CHARACTER can not be bought with gold; it does not come to us by accident. Character is earned by individual effort through the merits and grace of Christ.—E. G. White.
Christ, the Wisdom and Power of God
By H. W. Beecher
If Christ is the wisdom of God and the power of God in the experience of those who trust and love him, there needs no further argument of his divinity.—H. W. Beecher.
Christ’s Spirit of Obedience
THE Spirit of Christ is the spirit of obedience: “I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love.”
The Spirit, Christ, and God
HE who has the Spirit has Christ; and he who has Christ has God.—Bengel.
WHY BISHOP KEANE WAS REMOVED.
The Western Watchman, edited by Father Phelan, gives the following reason as to why Bishop Keane was deposed from the headship of the Roman Catholic University in Washington, D. C., and the Watchman also tells incidentally and consistently how Protestantism is regarded by the Roman Church. It is well that weak-kneed Romanizing Protestants should know it:—
“Tell the truth. Rome removed Bishop Keane. Cardinal Satolli advised the measure. The Germans had nothing to do with it. Rome did not want the young priests of America to be taught Pelagianism. The advocates of the doctrine that any form of Protestantism is better than no religion at all, claim Cardinals Manning and Newman for their contention. Neither of the English cardinals was regarded as a theologian in Rome, and at the time of their death neither enjoyed the slightest influence in Rome. Pelagianism must be stamped out. Man is in the supernatural order, and whether pagan or Christian is obliged to tend to his supernatural end. Grace is an aid to that end. The church is a guide to that end. Protestantism in all its forms leads the pilgrim astray. Protestantism is a siren. It sings to the seafarer, and allures him to the breakers. Protestantism is the enemy of God, of God’s truth, of God’s church. It is not better than nothing, because good for nothing.”
Value of Christianity in Petitions.
It is astonishing, in a government in which Church and State are popularly supposed to be separate, to see so many petitions pouring in upon Congress in the names of religious bodies and the representatives of religious bodies. Why do not these petitioners make known their wants in their own names, as plain citizens? Evidently it is because they think a petition in the name of religion, especially the Christian religion, is entitled to more consideration at the hands of the people’s representatives than requests of citizens simply in their own names. It is this delusion that has led to the “Christian Citizenship” movement, through which professed Christians hope to gain an ascendancy in political affairs. This class of citizens hope to gain temporal advantage over their fellow-citizens by virtue of a profession of Christianity, and this is the basest prostitution of the Christian name. The principle announced in the Declaration of Independence is that “all men are created equal.” This is the true principle to be recognized in all civil government. Christianity adds no additional prerogative to the citizen. The objects for which petition is made may be good, but Congress is no more under obligation to enact the legislation requested because the petitions therefor have come in the name of some religious body. Such petitions virtually say, “We are better and of more consequence than ordinary citizens; therefore you must heed our requests because we are Christians.” Such an air of assumed superiority is anything but Christian.
THE GIANT WHO WANTED TO WORK.
In a little Scotch kitchen, with rafters above,
And the wide open fireplace that grandmothers love,
The kettle was making a terrible din.
Would you guess that a giant was prisoned within?
No one knew what he said; no one heeded the noise;
People don’t when they live in a house full of boys.
And, with grandma asleep and James on the settle,
Small wonder they heard not the voice in the kettle.
“I’m a giant imprisoned!” the cry came again,
“I have strength for the work of a million of men;
Your ships I will carry, your carriages draw.”
Jamie looked in surprise, but no giant he saw.
“I can print all your books, and your cloth I could weave;
Your grain I will grind, if you’ll but give me leave;
Great weights I can lift, as you quickly will see;
Only give me more room. Come, my lad, set me free.”
Just then grandma awoke, and she cried, “Lazy thing.
Have you nothing to do but to hear teakettles sing?”
But he answered her gently and told her his plan—
More room for the giant to do all he can.
Just a dream? No, indeed! You will own it was not
When I tell you the name of the lad was James Watt.
’Twas the giant who is working for you and for me;
Aren’t you glad that he listened, and then set him free?
—Sunday School Visitor.
MRS. PHELPS’ REVELATION.
By C. E. Reed
“Madam, I need help; won’t you give me something?”
The question was addressed to Mrs. Phelps, who had just entered her carriage.
“No, I’ve no money to waste on lazy vagabonds!” was her sharp reply, as the carriage door slammed shut.
