God of the Heart and Hand,
Teach me to understand!
I have forgotten in the long, long years
All of my little childish hopes and fears;
It is so very, very long ago
Since I was in the world the children know,
I have forgotten what I used to play
And dream and do in that far yesterday,—
All the wide wonder of my childish eyes
Since I have grown so old and worldly wise.
Yet now there come, with faces raised to mine,
These little ones. Dear Father, they are thine.
Teach me to lead them to thine own pure light;
Help me to guide their little feet aright.
God of the Heart and Hand,
Teach me to understand!
I know so little of the thought that lies
Back of the shining of those childish eyes;
I guess so little of the wonder there
Under the curling of the sunny hair;
It is so very, very long ago
Since I, too, knew the things that children know,
Yet hast thou given them to me to lead.
Out of thy wisdom grant me all I need,—
Patience of purpose, faith, and tenderness,
Trusting thy perfect love to lead and bless,
Help me remember,—ah! for this I pray,
Make me again the child of yesterday.
God of the Heart and Hand,
Teach me to understand!
—Marion B. Craig.
The Stream That is Never Crossed
THERE'S many a sorrow and pain, I know,
As we tread the path of life;
There's many a grief and lasting woe,
And the way is toil and strife;
But the hardest load we have to bear
Is the labor and strength that's lost
In building the bridge with toilsome care
O'er the stream that is never crossed.
We have fretting and worry from morn till
night,
And anguish weighs on the heart;
The thorny way seems hard to right,
And life is a bitter part.
But there is a burden greater yet,
Much peace of soul it has cost:
It is building a bridge with toil and sweat
O'er the stream that is never crossed.
There's looking for crossings all the day,
And searching along the shore
For a bridge or ford along the way
We shall never travel o'er.
There's sighing for useless toys in vain,
And dreaming of chances lost;
But ’tis hardest to bridge with might and
main
The stream that is never crossed.
Then gather the roses along the way,
And treasure the fragrance rare;
Rejoice in the bright and joyous day,
Refusing to borrow care.
For sorrow and pain will surely come,
And your soul be tried and tossed;
But don't be bridging to reach your home
O'er the stream that is never crossed.
— Selected.
G. F. JONES
By G. F. JONES
Pioneering Experiences in the Solomon Islands — No. 1
G. F. JONES
NEARLY two years ago the Australasian Union Conference sent us to begin work in the Solomon Islands, known as unexplored lands, the home of fighting savages and head-hunting tribes. Some people looked upon it as a romantic and exciting trip, and so it truly was. But to us it meant much responsibility and care, and some anxiety as to where we should begin, and how. There was no town or anything like one anywhere in the group. So to settle down somewhere and rent a house, or hire a room, or stay at a hotel while looking around, was not to be thought of, for not even a shed could we find in which to unpack our boxes.
There was, however, one store at the place where we were landed by the steamer, and a government resident, who lived one and one-half miles away; but not even a spare box room for us. Strange to say, there were no natives living anywhere on the part of the island where we had landed. We felt very homeless, and almost wished that we had been set down in a village of naked savages, for we had resigned ourselves to any and every kind of experience. But we were not at all discouraged. We were in the Solomon Islands for all there was for us, and the word of God's promise spoke with cheer, hope, and confidence: “Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations: spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes; for thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left. . . . Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed; neither be thou confounded; for thou shalt not be put to shame.” Isa. 54: 2-4.
“God's people are not to cease their labors until they shall encircle the world. . . . New territories are to be worked by men inspired by the Holy Spirit. . . . The light is to shine to all lands and all peoples. . . . A crisis is right upon us.”
After all, we were not without a home, for on the steamer's deck was a boat, thirty-two feet long, decked over, and with a motor engine. Then there was in the steamer's hold a portable house about eighteen feet long, containing two rooms nine feet square, with walls eight feet high,—a tiny house, but what a luxury as compared with no place at all! and how we wished we could put it up somewhere soon! With great care and some anxiety the officers of the steamer hoisted our boat over the steamer's side. It weighed eight and one-half tons. They were glad to get rid of their burdensome cargo, and bundled everything into the boat—our boxes and all. They then pushed us off to drift where we liked. We threw over the small anchor, and the boat was brought to a standstill.
