A company of gentlemen were engaged, not long ago, in raising funds for the endowment of a college professorship. After having subscribed a thousand dollars among themselves, it was suggested that they should telegraph to a certain very wealthy gentleman who was known to be a strong friend to the college in question, asking him for a subscription. A message was accordingly sent, stating the amount pledged, and requesting a donation. Immediately the answer came back, “Put me down for a cipher.”
It might have been supposed that he had simply given nothing; but the gentlemen at once interpreted his intention, and added a cipher to the sum already subscribed, which at once raised it, as will be seen, from one thousand dollars to ten thousand. The rich man had added a cipher, which standing alone would have been simply nothing, but standing in connection with the numeral and the ciphers already subscribed, amounted to a very large sum.
Is not here a perfect illustration of grace? In the story of the church’s beginning and growth, as written in the Acts of the Apostles, much is said, and said constantly, about addition: “And believers were the more added to the Lord:” “And much people was added unto the Lord,” etc. But what was added? So many men and women of deep piety and great spiritual gifts and eminent holiness? No! the rather so many who had utterly renounced their own righteousness, and thrown away all claim to merit and goodness, and confessed themselves as nothing and having nothing. It is so always in genuine conversion. It is the addition of a cipher to Christ, the joining of an empty soul to him in whom dwells all fullness. And what happens thereby? The same as in the illustration—the soul, which is nothing in itself, shares all the worth and value and righteousness that belongs to Christ, as the cipher takes the value of the numeral which stands at the head of the column of figures.
“Christ is all, and in all.” When the sum of ten thousand dollars had been written, the numeral one, that stood first, was the only figure that had any value in itself. All the rest were so many naughts. And yet that one numeral extended its value to all the other figures, and gave them significance. It was all, and it was in all. Christ Jesus is the only being in the church who has a positive and perfect value in God’s reckoning. Not that others do not exhibit something of righteousness and true holiness in their lives, but the evil so preponderates that they confess it more than neutralizes the good that they do. But blessed be God, the Christ who is all, is also “in all.” He extends his divine value to all who have added themselves to him by faith. He lifts them into a worth and significance of which they were utterly destitute without him. He gives them a standing which can be reckoned in God’s book, who “is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.”
And this is not all—oh, blessed revelation! they are honored to add something to him as well as to receive value from him. The zeros add powerfully to the numeral, as well as take immense value from it. The greatness and worth of Christ are shown in a single expression,—“In him dwelleth all the fullness of the godhead bodily.” But what unthought-of value is assigned to his redeemed and believing church, when it is called “the fullness of Him that filleth all in all.” Such value and importance do they have, who, while nothing in themselves, are joined by faith to Him who is all.—Rev. Dr. A. J. Gordon, in The Watchword.
CHRISTIAN PATIENCE.
By Edward P. Ingersoll
John Calvin has said, “I have not so great a struggle with my vices, great and numerous as they are, as I have with my impatience.”
The Alexander is strong within us. To conquer obstacles and difficulties without, and even curb passions within, is easier than to “rule the spirit” and bridle the tongue. With what pains and patience men study the art of speaking Saxon and French and German and even the classics, that they may give the most delicate light and shade to thought. But the divine art of silence—holding the tongue under neglect or insult, being calm under every pressure of adversity—this surely is greater. Patience measures the character; it perfects it. “But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” Yet what do we see in the large measure of cases? Men living as if passion were strength. They groan and tug away as if there were no God at the helm. They hurry and bustle, rushing hither and thither, as if fire in the glow could make everything peaceful and fruitful. But who has found fussing, fuming, and fretting, elements of strength? What character have they provided? What plans have they perfected? Impatience never made anything better in this world.
“Our cross and trials do but press
The heavier for our bitterness.”
