"Love is given us to help us onward nearer to God. The most blessed is that which draws us nearest to him. The essence of true love is not its tenderness, but its strength; power of endurance, its purity, its self-renunciation. Never forget, a selfish heart desires love for itself; a Christian heart delights to love without return."
The Gifts of Each Day
By Ralph Waldo Emerson
The days are ever divine. They come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party; but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away.—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
The Opportunity for Good Deeds
By Frederic W. Farrar
REMEMBER that if the opportunities for great deeds should never come, the opportunity for good deeds is renewed for you day by day. The thing for us to long for is the goodness, not the glory.—Frederic W. Farrar.
Rest in God
By Tholuck
THERE is a power in this rest in God of which the men who are rushing along the broad and dusty highway can form no conception. The meadows on which the soul refreshes itself are ever green.—Tholuck.
The Boundary Between Church and World
THERE is a beauty and a safety in preserving a well-defined boundary between the church and the world. It should be visible to which you belong.—Mrs. Gilbert Ann Taylor.
ONE BLOCK AT A TIME.
A VERY old friend of mine, one who hardly ever fails me when I go to him saying, "Can you give me a good, true story?" has just given me the following little anecdote, and as it is a piece of his own bright boyhood, you will read it with interest:—
One day, when I returned home from school, I saw outside our door a large pile of wood blocks. My father was going to build an additional room at the back of the house, adjoining the parlor, and these oak blocks were to form a solid flooring for the new room.
"Will you have to take in those blocks?" asked Ted Hume, one of my school companions. "I call it a shame if you do. My mother says you do too much at home, and that you don't have time for play. She says play means good health."
"Stop that," I cried, for I knew why he spoke as he did. It was Saturday afternoon, and we had a little cricket match on, and I was a bowler. "If I have to do it, I shall not be very long."
"I would not do it," persisted Ted; "your father ought to hire a man."
Something inside me leaped up at this. I saw the pile of blocks getting higher and higher, and by the time Ted had left me, and I was going dejectedly indoors, I felt that I was indeed a very badly-used boy, and how fine a thing it was to be Ted!
As if to rebuke my unworthy thoughts, my gentle mother gave me a bright smile, as I loafed discontentedly into the kitchen.
"Willie, my boy," said she, "the wood has come, so on Monday father will be able to begin the new room."
"I saw it; I couldn't help seeing such an enormous pile as that," I said, with a grunt.
I went and looked out of the window, and appeared to be studying the size of the wood-pile.
"How long do you suppose it will take a man to get in all that, mother?" I asked guilefully. "Will Trounce do it?"
"No; Trounce will not do it, my son," was my mother's reply.
In my heart I knew why. My father had just begun business for himself by starting a chemical factory, and he now needed all his available capital, so that for some time my mother and he had resolved to live as economically as possible, that it might be the better for us all by and by.
Dinner was now ready, and our dear parents took their places at table with grateful thanks to God for his mercies, and with smiles for my two sisters and myself. My mother was so bright.
"I hope, Willie," said she, when she had helped my father, "that you have brought three things to the table with you."
"What are the three things, mother?" asked father.
"Gratitude, hunger, and cheerfulness," said dear mother.
But I made no reply. My head was hung sulkily over my plate, and I would not smile at any of the pleasant and cheerful talk around me. I was half choking over my cheerfully-prepared meal, and no wonder, for I felt, all the time, that I was trying to swallow the pile of wood blocks. My father stood in the entry after dinner. He called me.
"Now, my boy," said he, "make up your mind to get in that wood before I return. You have a long, fine afternoon."
"But, father," I grumbled, "I shall get no play. There's a match on this afternoon at four. What shall I do?"
"I have told you what to do, my son," said father, taking no notice of my objection.
I sought out my mother, hoping to find a weak spot in her.
"Mother," I said, dogging her footsteps, as she went actively about her duties in the house, "why does not father hire a man to get all that wood in? You should hear what Ted Hume's mother thinks; she says it is too much for a boy to do."