We dared not think of the morrow. It was only one day at a time, and that day was Friday. It was a beautiful, bright, calm day. The masts must be stepped, the rigging set up, and there were sails to bend, boxes and bundles and cases to be stowed away somehow, for “the Sabbath drew on.” In a few hours the steamer, which had been our home for two weeks, took its departure, and we were left alone in our small floating home. The cabin was filled with boxes and bundles. The deck was the same, and there seemed no room anywhere to rest or to put things away. It reminded us of that verse in Isaiah, “The bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it; and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it.”
We are both short people, but the cabin was so low that we bumped our heads when we stood up. Things might have been much worse though, and we were quite happy that we did have some kind of home in such a strange place. We slept that night like “the babes in the wood,” and woke up on Sabbath morning with no food prepared for the Sabbath, for we could not get at anything; but a kind lady, in seeing us off on the steamer at Sydney, had put in our hands a tin of asparagus and a tin of biscuits. So the Lord had thought of us beforehand on that first Sabbath day in the Solomon Islands, and we had a royal feast of asparagus and biscuits for breakfast, for dinner, and for supper.
We reached the Solomon Islands just in time to witness the breaking of the northwest monsoons for the season. That very day brought the wildest storm, with lightning and thunder and rain, such as only the tropics can produce. Our little vessel, being quite new and its timbers not yet water soaked, leaked like a basket, and of course everything in it got wet through and through. Our nice American trunks were curled up through the rain, while our new white clothes at the bottom were all wet and mildewed. I said to my wife, “No more nice American trunks for me; for they are too clumsy for two little people like us.” So we decided to have fewer bundles and smaller trunks in the future, and a few more blue dungaree suits and fewer white ones.
The dark, gloomy, wet, windy weather lasted for several days, and it seemed as if the sun would never shine again. But through it all we kept cheerful, for that word, “Thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left. . . . Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed,” shone through those gloomy days brighter than the sun, and we saw only visions of mission stations, and schools, and converts, and workers, and prosperity, and progress.
Marovo Lagoon.
Experiences in Basutoland
By E. C. SILSBEE
E. C. SILSBEE
FOR many years the little church here has held its services in a small hut-like building thatched with grass, the mission school being held in the same building.
While we were absent from Kolo, attending the recent camp meeting at Durban, a revengeful heathen set fire to the grass roof, and it was destroyed, with the door and windows, and the few pieces of furniture inside. But now we rejoice that through denying ourselves and by practicing the strictest economy, we have the promise of a new and substantial church building, of hewn stone and with corrugated iron roof.
A few days ago we enjoyed a special service, when four candidates followed their Lord in baptism, after which we celebrated the ordinances of the Lord’s house.
It means much in this land for the native to leave all and follow Christ. There are so many customs, superstitions, and habits to be given up. These are like iron bands to many, which only the grace of Christ can break.
One common superstition is that pain in the stomach is caused by a serpent, or by serpents, which have unknowingly entered by way of the mouth, and are eating the individual from the inside. For this reason, it is the custom of practically all natives to sleep with their heads covered closely with their blankets. This practice being very unhealthful, one can see at once that this superstition causes, or at least encourages, various maladies.
The people have great faith in their witch doctors, and these doctors favor this superstition, for it is to their advantage to do so. When a man comes to them with a pain in his stomach, he must usually pay a sheep, a goat, or an ox to the “doctor,” who is supposed to “bring out” the snakes. These snakes are thought to be very young cobras, about as large and as long as an ordinary12lead pencil. By tricks, sleight of hand, or enchantments, the witch doctor often produces the real snake (dead) or an artificial one, to prove that his “medicine” has had the desired effect, and to keep up the delusion.
Last week, while hauling stone for the new church, I killed a young cobra. A friend of a near-by witch doctor was helping me, and he begged me to give him the dead serpent. I asked him why he wanted it, and he said, “For medicine.” He called another native who was passing to come and see what he had; and upon seeing that it was a snake, the native became frantic with fear and ran for his life, shouting for help, although we assured him the snake was dead.
These witch doctors have a great influence over the people. It is claimed that they can put a little “medicine” on the end of a bamboo reed, and point it toward an oncoming hailstorm, and it will pass away from the vicinity of the medicated reed.
There are other customs and habits that the Christian native must contend against, such as polygamy, drinking joala (native beer), dipping snuff, and using tobacco in other forms. It is pitiable indeed to see some who are struggling to be free from these bands of the wicked one, but it is a joy to help them by pointing them to the great Deliverer. Six, including the four baptized, have recently given themselves wholly to the Lord, and are rejoicing in their new-found freedom.
