Mrs. S. A. Collins



The Fortune Teller

by Mrs. S. A. Collins

Three little sisters, sat playing one day

      Under the apple-tree shade,

They had all stopped. to listen to the song of a bird,

      And each one then told what it said.

Mary the eldest, was first one to speak.

      She always was happy and gay.

She said, "The bird told my just now in his song

      That all my life would be play.

That sometime I'd live ill a mansion so grand,

      Away in a distant climb;

I would have servants at my command,

      And life would be gayety all of the time."

Then Susie the younger by two or three years,

      Said, "He never sang that song to me.

He told me my life would be flooded with tears

      That nothing but trouble was' waiting for me.

That in my life few days would be happy:

      My lot among strangers would be,

That life would be just an existence,

      With no light, no enjoyment for me."

Then Bessie, the baby among them,

With eyes brimming over with fun,

Said, "The birdie told me to be happy,

      For my life was only begun.

To try to do something ennobling,

      To be kind to the poor by the way,

And with years would come understanding

To' make life one 'grand glorious day."

* * * * *

Mary found as years passed o'er her

      Life was not all a pleasant dream,

But when days were dark and cloudy

      She could see the sun's bright gleam

Piercing through the clouds of sorrow,

      Making everything grow bright.

And today she tells her children

      They must live for truth and right.

Susie was the one among them

      To roam in some distant clime.

She has spent her life inIndia,

      Doing God's work all the time.

And when Mary reads her letters,

      She thinks how different things can be.

While she lives here with her children,

      Susie is across the sea.

Little Bessie, now an angel,

      Happy on the other shore,

Always seemed so kind and thoughtful,

      Tried her best to aid the poor.

But her life was one short lesson,

Learned when she was but a child,

And when young in years she left them

      Little Bessie, meed and mild.

No one can look into the future,

      None can tell us of the morrow;

A life that may look bright to some,

      Looks to others full of sorrow.