Mrs. Phelps, a wealthy young widow, prominent in fashionable society, was in an unpleasant frame of mind. She had just visited three of the largest stores in the city in a vain search for a certain costly fabric, and now felt that she was an exceedingly unfortunate and most ill-used individual. Presently the carriage drew up before another store, which Mrs. Phelps entered, after instructing her four-year-old son to remain seated in the carriage until her return. Master Phelps was very obedient for about three minutes; then his attention was attracted by something which appealed to him quite as strongly as to a less aristocratic juvenile—the antics of a monkey under charge of a peripatetic musician. Standing on tiptoe, he laid his hands against the door, which, having been accidentally left unfastened, yielded to the pressure and partly opened, and in a very short time the young gentleman was out of the carriage and half way across the street. Then, in an instant, there was a hoarse cry of warning, a woman’s shriek, and something grasped the boy, swung him from right in front of a runaway team, and laid him frightened and screaming in his mother’s arms.
After she had soothed the child and put him into the carriage, Mrs. Phelps turned to the rather shabbily dressed man to whose agility her son’s rescue was due.
“You have saved my Arthur’s life!” she exclaimed. “Come to-morrow to my residence, and name your reward. Meanwhile, take this,” and she handed him a twenty-dollar gold piece.
But the man refused the proffered gold.
“Why should you reward a lazy vagabond? That is what you called me a bit ago when I asked you for something;” he remarked.
Mrs. Phelps looked at him closely, and recognized him.
“I was out of humor,” she explained. “Pardon what I said, and tell me how I can assist you.”
“Madam, you’ve invited me to come to your home. If you’d do me a kindness, come to mine instead.”
Mrs. Phelps looked at him in amazement.
“I can hardly do that,” she said, “I would much rather—”
“As you please, madam. I’m glad I was able to rescue your child. If you’re glad, I wish you’d visit my home. It isn’t much to ask.”
“What is your name, and where do you live?”
He said his name was James Thompson, and named an obscure street as his address.
“After I’ve taken my child home, I’ll call to see you,” said Mrs. Phelps.
“I’ll be there by the time you are,” he responded.
An hour later, Mrs. Phelps, accompanied by a trusty servant, having driven into a narrow street, entered a most uninviting tenement, ascended three flights of rickety, filthy stairs, and was admitted to a small attic room, lighted by a single window. The floor was carpetless. A cracked stove, an old table, a large box which served as cupboard, a bed, and two or three broken-backed chairs, were the only furniture. But, tho so bare and comfortless, the room was clean. Upon the scantily-covered bed lay two persons, a woman of perhaps thirty-five and a little girl of about six, both evidently ill, and both sleeping uneasily.
“I asked you to come here because I wanted you to see this,” said Thompson, in a low voice. “This,” with a comprehensive wave of the hand, “is my home. You see all my furniture, except what’s at the pawn-shop. I have no fire, and no fuel to make it with; no food, and no money to buy it with. I have a little medicine left by the doctor, but none of the comforts needed by my sick wife and child. This, madam, is why I asked you for help this morning.”
Mrs. Phelps covered her face.
“I never dreamed of anything like this,” she said.
“There are many things which rich people never dream of,” said Thompson bitterly.
“How long have you been in this deplorable condition?” asked Mrs. Phelps.
“To-day is the first I’ve had to beg,” was the reply—“something I’d have thrown myself into10the river rather than do if it hadn’t been for them. But I couldn’t see them starve. I came to the city five years and more ago,” he added after a moment’s pause; “I had bad luck, for work was dull. From having a little house by ourselves, we were obliged to move here, and then my wife, who was a good seamstress, succeeded in getting men’s trousers to make at eighteen cents a pair.”
“Eighteen cents a pair!” exclaimed Mrs. Phelps.
“Yes; but the price soon fell to fifteen cents, and as I was out of employment, I helped with the sewing. By working from early in the morning till late at night we managed to earn enough to pay our rent and buy sufficient food to keep us from starving. But the rates went down, down, down, to thirteen, to twelve, even to ten cents a pair.”
“What! ten cents for making a pair of trousers? Who is mean enough to pay such wages as that?”
“The great clothing firm of Phelps & Co., madam.”
“Phelps & Co.! Impossible!”
