Beneath that cottage roof so lowly,
Simple in life, in purpose holy,
Ripens a priceless heart ;
Each wound to it a blessing brings,
From darkest hours its sunlight springs,
And dew from every smart.
Maria's conduct during these days had been, the
mirror of a heart given to God. She performed the
household duties that devolved upon her with the same
zeal and the same patience as before. One who had
not known her when cheered by the hope of a bright
future, could never have suspected with what anguish
the young girl, who seemed born with this still, quiet,
nature prayed daily for the victory over herself, and
what strength she needed to fix her in her choice to be
the handmaid of the Lord. God, who cares for the
broken heart, and who will lay no more upon any one
than he can bear, lightened her struggle by the illness
which attacked her mother. And Maria, as if she had
been conscious that this illness was to bring healing to
her wound, gave herself up with such devotion and
self-sacrifice to the care of her mother, that all her