I was talking with a man today who is the husband of two wives, and has children by both. A man who has more than one wife is considered superior to those who have but one, so this man is in good repute. He desires to unite with us. Our hearts go out to these dear people as we endeavor to help them on toward the kingdom. But how much wisdom we need in dealing with them! Pray God earnestly that he will help us to know just what to do and how to do it, in order that we may help them in the right way.
My Inspiration
By Worthie Harris Holden
WORTHIE HARRIS HOLDEN
My heart goes singing on its way,—
The road is long, but God is strong,
And he upholds through all the day,
And hears my song.
His comfort makes my burden sweet,
And woe or pain are ne’er in vain
When sitting at the Master’s feet
His grace to gain.
His promise ringing through the years
Our hopes inspire, and fond desire
To work for him till he appears
Attunes my lyre.
O life, O joy, that Love Divine
May here fulfil his urgent will,
And through our weakness ever shine
The world to thrill!
Fu-Chau Mission
By J. E. FULTON
J. E. FULTON
ONE of the most interesting places in all China, in our experience, is the Fu-chau district. Fu-chau is on the Min River, a principal river of Fukien Province. There are a number of towns of considerable size farther up the river, but Fu-chau is the metropolis, and with its suburbs has more than 800,000 inhabitants. It is the largest coast city in China south of Shanghai, and is the capital of Fukien Province.
Pastor N. P. Keh, our Chinese minister, labors here, with occasional visits from Pastor W. C. Hankins, superintendent of the Fukien Mission, and Pastor B. L. Anderson, the director of the South China field. A strong work has been built up under the leadership of native workers. There are more than one hundred baptized members in the city of Fu-chau, and many others are interested in studying the truth.
But perhaps the most inspiring feature of the work is that of teaching. A number of young men and boys were won to the truth, and a good school under an experienced Chinese teacher was started. Now the school has grown until there are one hundred and forty boys boarding in the school, and about thirty others are attending as day students. All of these are paying their way; and were it not that we are in rented quarters, the school would be entirely self-supporting. There is a staff of ten Chinese teachers. Brother Tsng, the head master, has a model school. The writer spent part of five days there, and never has he seen a school conducted in better order.
The school occupies a large Chinese residence, but the accommodations for such a large number are altogether inadequate. Students dine in six different places, here and there in vacant corners of the building, eight at a table, the tables being three feet square. The sleeping accommodations are also distressingly crowded, according to any standard with which we are acquainted. Every little nook and corner available is used, even the little lofts above, and down in the anterooms and hallways. Yet everything is clean; and how pleased I was to see the soap, towels, toothbrushes, etc., so much in evidence.
Daily, after their noonday meal, all the one hundred and seventy students assemble in the chapel to answer to the roll call. They make a graceful bow to their head master, who reciprocates by bowing to them. Then they take their seats, and the roll call begins, each standing as he answers. The roll call finished, they arise at a signal, bow again to their teacher, and pass out, beginning at the front and going out in perfect order, two abreast.
The Chinese, as a rule, are not good singers; but some of these boys are far above the average, and one lad about sixteen years of age plays the little organ well. Altogether, they are a very intelligent class of students, and so far as we could judge, are making good advancement.
Reference has been made to the meager dining space. A word as to the diet. At every meal large quantities of rice are cooked, and this is the daily staple food. With the rice are served a few relishes, but in this school rice is the “staff of life.” The boys have all the rice they desire, and their bowls are frequently filled and quickly emptied by means of their chopsticks. We are told that each of these boys is boarded for $1.50 a month on this diet, and yet they all look plump, well, and contented.
This school is a light in the heart of a great city of nearly a million people. As a rule, missions are doing little in the cities in winning new converts among the older people, but by the education of the young much is accomplished. Shall we not learn a lesson here? Thirty of these bright boys have already given their hearts to God, and we are sure there are many others deeply impressed and desirous of following the light. During our meetings, these boys were very responsive to our appeals, and all expressed a desire to have a home in the kingdom of God.
Land in a good location has been procured for the school, and some money is on hand for the erection of buildings, but about $4,000 more will be required. The school is already larger than our most sanguine expectations reached, and now, because of lack of room, boys are being turned away.
Are not some who read this impressed with the opportunity before us in the large city of Fu-chau, and willing to help provide facilities to meet the urgent need? This has been a work thrust upon us, not one we had sought. Fu-chau is the center of a great awakening, and presents an urgent need. Will this not appeal to our brethren as a Macedonian call and a great responsibility?