But more than this. When the spirit of impatience has been curbed and harnessed into submission, then we have patience as an aggressive power. That patience which has learned to endure well soon has power to fight well. “Running with patience the race which is set before us” is no anomaly. “The meek shall inherit the earth” because they conquer it. This divine patience, then, is not confined to a holy defense. It possesses the soul, putting the quality of endurance into all our graces, without which they would be worthless. John’s love was enduring love. Paul’s glory in the cross was an enduring glory. They held themselves ready to wait or to go, according as the Spirit bade them; and though it seems to us they were always going, they were wise in their generation, watching with calm judgment for the moment of action. They were like the fabled Argus with his hundred eyes till the occasion was ripe, and then they were like Briareus with his hundred hands. Waiting and speeding were alike to them divine service.261
See this personal patience in our Lord. He conquered evil by enduring evil. He broke the malice of his enemies by his enduring patience. God’s law is broken, and the guards of his majesty torn away and trampled under foot, and lo! he comes forth in human form with a power greater than law, greater than majesty, even the power of his patience. Now we can understand the scripture, “Thy gentleness hath made me great.”
With this truth before us, can we not now see why so many who are very active in religion accomplish so little, while others who are little known accomplish so much? One is converted to the kingdom of works (which generally becomes a kingdom of war); the other to the kingdom of patience. The one comes with warnings, with anathemas, with complaints; he rails at his adversaries; he blows the blasts of scorn upon all who oppose him; he is impetuous, hot, willful in his goodness. Men must follow him or fall before him. Write “Jehu” upon him, not Jesus.
But take the other class, who are converted to patience before they are converted to works. They unlock souls by the glow of Christ, and not by the sharp ax of reproach. They have that charity which “suffereth long and is kind.” No bitter words at your conduct, no malicious construction of what you do, no fretting and impatience, no implacable resentment of supposed injuries: but in them the calm composure of a soul which waits. Before such a spirit a flood of influence will continually roll. The world is to be disarmed only by this abiding patience. “The kingdom and patience of Jesus.” They go together.—Edward P. Ingersoll, D. D., in Christian Weekly.
ACQUAINT THYSELF WITH GOD.
“Acquaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace; thereby good shall come unto thee.” Job 22:21.
Poor friendless wanderer in a world of woe,
Why dost thou seek for peace from aught below?
Relieve from anxious cares thy aching breast,
Acquaint thyself with God, and be at rest.
Hast thou a soul that loves to mount sublime
On wings of fire, and search through every clime
For dazzling forms of beauty and of grace,
Such as the limner’s pencil loves to trace?
Hast thou in nature’s awful temple knelt
A worshiper devout—her grandeur felt
’Mong deserts wild, and valleys dark and deep;
Or where the forest climbs the mountain steep?
And hast thou heard the loud and ceaseless roar
Of ocean’s waves upon her rocky shore?
Hast thou a worshiper of nature been,
And is there still an aching void within—
A thirst for joy, which neither fertile field,
Nor mountains high, nor flowing streams can yield?
Thy labors cease—thy fruitless search give o’er—
Acquaint thyself with God, and sigh no more.
In nature’s works the God of nature see,
And joyful own a present Deity.
His power in every blade of grass is seen;
His hand the meadow clothes in cheerful green;
He paints the lily white—the violet blue;
He gives the evening clouds their varied hue;
His finger marks the path the lightning flies,
When lowering tempests veil our summer skies;
Upon the storm he rides; the thunders loud
Around him roll; the shining heavens are bowed
Beneath his radiant feet; we move and live
In him who did at first our being give.
Praise him, ye clouds; praise him, ye lakes and streams,
Ye hills and fertile fields. Praise him, ye beams
Of day, that scatter wide the shades of night,
And to the watchman’s eye restore the light.
Or hast thou, mortal, worshiped at the shrine
Of fortune, deeming still her power divine?
And hast thou dreamed, that in her hour of strife
Blind chance has sway supreme o’er human life;
That joy and sorrow at her bidding fly,
And weave the fearful web of destiny,
Involving all—the wise, the good, the great,
The vile, the worthless—in one common fate?
Pray, what is chance? A figment of the brain,
A heathen deity, powerless and vain,
Much worshiped once, by the unthinking crowd,
When Greece was of her fame and learning proud;
But now her rites have ceased; her spell is o’er;
And offerings on her altars smoke no more.