Suddenly I saw a flash of pain cloud my mother's dear face; she turned away, but there were tears in her eyes. I knew she never spared herself for us; ashamed, I hurried out of her presence, and stood before the wood pile. I took off my jacket, and went round the side of the house to put it in a little arbor there. On my way I passed mother's room, and, looking in, saw her kneeling, with hands clasped and head bowed.
I rushed out to the pile of blocks, but again the words which Ted Hume had spoken came uppermost. Everything looked black. I began to chip the bark off one of the blocks with my penknife, while I whistled my discontent.
"I wish it would take fire," I said to myself over and over again.
I saw my mother coming, and I began to bustle doing nothing. She spoke:—
"Willie, my son, had you not better begin to stack the wood at once? It will not take you long, then."
"Mother," I cried, "it is such an immense pile. Just think of doing it all this hot afternoon. I shall be forever at it, and then, when it is done, I shall be nearly dead."
My mother smiled sadly at my exaggerations.
"Willie," said she, "come with me and look at the wood; I must not have you 'nearly dead,' and if by three o'clock you have not taken in all the logs, I will finish it."
"That you shall not," I exclaimed, stung by her gentle words. "I don't mind doing it, but how I am to do so is the thing."
This was talking nonsense, as I quite well knew.
"Dear," said mother, taking the first block off, "it cannot hurt you if you carry in one block at a time."
I seized the block she held, and ran with it round the house.
"Only one block at a time," I cried. "The pile will soon grow small, mother; you go in and rest. I never thought of it in that way. I might have had it in by now."
And I ran back and forth with one block at a time, and was so intent on my work, so ashamed of the unworthy thoughts I had fostered, all through Ted Hume's foolish speech, that I forgot to think, until I was carrying in the last block. I heard the chime for a quarter to three o'clock, and I rushed into the house, crying out:—
"Mother, mother, all the wood is in, and I want to know if I can do anything else. I feel as strong and fresh as a lion." I coaxed my arms round her neck. "Mother, how patient you were, and I so naughty and rebellious!"
She drew me to her in an embrace I shall never forget.
"My dear son, my happy son," she said, "you will enjoy your cricket after this; and, remember, it is with such sacrifices God is well pleased."
I do remember. Her words have been with me ever since that day; and often, when work has looked difficult, and there have been obstacles in the way, I have jogged my memory with, "One block at a time, remember; begin at once, and go on to the end."
My life has been one of successful effort, and I owe it to my mother that I am what I am to-day.
What became of Ted Hume? Ah, poor fellow, he made a bad job of his life; enlisted as a common soldier, after several failures, and then deserted!
"One block at a time," and St. Paul's words, "This one thing I do," will help us to surmount the difficulties of life as they meet us, even on the threshold. There are many conflicting duties, calls from both sides, urgings on the right hand and the left, but we children of God have only to see the work he sets before us, and to carry it out patiently, perfectly, "one block at a time."—The Christian.
HOW ONE BOY FACED THE WORLD.
By Frances E. Willard
ABOUT twelve years ago a soldier's widow, with one boy and one girl, lived in Chicago. The boy was less than ten years old, a handsome, dark-eyed, curly-headed young fellow, richly endowed in heart and mind, and having a true, loyal love for his mother. They were very poor, and the boy felt that he ought to work, instead of going to the public school; but his mother was a very intelligent woman, and could not bear to have him do this. He thought a great deal upon the subject, and finally begged a penny from his sister, who was a few years older than himself. With this money he bought one copy of the daily paper at wholesale, and sold it for two cents. He was then careful to pay back the penny he borrowed (make a note of this, boys), and he now had one cent of his own; with it he bought another paper, and sold it for two cents, and so on. He took up his position in front of the Sherman House, opposite the City Hall; this was a favorite place with the newsboys, and they fought the little fellow fiercely, but he stood his ground, won standing room for himself, and went on selling papers.
He became one of the most successful newsboys in the city, and at the age of fourteen had laid up money enough, besides helping his mother, so that he could afford to take a study in stenography and typewriting. He began in a class with two hundred others; when he graduated from the course, only six remained with him. There is something in this to think about. A great many start in490the race, but few hold on to the end. They are like boys chasing a butterfly—pretty flowers along the way attract them, and they hear a bird sing somewhere in the woods, or they stop to skip pebbles in the river; it is only the few that go on—right straight on—who catch the butterfly we call success.