Editors Impressed with the Magnitude of Our Work
By Walter L. Burgan
WALTER L. BURGAN
THAT the thinking men of the world are taking more than passing notice of the rapid progress we are making and of the spirit which actuates our efforts to give the glad tidings of the gospel to those now groping in darkness, is again evidenced by an editorial which appeared in the Ohio State Journal of August 2. This journal is one of the leading morning newspapers of the Buckeye State, and is published in Columbus. The editor, speaking in most kindly terms about the group of missionaries who sailed for the Orient from San Francisco on August 1, and of our missionary activities in general, said:—
“Last Tuesday forty missionaries of the Seventh-day Adventist denomination sailed from San Francisco for their fields of work in Oriental countries. This is the largest body of missionaries ever sent out by that church. No denomination is more zealous in missionary work than the Seventh-day Adventists, and in its contributions for this purpose it shows a higher per capita than any other denomination. That per capita is $9.08, and no other church reaches it. The Seventh-day Adventist Church is looked upon as one of the minor denominations, but in zeal and push is ahead of all. We don’t exactly know its doctrine, but if that is on a par with its spirit, it must be a pretty good church.
“Just think, that church has seven hundred and forty-nine missionaries in the Orient! It proclaims its gospel in seventy-two countries, and sends out its literature in eighty-seven languages. It expects to double its membership in three years. It is not our church, but its activities are entitled to a friendly mention.”
Such comment as this serves to awaken an interest in our work among the multitudes that read the newspapers. The Ohio State Journal has a wide circulation, and no doubt considerable favorable comment was made by many who read the editorial; and further, this article may have been the means of arousing anxious inquiries in the minds of men and women who will search after the truths that our workers have for them.
Is It Worth While ?
By M. ELLSWORTH OLSEN
M. ELLSWORTH OLSEN
Is it worth while to support the church school? The answer will depend upon an understanding of what the church school is, and of the nature of the responsibility we are under toward the little ones growing up among us.
The church school, like other institutions representing Christian ideals, is rooted in the spirit of love and self-sacrifice. It is the outgrowth of a desire to shield our boys and girls of tender age from the corruption that is in the world, and to surround them with the influences that make for righteousness. It makes provision for daily religious instruction, recognizing that the child has a soul as well as a mind and a body, and that spiritual things should be first in the life of a child as well as in that of an adult. It makes possible the permeating of all knowledge imparted to the child with a sense of the presence and help of an Almighty God and loving heavenly Father; it thus gives him from the very beginning a right perspective—a practical demonstration of the great fundamental truth that the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.
The church school provides a ready means of cooperating with the home instruction which is the lot of every well-brought-up child. The solicitous mother sends her boy to the church school morning after morning, knowing that his teacher has precisely the same ideal for him that she herself has—that he shall grow up to fear and honor God, and to be a power for righteousness in the world. She knows that the atmosphere which he will breathe in the schoolroom will be instinct with reverence for God and with strong faith in his inspired Word. She knows that the school will be opened with a Scripture reading, song, and prayer, and that at some time during the day each pupil will recite a lesson in the Bible as part of the regular school work. She knows, too, that the devotional exercises at the opening of the school and the Bible lesson will not be gone through in a cold, formal manner; but that the teacher finds them her chief joy and support, and would not attempt to conduct the school without them.
The mother knows, moreover, that the children with whom her little ones will associate at the recess hour or while going and coming from school, will be boys and girls from Christian homes, whose fathers and mothers have the same high ideals for their bringing up that she has; and thus the whole environment of the day school is but an extension of the home life, and school and home work together for the accomplishment of the one great aim,—to train the children for God.
How different must be the feelings of the mother who sends her children to the public school! The dangers in going and coming are multiplied, and the atmosphere in the school itself is at the best that of the world. There is no instruction in the Word of God, no prayerful looking upward for guidance and help for the day's activities. Knowledge is treated as a thing entirely separate from God and religion; the mind is instructed while the heart is neglected; character building does not enter into the day's program. The teacher holds fundamentally different views from those of the parents, and not seldom the child is made to feel in many ways that the religious teaching which he has received at home is out of harmony with the new world of knowledge upon which he is entering. So it goes on from day to day for a period of years, during all of which time the child is receiving impressions that will never be effaced. It is to no avail that the school is conducted in harmony with the best traditions of a public school, and that the teacher is kind and efficient. The very love and respect the child feels for a good teacher make him the more susceptible to that teacher's influence, and the more certain will be the alienation from the ideals of home and parents.