Jehovah reigns o’er earth, and sea, and sky;
Each hair is told; nor can a sparrow die
Unnoticed by his bright, all-seeing eye.
Then think not o’er thy life the fates preside;
Worship thy God, and lay thy fears aside.
Thy way to him commit. ’Tis not in man,
That walketh, with unerring eye to scan
The path that he should take. ’Tis God alone
Can guide where sin and shame are both unknown.
His hand can shield thee in the dangerous hour,
When clouds and tempests dark around thee lower.
Nor death, nor hell, with all its hosts, can harm,
If o’er thy head is stretched his powerful arm.
Then place in him thy hope. In him confide,
And safe beneath his shadowy wings abide.
—Selected.
OUR SAVIOUR'S PRAYERS.
By S. F. T.
The inspired record shows that our Saviour's life abounded in prayer to his Heavenly Father.
He is first presented to us at prayer, at the very beginning of his ministerial work: “Being baptized, and praying, the Heaven was opened.” Luke 3:21.
He next appears at prayer in the course of his sermon on the mount, when he first delivered the “Lord's prayer.” Matt. 6:9.
Later in his history, on a different occasion, we find him repeating essentially the same form of prayer. Luke 11:1.
About the beginning of his miracles, after great success, he goes out into a mountain near Capernaum, a great while before day, to pray. Mark 1:35.
When his enemies were powerfully stirred up against him, he spent a whole night in prayer, and the following day called his twelve apostles. Luke 6:12.
At another time his history presents him in the wilderness, praying. Luke 5:16.
Again the scene is Jesus alone, praying. Luke 9:18.
Again, he is surrounded by a great multitude: mothers present their little ones, asking him to put his hands upon them and pray. Matt. 19:13–25.
After feeding the five thousand with the five loaves, we find him withdrawing in the evening to a mountain near the Sea of Galilee, and spending a greater part of the night in prayer. At the fourth watch of the night (about 3 o'clock A. M.), he came to his disciples, walking on the sea. Matt. 14:23–25.
At the grave of Lazarus, deeply sympathizing with the bereaved, we hear him groaning (probably mentally praying), and then making a prayer of thanksgiving. John 11:33, 38, 41, 42.
The next scene of prayer is upon a mountain near the Sea of Galilee, at the time of his transfiguration. “He took Peter and John and James, and went up into a mountain to pray. And as he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered, and his raiment was white and glistering.” Luke 9:28, 29.
Next, a few days before his death, he prays and is answered by an audible voice from Heaven. John 12:17, 28.
The fullest of all his prayers on record, is that one just after he had instituted the supper, and at the close of his sermon. John 17.
Next, the scene is in the dark retired walks of Gethsemane. Alone, at a little distance from Peter and James and John, at the critical period of redemption, with the most urgent entreaty, and yet with submission to the divine will, he prays three times. Matt. 26:39–44.
Last of all, on the cross, he prays for his enemies, “Father, forgive them,” etc., and then prayerfully commends his spirit into the hands of his Father. Luke 23:34, 46.
After the resurrection, on four occasions, we find him pronouncing a blessing upon his disciples. Such was the last act of his life on earth. “He led them out as far as to Bethany, and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them. And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into Heaven.” Luke 24:50, 51.
We may observe that his prayers were often made alone, sometimes where two or three were met together, sometimes in a larger social circle, and sometimes in the great congregation. He prayed when temptations were before him, after great successes, in times of deep trial, and when he was about to accomplish some important work.
As our High Priest, he has now entered into the most holy place, within the true tabernacle, and there “he ever liveth to make intercession for” us.
When he taught that “men ought always to pray,” he was himself practicing what he preached to us, and as he taught so much both by precept and example, and the Bible introduces the subject so many hundreds of times, and under so great a variety of forms, prayer must be a momentous agency in the economy of grace. “Lord, teach us to pray.”—S. F. T., in American Messenger.
THE SEXTON AND THE PRAYER-MEETING.
