It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, Beth said the needle was ‘so heavy’, and put it down forever. Talking wearied her, faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh. Ah me!Such heavy days, such long, long nights,such aching hearts and imploring prayers,when those who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear the bitter cry, “Help me, help me!” and to feel that there was no help.A sad eclipse of the serene soul,a sharp struggle of the young life with death,but both were mercifully brief,and then the natural rebellion over,the old peace returned more beautiful than ever.With the wreck of her frail body,Beth’s soul grew strong, and though she said little,those about her felt that she was ready,saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest,and waited with her on the shore,trying to see the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river.
Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said “I feel stronger when you are here.” She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked for anything, and ‘tried not to be a trouble’. All day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then than of any honor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them, charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly.
Often when she woke Jo found Beth reading in her well-worn little book,heard her singing softly,to beguile the sleepless night,or saw her lean her face upon her hands,while slow tears dropped through the transparent fingers,and Jo would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears,feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way,was trying to wean herself from the dear old life,and fit herself for the life to come,by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers,and the music she loved so well.
Seeing this did more for Jo than the wisest sermons,the saintliest hymns,the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter.For with eyes made clear by many tears,and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow,she recognized the beauty of her sister’s life—uneventful,unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which ‘smell sweet,and blossom in the dust’,the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all.
One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table,to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite, Pilgrims’s Progress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in Jo’s hand. The name caught her eye and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallen on it.
“Poor Jo!She’s fast asleep, so I won’t wake her to ask leave.She shows me all her things,and I don’t think she’ll mind if I look at this”,thought Beth, with a glance at her sister,who lay on the rug, with the tongs beside her,ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart.
MY BETH
Sitting patient in the shadow Till the blessed light shall come,A serene and saintly presence Sanctifies our troubled home.Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows Break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn river Where her willing feet now stand.
O my sister, passing from me,Out of human care and strife, Leave me, as a gift,those virtues Which have beautified your life. Dear,bequeath me that great patience Which has power to sustain A cheerful,uncomplaining spirit In its prison-house of pain.
Give me, for I need it sorely, Of that courage,wise and sweet, Which has made the path of duty Green beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature, That with charity divine Can pardon wrong for love’s dear sake—Meek heart, forgive me mine!
Thus our parting daily loseth Something of its bitter pain,And while learning this hard lesson,My great loss becomes my gain.For the touch of grief will render My wild nature more serene,Give to life new aspirations,A new trust in the unseen.
Henceforth, safe across the river,I shall see forever more A beloved,household spirit Waiting for me on the shore.Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,Guardian angels shall become,And the sister gone before me By their hands shall lead me home.
Blurred and blotted,faulty and feeble as the lines were,they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth’s face,for her one regret had been that she had done so little,and this seemed to assure her that her life had not been useless,that her death would not bring the despair she feared.As she sat with the paper folded between her hands,the charred log fell asunder. Jo started up,revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept.
“Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See,I found this and read it. I knew you wouldn’t care.Have I been all that to you, Jo?” she asked, with wistful, humble earnestness.
“_Oh_, Beth, so much, so much!” and Jo’s head went down upon the pillow beside her sister’s.
“Then I don’t feel as if I’d wasted my life.I’m not so good as you make me,but I have tried to do right. And now,when it’s too late to begin even to do better,it’s such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much,and feels as if I’d helped them.”
“More than any one in the world, Beth.I used to think I couldn’t let you go,but I’m learning to feel that I don’t lose you,that you’ll be more to me than ever,and death can’t part us, though it seems to.”
“I know it cannot, and I don’t fear it any longer,for I’m sure I shall be your Beth still,to love and help you more than ever.You must take my place, Jo,and be everything to Father and Mother when I’m gone.They will turn to you, don’t fail them,and if it’s hard to work alone,remember that I don’t forget you,and that you’ll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy.”
“I’ll try, Beth.” and then and there Jo renounced her old ambition,pledged herself to a new and better one,acknowledging the poverty of other desires,and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of love.
So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer,the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early,and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth,who, like a tired but trustful child,clung to the hands that had led her all her life,as Father and Mother guided her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow,and gave her up to God.
Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words,see visions, or depart with beatified countenances,and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the ‘tide went out easily’, and in the dark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh.
With tears and prayers and tender hands,Mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantom full of dread.