Is it worth while to guard against such influences, and give our little ones the best possible chance to grow up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord?
But it costs something. Yes, there is call for self-sacrifice. Adventists pay their school taxes, and then in addition support their own church schools. But how small the outlay compared with the results! Two or three dollars a month, eight cents a day, about one and three-fourths cents for each hour of instruction,—not a very large sum when one considers that the eternal life of the child is at stake.
God confers no other gift so precious as the gift of a little child, and our own characters as parents are tested by the treatment we mete out to our children—little ones like those whom the Saviour loved to gather in his arms and bless. If we feel in duty bound to provide them with daily bread, how much more important to see that they are spiritually fed! While their tender hearts are yearning for the pure milk of the Word, how dare we deny it to them?
After all, in providing church schools for our own dear boys and girls, we are doing no more for them than we do for the little heathen children of China and India. Are they not at least equally precious in the sight of God? Then is it not very much worth while to support the church schools we already have, and to do our best with God's help to start others, to the end that the time may soon come when every Seventh-day Adventist child will enjoy the inestimable privilege of attending one?
“Tell Me a Story”
By MRS. I. H. E.
How often this request falls on the ears of the busy mother is one of the things that only mothers know. At intervals from early morning till the sleepy eyes are too heavy to stay open another minute, the request comes in many homes.
There used to be—grandmothers! And what wonderful stories they could tell,—stories of their own childhood, of primitive days, bear stories, gypsy stories, and stories of real Indians who stood suddenly in doorways and said “Ugh!” and walked off with the week’s freshly baked loaves. And they told of their grandmother’s little-girl days, too, in a green land across the sea, and of a wonderful castle on a rocky hill, so high that to a child looking down, the horses14and cows seemed no larger than sheep. No wonder that it was grandmother’s ear that so often received the request, “Tell me a story.”
But these days the grandmothers are busy with other things, and the mothers must tell the stories or the children suffer a real lack. Most mothers are careful to see that the little bodies are fed and clothed, kept sweet and clean; their manners and morals are looked out for, after a fashion; but too often the little empty minds are neglected.
The amount of story material that children will absorb is really amazing. While they like to hear some of the old stories over and over, they also demand new things. And sometimes the mother is perplexed to know where to go for material to supply the need.
How many have thought of using the REVIEW as a source of story material? As I have looked over the current issue (August 3), it has seemed peculiarly full of suggestions of this nature. From the News and Miscellany, on the second page, one could glean suggestions for half a dozen interesting stories, but I will mention only three. Most parents have lived to see the tiny seed of the “safe and sane Fourth” develop into a sturdy plant; and the story of Independence Day, why we celebrate it, the best way to honor it, and what it means to every child, is a story that any mother will be well repaid for taking the time to prepare and tell.
Early Days in Texas suggests itself naturally from the fifth news item. A little study of those days will refresh the mother’s memory, and help her to develop a really interesting story for her child.
So with the last item. Show the children a picture of the rubber heels so widely advertised, also of the soles and heels lately manufactured by a rubber company. Tell the story of the shoe—how leather is tanned, where shoes are made, how they are sold, some of the new demands on the leather supply, etc.
The story of Answered Prayer, given in Brother Wilcox’s editorial on page 5, can be simplified and told in a way to awaken faith in childish hearts; and “A System of Memory Training,” on page 14, will appeal as strongly to the children as to their mothers.
It is hard to turn away from the temptation that comes to me to make a suggestive story of the paragraphs on the last page that tell of our “Outgoing Missionaries,” but I will only say the story is there, and turn back to the World-Wide Field department for a theme. There are so many, it is hard to choose, but suppose we take some incidents from Brother Stahl’s report, and put them in story form for the children:—
In Peru there is a wonderful lake, with a musical Indian name,—Lake Titicaca. And it is wonderful because it is the highest lake in the world. It has been called a lake above the clouds. The Andes Mountains are among the highest in the world, and it is way up in these mountains that this beautiful blue lake lies. Snowy mountain peaks are reflected in its clear waters, and here and there is a little island that looks like a soft blue ball just floating on the surface.
The Indians who lived near this beautiful lake needed some one to teach them the gospel, and to tell them about the Sabbath; but for a long time there was no one to go. By and by a man and his wife, who had gone to Peru to work for the Spanish people, said, “We will go and work for the Indians part of the time.” But when they began, there was more and more to do, so they kept on, and there they are this very day, working for the Indians, and helping them. Sometimes they have been robbed, and struck, and had stones thrown at them. One time an angry mob came to kill them, but the Lord delivered them, and now some of those very men love Jesus and are trying to serve him.