The minister took especial pains to be on the best terms with the sexton, who is a means of grace—or disgrace—to the church.
Well, they two worked together, talking over the many little items that go to make the church pleasant or otherwise,—such as heat, light, and air, cleanliness and order, paths, and a thousand other little things, which, if carefully attended to, build the church up, though the preaching be very commonplace. People do care for such things as much as for great sermons, and they will go where they can find them.
One Thursday morning the sexton called at the study. It was snowing and blowing. The anxious pastor looked out upon the drifting snow, saying,—
“Now, Bro. Nicols, you’ll see to it early, will you not? Have the sidewalks shoveled off, and make a broad path all the way to the chapel door. Mrs. Thomas says she cannot attend our meetings; she cannot walk through the snow this winter, as she did last. The sexton did not clear away the walks, and she took cold several times. I’ve promised better things this time, if she will only come. Will you not keep my promise?”
“And I will, if I spend all the afternoon digging.”
“And then please be particular always to ring the bell, and ring it at just the time, and so loud that every one will know it is prayer-meeting night. Mrs. Smith says she didn’t come last week, because the bell didn’t ring; she supposed the meeting was postponed for some good reason.”
“You need have no fear about the bell. If Mrs. Smith isn’t chopping mince-meat, or letting her noisy children raise Cain in the kitchen, she will hear the meeting hour.”
“And you will surely make a rousing fire in the furnace, right after dinner, and have the atmosphere of the chapel as agreeable as that in our homes. Deacon Day complains of the cold; he says it isn’t safe for his wife and daughters to come. Then please sweep and dust, and put the hymn-books and everything in the best order. The Worthingtons find fault with the untidiness of the chapel, and stay away on that account, they say. Please also clean the globes of the chandelier, and make clear as crystal.”
“I’ll see to it all, as you wish, and more.” And the good sexton went his way.
The Thursday evening came, and seven o’clock. Just then the bell pealed long and loud above the din of Mrs. Smith’s household hubbub, and she was soon on her way, hymn-book in hand, and her dear boy Arthur by her side.
Mrs. Thomas was surprised to find a broad path all the way to the chapel door.
And when Deacon Day and wife and three daughters took their long-neglected chairs near the minister that evening, they didn’t have to draw their shawls tightly around them, and grind their feet upon the floor to keep them warm, and look at the clock for the meeting to close.
Good old faithful Father Jeremiah declared that he was certainly getting his second sight, the print of the hymns seemed so plain, or the light of the chapel was improving.
When the Worthingtons went home from the meeting that night, Miss Laura began to put the sitting-room to rights; “for somehow things here seem all topsy-turvy since coming from that chapel,” she said. And she wondered why she had always supposed the prayer-meeting must needs be uninviting.
The pastor and his wife sat up till midnight, talking about the meeting. “Did you notice how hard it was for me to close the exercises?—so many wanted to speak. As for Deacon Lee, I didn’t know when he would get through his gratitude to the Lord. How he did praise him for this ‘goodly temple!’ Well, I was just going to pronounce the benediction when Sister Simms called for ‘How Charming is the Place.’ And did you notice, wife, when we got to ‘My willing soul would stay
In such a frame as this,’—
she sung at the top of her voice, ‘Such a place as this?’ And the Worthingtons came to me after the meeting, and said, ‘It was so short; it seemed as if the clock went on the gallop the moment we came in. Why did you close so soon? What if it was after the time? Can’t you have another meeting this week?’”
“I wonder,” put in the wife, “how much our faithful Bro. Nicols had to do with the good meeting. If the people come out next week this way, and seem to enjoy it all so, we ought to set it down that good broad clean paths, and the other things, are a means of grace.”
* They came.—Church and Home.
A PUZZLED TEUTON.
One who does not believe in immersion for baptism was holding a protracted meeting, and one night preached on the subject of baptism. In the course of his discourse he said: “Some believe it is necessary to go down into the water and come up out of the water when they are baptized.” But this he claimed to be fallacy, for the preposition “into” of the Scriptures should be rendered differently, as it does not mean “into” at all times. “Moses” he said, “we are told, went into the mountain, and the Saviour was taken into a high mountain, etc. Now we do not suppose that either went into the mountain, but upon it. So with going into the water: it simply means going down to or near the water, and being baptized in the ordinary way by sprinkling.”