Well, this boy became the best stenographer in Chicago. When he was only eighteen he was president of their society. He then went to a leading college, and took the entire four years' course of preparation in two years, at the same time supporting himself and his mother by his stenographic work for the professors.
He kept up his health by regular outdoor exercise. He never tasted tea, coffee, tobacco, or alcoholic drinks. His food was simple, mostly fish, vegetables, and fruit. He had a good conscience; there was no meanness about him. When he was twenty years of age, he became the private secretary of one of the largest capitalists in America. Of course he had a large salary. He was clear cut in everything he did; there was no slackness in his work. The gentleman who employed him used tobacco and drank wine, but this young private secretary, with quiet dignity, declined both cigars and claret, though offered him by his employer in his most gracious manner. It is to the credit of the great capitalist that when his secretary told him he never used tobacco or liquor, he answered, "I honor you for it, young man."
The name of this remarkable Chicagoan is Jerome Raymond. He is now the private secretary of Bishop Thoburn, and is making a trip around the world, at the same time studying for his degree in the university, being permitted to substitute French and Sanscrit for some other studies that he would have taken if he were here.
He was my stenographer, on and off, for two years, and I think most highly of him. It seemed to me I could not do a greater service than to tell you his simple story.—Frances E. Willard.
THE UNDONE THINGS.
By Margaret E. Sangster
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
That gives you a bit of a heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you did not send, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say,
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle, winning tone,
Which you had no time nor thought for,
With troubles enough of your own,
Those little acts of kindness
So easily out of mind,
Those chances to be angels
Which we poor mortals find,
They come in night and silence,
Each sad, reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging,
And a chill has fallen on faith.
For life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion,
That tarries until too late;
And it isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you a bit of a heartache
At the setting of the sun.
—Selected.
GOOD MOTHERS.
By Mrs. A. E. Barr
BY MRS. A. E. BARR.
THE difference between good and bad mothers is so vast and so far-reaching that it is no exaggeration to say that the good mothers of this generation are building the homes of the next generation, and that the bad mothers are building the prisons, for out of families nations are made, and if the father be the head and the hands of a family, the mother is the heart. No office in the world is so honorable as hers, no priesthood so holy, no influence so sweet and strong and lasting. Unselfish love in the mother, cheerful obedience in the children, in whatever home these forces are constantly operative, that home cannot be a failure. And mother love is not of the right kind, nor of the highest trend, unless it compels this obedience.
The assertion that affectionate firmness and even wholesome chastisement are unnecessary with our advanced civilization is a specious and dangerous one. The children of to-day have as many rudimentary vices as they had in the days of the patriarchs; as a general thing, they are self-willed and inclined to evil from their cradles, greedy without a blush, and ready to lie as soon as they discover the use of language. A good mother does not shut her eyes to these facts; she accepts her child as imperfect, and trains it with never-ceasing love and care for its highest duties. She does not call impudence "smartness," nor insubordination "high spirit," nor selfishness "knowing how to take care of itself," nor lying and dishonesty "sharpness." She knows, if the child is to be father to the man, what kind of a man such a child will make.
How to manage young children, how to strengthen them physically, how best to awaken their intellects, engage their affections, and win their confidence, how to make home the sweetest spot on earth, a place of love, order, and repose, a temple of purity, where innocence is respected, and where no one is permitted to talk of indecent subjects or to read indecent books, these are the duties of a good mother, and her position, if so filled, is one of dignity and grave importance, for it is on the hearthstone she gives the fine, healthy, initial touch to her sons and daughters, that is not effaced through life, and that makes them blessed in their generation.
There is another duty, a very sacred one, which some mothers, however good in all other respects, either thoughtlessly or with mistaken ideas, delegate to others,—the religious training of their children. No Sunday school or no church can do it for them. The child that learns "Our Father" at its mother's knee, that hears from mother's lips the heroic and tender stories of the Bible, has a wellspring of religious faith in his soul that no after life, however hard and fast and destructive, can dry up. It is inconceivable, then, how a mother can permit any other woman to deprive her of an influence over her children nothing can destroy, of a memory in their lives so sweet that, when every other memory is withered and approaching decay, it will still be fresh and green, yes, even to the grave's mouth.—North American Review.