There is a pleasant mission home near this lovely lake, and here many of the people have learned of Jesus. Some of them are now ready to teach others. One of these is a man named Martin. He had a nice little home near the mission, and some sheep and a cow, but he left all, and took his family and started away.
All their goods were on three donkeys. The three-year-old boy sat on top of one load, his mother was on another, holding the baby, and the father had a load on his own back, and was driving the donkeys. It would have been sad to see them if we had not remembered that they were doing it all for their best Friend.
When Martin and his wife and little boy and the three donkeys came near the village where they were going, some friends came to meet them. They knew of Jesus, and soon they had a meeting, and sang songs. Then they opened a school. Forty children now come every day, and their dark little eyes are very bright. “Just think! we have a real school now,” they seem to say.
This is not given as a model story, by any means. It is merely suggestive as to how to use the material with which our church paper is filled from week to week, to instruct and help the children.
Don’t point out too many morals, nor add too much adornment in the way of lessons. Leave that part to the children, and be assured that if you do your part well, they will not miss theirs.
MRS. I. H. E.
The Things That Count
Now, dear, it isn’t the bold things,
Great deeds of valor and might,
That count the most in the summing up
Of life at the end of the day;
But it is the doing of old things,
Small things that are just and right,
And doing them over and over again,
No matter what others say;
In smiling at fate when you want to cry,
And in keeping at work when you want
to play,—
Dear, these are the things that count.
And, dear, it isn’t the new ways,
Where the wonder seekers crowd,
That lead us into the land of Content,
Or help us to find our own;
But it is in keeping to true ways,
Though the music is not so loud,
And there may be many a shadowed spot
Where we journey along alone;
In flinging a prayer in the face of fear,
And in changing into a song a groan,—
Dear, these are the things that count.
My dear, it isn’t the loud part
Of creeds that is pleasing to God,
Nor the chant of a prayer, nor the hum
of a hymn,
Or a jubilant shout or song;
But it is the beautiful meek part
Of walking with feet faith shod;
And in loving, loving, loving through all,
No matter how things go wrong;
In trusting ever, though dark the day,
And in keeping your hope when the
way seems long,—
Dear, these are the things that count.
—Selected.
The Home Department
By Mrs. I. H. Evans; Miss Lora E. Clement
Conducted by Mrs. I. H. Evans, Takoma Park, Washington D. C.
Assisted by Miss Lora E. Clement
Through the columns of this department, hints will be given on all matters pertaining to the home life. Short articles and letters are solicited from home makers, telling of their everyday experiences,—their joys and sorrows, their failures and successes.
Front Porch Visits
By MARTHA E. WARNER
MARTHA E. WARNER
“MOTHER says that in all the years your children were with you, you never had to hunt for your shears,” said Mrs. Bowen.
“And why did your mother make that remark?”
“Because, when I wanted to cut out my silk waist, the shears were missing, and it took considerable searching to find them. It was a bother, but I couldn’t be so selfish as to forbid the children’s using them. There! Now I have said it!”
“And how did you get along with the waist?”
“I had a miserable time; the shears were so dull.”
“Now, my dear, suppose you had given to each child a sewing basket, with pins, needles, thread, and scissors, would it have been necessary to spend so much time in hunting for your shears, and would they have been so dull?”
“Now I see why you always had your shears,” said Mrs. Bowen. “I never thought of such a thing; surely it would be better. But tell me why you followed this plan. You must have had some other reason than just not wanting to let the children use your shears?”
“My reason,” I replied, “was to teach them personal property rights, to start the machine of habit along grooves which it would probably follow. I carried out the same idea in other things,—the individual toilet articles, the care of the clean and soiled clothing, the responsibility of their share of the work in the home, regular hours for play and study, etc. All this was necessary in the formation of character; and character is destiny. My duty was to sow the seed; to train and mold the character of the children; to do the very best I could, day by day; and then to pass the work over to my divine Partner, knowing he would finish the work for me.”
“But,” said Mrs. Bowen, “now the children are scattered, don’t you feel sad, and sometimes worry as to their future?”
“Why, my dear, I should not consider my part of the work done until I had dropped it all, all the worry and anxiety, upon God. I know he has his hands on the work, and will see it through. Every mother may have this assurance.”