true to their office, threw the light for ward.--

"He shall be for a sanctuary."

"Although I have cast them far off among the heathen, and although
I have scattered them among the countries, yet will I be to them as a
little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come."

"I will be as the dew unto Israel: he shall grow as the lily, and cast
forth his roots as Lebanon. His branches shall spread, and his beauty
shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon."

The next words gave the whole description, the whole key of entrance.

"Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in
him and he in God. And we have known and believed the love that God
hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God,
and God in him."

Here was the "Sanctuary" on earth,--the foreshewing image of the one on
high.

"I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are
the temple of it."

How far Faith had got from the earthly Thanksgiving day--even to that
finished and everlasting one on high! She had of course read and
studied these passages all before--once; and then she had shut them up
as a particular casket of treasures that she would not grow too
familiar with suddenly, but would keep to enjoy their brightness
another time. Something this Thanksgiving morning had made Faith want
them. She now sat looking at the last words, feeling as if she wanted
nothing.

The wind and the rain still raged without, drowning and merging any
sounds there might be in the road, though truly few animate things were
abroad at that hour in that weather. Mr. Skip had roused himself,
indeed, for his day's pleasure, and after lighting the kitchen fire had
gone forth--leaving it to take care of itself; but when the door closed
after him, Faith and her f