MEXICO AS A MISSION FIELD.
By D. T. Jones
A Sketch of Its History.
BY ELDER D. T. JONES.
THE territory included in the present Republic of Mexico was not discovered by Europeans till the year 1518. Of all the aborigines of the New World, the people of Anahuac, the name by which the country was called by the natives, were farthest advanced in civilization. The whole country, with one exception, was consolidated under one government, ruled by an emperor and his privy council. The empire had a regular system of laws, with courts of justice, and a regular system of revenues. The people built permanent cities, constructed roads, manufactured cloth for clothing, and made many useful articles of gold, silver, stone, wood, and clay. They had a system of writing with hieroglyphics and some phonetic characters, and had many books. They had some knowledge of astronomy. Their year was divided into eighteen months, of twenty days each, to which was added five complementary days, to make up the full solar year. At the end of a cycle of fifty years they added twelve and one-half days, which made their calendar practically correct. The month was divided into weeks of five days each, the last of which was their market day. They had an elaborate religious system, with a regularly ordained priesthood, and their cities and villages were filled with temples and altars. Their system of ethics contained many precepts similar to those of the Christian religion. The cross as a religious emblem was seen in their temples. One of their religious rites was to make an image of one of their gods from the flour or maize mixed with491blood, which, after it was baked and consecrated by the priest, was distributed among the people, and they ate it, with signs of humiliation and sorrow, declaring that it was the flesh of the Deity. They had a form of baptism, which, according to Sahagun, an eyewitness, was accompanied by the following ceremony:—
O my child, take and receive the water of the Lord of the world, which is your life, and is given for the increasing and renewing of the body. It is to wash and to purify. I pray that these heavenly drops may enter into your body and dwell there; that they may destroy and remove from you all the evil and sin which was given you before the beginning of the world.
They had a vivid tradition of the flood, according to which the world was destroyed by deluge, from which only one man and his wife escaped in a boat, which also contained various kinds of animals and birds. After they had been tossed on the waters for some time, they sent out a vulture, but he remained to feed on the bodies of the giants, which were left exposed as the waters subsided; next a humming bird was sent out, which returned with a twig in its mouth.
Near the present city of Puebla stands the ruins of a pyramid, the base of which covers forty-five acres. A popular tradition among the Indians says that this pyramid was built by a family of giants after the flood, who designed to raise it till its top reached the clouds; but the gods were displeased at their presumption, and sent fire from heaven, and compelled them to abandon the enterprise.
There was another tradition current at the time of the discovery of the country by the Spaniards which contributed much to the success of the conquest. According to this, a white man with a long, flowing beard had come across the water from the East, in the distant past, and reigned over the country. He returned across the waters the same way from which he had come, but before going promised that he would return again. The time of his reign was referred to as the golden age of Anahuac, and his return was anxiously awaited. They regarded the white man as a deity, and his return, it was expected, would usher in an age of peace, prosperity, and happiness. When the Spaniards landed on their Eastern coast, many thought that the long-expected white man had returned.
These traditions seem to indicate that the inhabitants of Mexico had at some time in the past been in communication with the inhabitants of the Old World, through which they had become acquainted with some of the leading facts in the history of the human race. But this communication, if it ever existed, had long been broken off, and the traditions had become badly corrupted before the discoveries of the latter part of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries brought them again into communication.
Notwithstanding the moral degeneracy, which had reached its climax in the offering of human sacrifices, there were many moral precepts in their religion which closely resemble the ethics taught by Moses and more fully by Christ. "Marriage," says the historian, "was celebrated with as much formality as in any Christian country." "Adulterers, as among the Jews, were stoned to death." The following comment on the law of chastity is very similar to the teachings of Christ in the sermon on the mount: "He that looketh too curiously on a woman committeth adultery with his eyes." Theft was punished with slavery or death, according to the gravity of the offense. It was a capital crime to remove the established landmarks. Intemperance was punished, in the young with death, in the old, with loss of rank and confiscation of property. The children of slaves were free; no one could be born to slavery.
