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 wo n't wake her to ask leave . She shows me all her things , and I do n'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 devine 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 .
XXXXX started up , revived the blaze , and crept to the bedside , hoping Beth slept .
Beth Green Guardian Jo lines loseth love night prison-house self-forgetfulness