He carried this idea out fully, and in due season and style closed his discourse, when an invitation was given to any who felt disposed to rise and express their thoughts. Quite a number of the brethren arose and said that they were glad they had been present on this occasion, that they were pleased with the sound sermon they had just heard, and felt their souls greatly blessed. Finally a corpulent gentleman of Teutonic extraction, a stranger to all, arose amid a silence that was almost painful.
“Mister Breacher, I ish so glat I vas here to-night, for I has had explained to my mint some tings I never could belief before. We reat, Mr. Breacher, dat Taniel was cast into a ten of lions, and came out alife. Now I never could belief dot, for de wild peasts would shust eat him right off. He was shust close py or near to, and did not get into de ten at all. Oh, I vas so glat I vas here to-night.
“Again ve reat de Hebrew children vas cast into a firish furnace, and dat alwaish looked like a peek story, too, for they could have been burnt right up; put it is very plain to my mint now, for dey vas shust cast close py or near to the firish furnace. Oh, I vas so glat I vas here to-night.
“And den, Mr. Breacher, it ish said dat Jonah vas cast into the sea and into the whalsh pelly. Now I never could belief dot. It always seemed to me to be a peek feesh story, but it ish all blain to my mint now; he vas not taken into the whalsh pelly, but shust shumped on his pack and rode ashore. Oh, I vas so glat I vas here to-night.
“And now, Mr. Breacher, if you will shust explain two more passages of Scripture, I shall be oh! so happy dot I vas here to-night. One of dem is vere it is said de wicked shall be cast into a lake dat purns mit fire and primstone, or shust close by or near to—shust near enough to pe comfortable? Oh, I hope you tells me I shall pe cast shust by a good way off, and I will pe so glad as I vas here to-night. De oder passage is dot von which said, Blessed are dey who do des commandments, dot dey may have a right to de tree of life, and enter in through de gates into de city. Oh, tells me I shall get into de city, and not shust close py or near to—shust near enough to see what I have lost—and I shall pe so glad I vas here to-night.”
Children's Favorite Characters in Pilgrim's Progress
—The question was once asked in a party of children, which character in Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress they liked the best. One replied, “I like Christian;” but another said, “I like Christiana best, because she took the little ones along with her.”
Making Home Our Heaven
—God has called Heaven our home, that he may teach us to make home our Heaven; and any wife and mother who knows not how to do this, needs to seek instruction in the first principles of her life-duty. —Christian Union.
Battle Creek, Mich
By Eliza H. Morton
Pictures.
BY ELIZA H. MORTON.
A tiny babe in mother's arms, A fairy, dimpled form, A helpless infant, sweet and pure, A heart all loving, warm; A little child, with sunny hair And laughing eyes of blue, With sprightly step and happy song And cheeks of rosy hue.
The picture changes—oh, how sad! A darkened room, behold! A little casket silvered o'er, An inmate white and cold; The laughing eyes have lost their light, The little feet are still, The tiny hands are folded now, O God, is this thy will?
The silence of the lonely night, The agony, the tears, The bleeding heart, the wounded life, The gloomy doubts and fears; The May-day song is mournful, low, The life-long chime of love Has broken chords, and rising clouds Obscure the light above.
Another change—and oh, how sweet! All weeping now is o'er; The morn of joy, the “sweet, long calm,” Bright glory evermore. A glad reunion in a land Where love is love for aye, And clouds of sorrow never mar The light of perfect day.
Battle Creek, Mich
“THE NIGHT OF WEEPING.”
By Eliza H. Morton
BY ELIZA H. MORTON.