Such were some of the traditions and moral precepts of the people inhabiting the beautiful plains and rich valleys of Mexico when Cortez, with his bold adventurers, landed upon her shores in 1519, and, planting the cross, took possession of the country in the name of the king and queen of Spain, and with the avowed purpose of establishing the holy Catholic faith. A sanguinary conflict followed. In a little more than two years the whole country was conquered, and, we might add, robbed and destroyed. The dead were left in heaps behind the victorious arms of the Spaniards, and the living were reduced to peonage. The land and the people were divided among the conquerors. Mexico became a Spanish province in 1521 and remained such for just three hundred years.
After the conquest but one thing remained to complete the work the Spaniards had set out to accomplish, and that was the conversion of the people to the Roman Catholic faith. To this work the conquerors now applied themselves as assiduously as they had previously done to the work of conquest. This too was soon accomplished, partly by persuasion, partly by the offer of rewards, partly by force, partly by fear, and partly by subtlety. But with them the means was nothing, the end was everything. Mexico soon became the stronghold of Catholicism in the New World. Thither swarmed priests and higher church dignitaries. Magnificent churches and cathedrals arose on every hand. Clerical orders flourished. Monasteries and convents multiplied, and their inmates increased in wealth, influence, and power.
To better protect the country from heresy, the Spanish Inquisition was transplanted to the shores of New Spain, as the country was then called. The civil rulers were only the tools of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. It was just at the time when the Reformation under Martin Luther began to make its power felt in Europe that the Inquisition fastened its manacles on the people of Mexico, to hold them in perfect submission for more than three hundred years. A large part of the property of the country passed into the hands of the church. Some writers estimate the property so held as being one-third, others estimate it as high as two-thirds, of the property of the whole country. The result was an impoverished country and an ignorant, superstitious, and degraded population. After 330 years of moral darkness and oppression the descendants of the Aztecs arose in their might, and, under the leadership of Benito Juarez, adopted a new constitution, with the strongest guarantees of religious liberty to all, and a series of laws known as the "Laws of Reform" were adopted, of which the following is a brief synopsis:—
The complete separation of Church and State. Congress cannot pass any laws establishing or prohibiting any religion.
The free exercise of religious services.
The State will not give official recognition to any religious festivals, save the sabbath, as a day of rest.
Religious services are to be held only within the place of worship.
Clerical vestments are forbidden in the streets. Religious processions are forbidden.
The use of church bells is restricted to calling the people to religious work.
Pulpit discourses advising disobedience to the law, or injury to anyone, are strictly forbidden.
Gifts of real estate to religious institutions are unlawful, with the sole exception of edifices designed exclusively for the purposes of the institution.
The State does not recognize monastic orders nor permit their establishment.
The association of Sisters of Charity is suppressed in the republic, and Jesuits are expelled and may not return.
Matrimony is a civil contract, and to be duly registered. The religious service may be added.
Cemeteries are under civil inspection, and open for the burial of all classes and creeds.
No one can sign away his liberty by contract or religious vow.
Education in the public schools is free and compulsory.
Soon after the passage of these laws, in 1857, the missionaries entered the country with an open Bible, and what they are doing for the evangelization of the 12,000,000 people who now constitute the population of the country—6,000,000 of whom are of pure Indian blood and 4,000,000 of the remainder are of mixed Indian and Spanish blood—will be told in another article.
CURING BALKY HORSES.
AN officer of the police detail said recently: "When I was a mounted policeman I learned of a most humane and kind method of curing a balky horse. It not only never fails, but it does not give the slightest pain to the animal. When the horse refuses to go, take the front foot at the fetlock and bend the leg at the kneejoint. Hold it thus for three minutes, and let it down, and the horse will go. The only way in which I can account for this effective mastery of the horse is that he can think of only one thing at a time, and, having made up his mind not to go, my theory is that the bending of the leg takes his mind from the original thought.
"There have been some barbarously cruel methods resorted to to make a balky horse go its way, such as filling the mouth with sand, severely beating the horse, or, as in one recent case, cutting out his tongue. The Humane Societies would have their hands full to care for all these cruelties to animals. If they only knew, the owners of horses would adopt my treatment, and there would be no trouble with the erstwhile troublesome balky horse."—Selected.
IT MAKES A DIFFERENCE.
A WRITER in the Philadelphia Press tells a funny story of an old lady who was recently riding on a railway in the vicinity of the City of Brotherly Love. The train had reached the Bryn-Mawr station, and the brakeman poked his head through the door and cried out, "Bryn-Mawr! Bryn-Mawr!"
"What's that he said?" asked the old lady of the person sitting next to her.
"Bryn-Mawr," replied the other. "This is Bryn-Mawr."
The old lady chuckled, and then she said: "I'm from Pennsylvania myself, but I do think you have the funniest sounding names down in the suburbs of Philadelphia that I ever heard. Bryn-Mawr, hee, hee, hee!"
"And where may your home be?" queried the neighbor, his curiosity aroused by the old lady's amusement.
"Oh, I live at Tiddyoot!" said the old lady gravely.—Boston Traveler.
ALL KNOWN TO THEE.
My God, whose gracious pity I may claim,
Calling thee Father—sweet, endearing name—
The sufferings of this weak and weary frame
All, all are known to thee.
From human eye 'tis better to conceal
Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel;
But, oh! this thought does tranquilize and heal,
All, all is known to thee.
Each secret conflict with indwelling sin,
Each sickening fear I ne'er the prize shall win,
Each pang from irritation, turmoil, din,
All, all is known to thee.
When, in the morning, unrefreshed I wake,
Or in the night but little sleep I take,
This brief appeal submissively I make,
All, all is known to thee.
Nay, all by thee is ordered, chosen, planned,
Each drop that fills my aching cup; thy hand
Prescribes for ills none else can understand—
All, all is known to thee.
The effectual means to hate what I deplore,
In me thy longed-for likeness to restore,
Self to dethrone, never to govern more,
All, all is known to thee.
All this continual feebleness—this state
Which seemeth to unnerve and incapacitate—
Will work the cure my hopes and fears await.
That can I leave to thee.
And welcome precious can thy Spirit make
My little drop of suffering for thy sake.
Father, the cup I drink, the path I take,
All, all is known to thee.
—Selected.
THE POOR IN THE “SUNNY SOUTH.”
A TEACHER of a mission school in one of the Southern States, writing to the American Missionary, presents this pathetic picture:—
“I am sure you never saw anyone clothed as some of these people are. One man came for trousers whose garment answering to that name seemed made up entirely of patches not larger than my hand and of every conceivable color and texture, while in the midst of these were several openings and corners fluttering loosely in the breeze. And there were no trousers for him, poor fellow! Then a girl came for shoes whose feet were encased in mere fragments of leather, held together in places by safety pins, while a shoulder cape partly covered a waist that nowhere met in front, and she seemed to be wearing nothing but skin under that. These will represent the far too common class of improvident poor. But there is another class who appeal quite as strongly to our sympathies, even if they do not appear in such desperate circumstances; these are the families where the father can earn but a dollar a day, which the mother tries to piece out by taking in washing, in addition to the care of her house and several small children. With the most careful economy, the children’s shoes and jackets will not hold together till the savings have amounted to enough to buy a full new suit, but the money invested in the best of second-hand stock renders the child neat and comfortable from head to foot.”
THE LAW OF GOD
By Editor
As Changed by the Papacy.
HERE we have arranged the papal assumptions and admissions side by side with the law of God. These selections are all taken from works of acknowledged authority among the Catholics, and are therefore valuable for reference. Price of cloth, $1.00; paper, 5½x8½ in., per 100, 50c. Address Pacific Press Publishing Co., Oakland, Cal., or 43 Bond St., New York City, or 18 West 5th St., Kansas City, Mo.