Youth and old age alike lift streaming eyes to Heaven; for all must know the night of tears. The babe that wept in its mother’s arms becomes a man, strong, yet tender and loving in his strength; suddenly his limbs grow weak, his cheeks turn pale, his eyelids close, and he must be carried as in “days of yore.” Mother’s arms are not strong enough now to lift her darling, and other hands bear him away to a narrow bed. Roses and green boughs cover the resting-place, but it is lonely, oh, so lonely! The sleeper is no longer restless and tearful, but mother’s eyes are dim, her heart is tempest-tossed, and she longs to lie down beside her son, and rise not until the break of day.
Death is the “root of wormwood that embittereth all things below.” The wild, bewitching music of the world’s careless song cannot cheer the spirits of those who mourn. Gilded walls, martial parade, and gay company cannot fill the one place in the heart made vacant by the Destroyer. Beauty, odor, and ointment, pearl, gold, and amaranth, all blended together, cannot still the sad, despairing cry of the sorrowing soul.
As the golden tints that gild the horizon melt and vanish away, so fair forms that brighten earthly homes fade and are seen no more. As the twinkling stars oftentimes leave their places among kindred orbs and disappear in darkness, so the keenest intellects glow for a season, and then are lost to the world.
“Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there?”
Is the life-work of millions for naught? Is the toil of ages lost in oblivion?
Thank God! the “dreamless rest” is not eternal; the bitter wail is not for aye. A sweet, long calm lies hidden in the future. The Infinite Beyond has no graves, no coffins, no tears. In the sorrowless land no voice will whisper, “Hush! be still; for death is on that couch, within these curtains! Tread softly, lest you should disturb the dead!” When the day breaks, the badge of mourning will be exchanged for a robe of white, and the “night of weeping” be lost in the “morning of joy.”
The world was fair in “days of old,” and “will be fairer still in days to come.” A purer sunshine than earth has ever known will settle o’er the land; a clearer atmosphere than man has ever breathed will encircle the globe; a greener verdure than mortal eye has ever seen will cover the plains; and a higher, grander life unfold itself to the children of men.
The “night of weeping” is dreary in its long loneliness; but we are nearing the borders of the sunny land, and soon our “mouths will be filled with laughter,” and our lips break forth in songs of joy and praise.
SUPERINTENDENTS
By D. A. Robinson
BY ELD. D. A. ROBINSON.
The success of a Sabbath-school depends largely on its superintendent. Of course, if the school does not second his efforts, he can do but little, and there are schools that will succeed notwithstanding their superintendent is almost a failure. But generally speaking much depends on him to give character to the school.
A POOR SUPERINTENDENT
Usually comes into school late. His spirits are soured by something that occurred before he came. It is either too hot or too cold; the snow is too deep or the roads are too muddy. He has no disposition to exhibit any cheerfulness, and no time to spend with the little ones. He not unfrequently seats himself with his back to the school in the most awkward position that he can easily take. If any remarks are made by him, it is difficult to tell from whence they come. Review questions are asked in a mechanical kind of a way. The smaller children must not claim any of his time, for he can't bother with them. They are of no consequence, and to spend time with them is to lose it, is his motto. How different is it with a
GOOD SUPERINTENDENT,
who comes into the school with his countenance all aglow, and with words of good cheer for all he meets. At the proper time he arises before the school, and announces something to sing that he has selected beforehand. This causes no delay. He moves about the room in a quiet manner. In his review of the different divisions of the school, he puts an earnestness and vigor into his questions that rivets the attention of all upon what he says. He gives especial attention to the little ones, and plans to have something in the exercises that will be of interest and profit to them. He gives prayerful thought to his work, and puts forth efforts to have it go forward. Every interest of the school has his attention.
All should try to excel in whatsoever position they may be placed. A successful superintendent will reform wrong habits, cultivate good ones, have a special regard for the smaller members of the school; in short, will be determined to make it a perfect success. A most sacred trust is committed to the Sabbath-school workers, and happy will they be who have not proved recreant thereto.
LOVING OUR FRIENDS.