Christ Is My Sumatanga
'Christ is my Sumatanga.' So said a native Christian in India, expressing in his own way the comfort he found in the Saviour. In some parts of India there are provided along the road resting places for those who carry heavy loads on their heads. These places have a high shelf, upon which the man can easily shift off the heavy burden that he is carrying. Then beneath there is a shaded seat, where he can sit down and rest. It was with reference to one of these rests the native Christian expressed his faith in the words, 'Christ is my Sumatanga.'
English Opium the Curse of China
"Tell the people of great heroes [Britain] that their black dirt ruins our nation, spoils our homes, breaks our hearts." So said a Chinese wife as she pressed her cheek, wet with tears, against that of a missionary lady to whom she had confided the story of the destruction of her happy home since her husband had become an opium smoker. Whatever conflicting testimony there may be as to the use of opium in India, there is but one voice as to the desolation it is causing in China.
Missionary Herald.
TEMPORAL SUBSTANCE A TEST OF FAITH.
By Ellen G. White
God has intrusted men with means, to prove them, to see if they are willing to acknowledge him in his gifts, and use them to advance his glory upon the earth. The earth is the Lord’s, and all the treasures it contains. The cattle upon a thousand hills are his. All the gold and silver belong to him. He has intrusted his treasures to stewards, that with them they may advance his cause and glorify his name. He did not intrust these treasures to men that they might use them to exalt and glorify themselves, and have power to oppress those who were poor in this world’s treasure. God does not receive the offerings of any because he needs them, and cannot have glory and riches without them, but because it is for the interest of his servants to render to God the things which are his. The freewill offerings of the humble, contrite heart he will receive, and will reward the giver with the richest blessings. He receives them as the sacrifice of grateful obedience. He requires and accepts our gold and silver as an evidence that all we have and are belongs to him. He claims and accepts the improvement of our time and of our talents, as the fruits of his love existing in our hearts. To obey is better than sacrifice. Without pure love, the most expensive offering is too poor for God to accept.
Many have their hearts so fixed upon their earthly treasure that they do not discern the advantage of laying up for themselves treasures in heaven. They do not realize that their freewill offerings to God are not enriching him, but themselves. Christ counsels us to lay up treasures in heaven. For whom? For God, that he may be enriched?—Oh, no! The treasures of the entire world are his, and the indescribable glory and priceless treasures of heaven are all his own, to give to whom he will. “Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” Men, whom God has made stewards, are so infatuated by the riches of this world that they do not discern that by their selfishness and covetousness they are not only robbing the Lord in tithes and offerings, but robbing themselves of eternal riches. They could be daily adding to their heavenly treasure by doing the very work that the Lord has left them to do, and which he has intrusted them with means to carry out. The Master would have them watch for opportunities to do good, and, while they live, apply their means themselves to aid in the salvation of their fellow-men, and in the advancement of his cause in its various branches. In so doing they only do that which God requires of them; they render to God the things that are his.
Many willingly close their eyes and hearts, lest they should see and feel the wants of the Lord’s cause, and by helping in its advancement should lessen their increase by detracting from the interest or the principal. Some feel that what they give to advance the cause of God is really lost. They consider so many dollars gone, and feel dissatisfied unless they can immediately replace them, so that their earthly treasure may not decrease. They exercise closeness and even sharpness in dealing with their brethren, and also with worldlings. They do not scruple to overreach in deal, in order to advantage themselves and gain a few dollars.
Some, fearing they will suffer loss of earthly treasure, neglect prayer and the assembling of themselves together for the worship of God, that they may have more time to devote to their farms or their business. They show by their works which world they place the highest estimate upon. They sacrifice religious privileges, which are essential to their spiritual advancement, for the things of this life, and fail to obtain a knowledge of the divine will. They come short of perfecting Christian character, and do not meet the measurement of God. They make their temporal, worldly interests first, and rob God of the time which they should devote to his service. Such persons God marks, and they will receive a curse rather than a blessing. Some place their means beyond their control by putting it into the hands of their children. Their secret motive is to place themselves in a position where they will not feel responsible to give of their property to spread the truth. These love in word, but not in deed and in truth. They do not realize that it is the Lord’s money they are handling, not their own.—Testimony for the Church.