It is wonderful, the exquisite pain we contrive to give to people whom we really love very much. We give it by snarling and snapping, saying sarcastic, biting things, the idlers of the family being often the busiest in this occupation. Now, with the bee, we forgive the sting for the sake of the honey; but who can forgive the wasp? And who could forgive the bee if he stung, not his enemies, but his friends? And that is what some of you do; and, oh! the sting rankles and poisons the lives of people for whom, I verily believe, you would lay down your own life. Yes; you would die for them, but you will not check your ill-temper or your ill-feeling enough to enable you to live with them. “When two conscientious people quarrel, both think themselves right. Hard words, at least, will not mend the matter; one might as well try to mend glass windows by pelting them with stones.”
Will you learn from a child? Two boys were caught in a snow-storm. When they were found, the elder was shivering, having taken off his overcoat to wrap around his younger brother. Will you learn from a heathen? Euclid—a mathematical abstraction to most of us—having offended his brother, the latter cried out in a rage, “Let me die if I am not revenged on you!” to whom Euclid replied, “And let me die if I do not soften you by my kindness, and make you love me as well as ever.”—Selected.
KILLING THEMSELVES WITH WORK.
MANY a husband has said, “Don’t ask my wife to do anything for the church, or the missionary society, or the temperance cause; she has enough to do at home—she is killing herself with work, as it is;” and he tells the truth.
But if the husband would look a little closer into matters, he would find that his wife was killing herself with overwork that was ruining his children, cursing the world, and blighting the church,—that she was sacrificing all to fashion and show.
Month after month, and year after year, the worldly women of the church toil on for the personal adornment of themselves and their children, till heart and flesh fail, and an untimely grave covers them out of our sight. “Martyrs to fashion,” would be the most truthful and fitting epitaph that could be put upon their tombstones.
Many a professedly Christian mother has wrapped her enfeebled infant in embroidered muslin and flannels into which her child’s life-blood had been stitched. In many a professedly Christian home the first lesson a child learns is how to dress in the prevailing style. It leaves its cradle admiring its fine clothes, and suffers hours of torture with curling papers and crimping-pins before it has learned to say, “Now I lay me down to sleep.”
It is not surprising that the tender twig, bent worldward from the very first, should turn from the church to the opera, the theater, and the ball-room. When we look about, we are grieved to find that so few of the young men and women reared in the church are living, working Christians.—Selected.
THE FORMATION OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER.
By F. C. Oviatt
BY F. C. OVIATT.
To be a Christian is to be Christ-like,—to possess character bearing some resemblance to that of our Lord. By studying his life we learn of his character, and by following his example, a similar one may be formed. It is close, self-denying work to follow the example of our Saviour in all the little affairs of life,—to yield cheerfully the better position, to always regard the rights and feelings of others, and to willingly forego one's own convenience and gratification. Before we can attain to this standard, we must realize our own selfishness, and learn to sink out of self into Christ.
The water that freezes drop by drop forms the icicle, which is bright and transparent, or dark and filthy, according as the water is clean or impure. And in very much the same way our characters are forming by the impressions that come to us one by one. If the emotions that we cherish are pure and right, what soul-beauty will be the result! If impure and wrong, what grief and wretchedness! What carefulness is required of us, if we would have a passport through the pearly gates!
Let us not think too much of the sacrifices we make. “The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field.” “For joy thereof!” His heart is so filled with gladness that he never minds the cost. So will it be with the man who has a right idea of the value of Christian character. And what an influence he will have over others; for “there is a preaching of the truth, a proclaiming of the gospel of Christ, besides that which is listened to from the pulpit; and there is an eloquence without words, which enters deep into the soul. It is the preaching and the eloquence of a godly life; for upon this depends, to an extent beyond what we often realize, ‘the glory of God, the honor of his cause, and the salvation of men.’”
As officers and teachers in the Sabbath school, and as parents, we should remember that example tells more than precept on the characters we are helping to form. Will our influence help to make these characters pure and spotless? or by words and acts of ours will they be made vile and unclean? The great Exemplar will soon come. Will he find in us and in our children any resemblance to his own holy character?
Let us keep the true object of the Sabbath-school in view, and make it truly a nursery of the church, where characters may be formed for the courts of Heaven.