“The firm, madam, of which your husband was the head. I wonder if, when he gave largely to some library, church, or hospital, he ever thought of the poor wretches who toiled day and night, summer and winter, with aching eyes, weary fingers, and hungry stomachs, that the mill which ground out his money might turn him out a good-sized grist. I can take you to half a dozen families in this very house who make trousers for Phelps & Co., at the same prices, and who, like us, have finished coats at from five to ten cents each, and made knee pants at sixteen to eighteen cents a dozen pairs.”
“Eighteen cents a dozen pairs! You don’t mean that?”
“Yes, madam, I do. When Phelps & Co. pay ten cents for making a pair of trousers which sell for five dollars, is it any wonder that the firm prospers exceedingly, and that your husband was able to give away his thousands?”
“This is a revelation to me,” said Mrs. Phelps. “I can not see how you managed to exist at all.”
“It’s been a hard, hard struggle,” replied Thompson. “With the aid of our little girl—for she has been sewing ever since she was four years old—we were occasionally able to earn a dollar in a day; but that was seldom. We had to pay a dollar and a quarter per week for this room, and hardly ever had more than four dollars a week to feed, clothe, and warm the three of us. But for the last six months the child has been ill. Ten days ago my wife took sick, and because of my having to wait on her and the child, I was able to do so little sewing that the foreman got angry the other day and refused to give me any more work. Besides, we have been falling behind with the rent, and only yesterday I received notice that if I don’t pay up by the end of the week, I and my sick family must leave.”
“Outrageous! Who is your landlord?”
Thompson took a paper from his pocket, and, remarking that it was his last receipt, handed it to Mrs. Phelps, who, after a single glance, started, and then stood staring at it in open-mouthed astonishment. For her own name was affixed to the receipt!
“What!” she ejaculated as soon as she could find her voice. “This house—mine?”
“So it seems.”
“This is my agent’s work,” said Mrs. Phelps, half to herself. “And he would have turned you into the street! Horrible!”
She opened her pocketbook and took out some bills.
“Mr. Thompson,” she said, “I thank you for insisting that I should come here. You have opened my eyes to some things I was blind to before. Take this—it is only a very small part of the heavy debt I owe you. Buy fuel, food, clothing, furniture, medicines—whatever you and your sick family most require. Spend it freely, but pay no rent; this room shall never cost you another cent.”
“God bless you, madam!” Thompson exclaimed, his eyes filling with tears. “I take your gifts now with a glad and thankful heart. I felt sure that all you needed was to see and understand. But, O, remember that there are others in this house almost as badly off as you found me!”
“I shall not forget,” said Mrs. Phelps as she departed.
Upon reaching home, Mrs. Phelps went to her room and shut herself in. Her visit to James Thompson had indeed been a revelation to her. How had she discharged the responsibility which the possession of great wealth carries with it?—By lavishing money on flowers, music, rich viands, and the like, when so many were lacking the necessaries of life. And, most humiliating thought of all, much of the very wealth she enjoyed had been earned for her by those same starving poor. Theirs it was—not hers—if justice were done. In her humiliation she knelt and offered what was, perhaps, the first real prayer that had risen from her lips for a long time; a prayer in which she craved pardon for the thoughtlessness, selfishness, and frivolity of the past, and consecrated her wealth to the service of Christ and of those concerning whom he said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, . . . ye have done it unto me.”
A year has passed. James Thompson, with his wife and daughter, both of whom have been restored to health, are living in a neat, pleasant house, the gift of Mrs. Phelps, through whose instrumentality Thompson has procured lucrative employment. The year has witnessed some other changes, too—especially in the real estate owned by Mrs. Phelps. Very promptly she called upon her agent and gave that individual some instructions which fairly took his breath away. She obtained from him a list of all tenements owned by her, and then set to work to systematically visit each house and the families occupying it. Such poverty, squalor, and degradation as she encountered! As a result of this inspection, she ordered a general reduction of the rents, a thorough cleaning of all the houses, and numerous repairs, while some crazy habitations she ordered to be demolished.
A company of philanthropic persons, organized through her efforts, purchased an entire block of rickety tenements, tore them down, and erected a series of modern structures, in which suites of rooms were offered at rates far lower than those prevailing in the surrounding tenements. The houses were soon filled with a population who had clean quarters to start with, and every inducement to keep them so. And, contrary to all expectations, the enterprise has yielded a fair rate of interest on the money invested in it.
Phelps & Co. no longer pay starvation wages to their employees. Mrs. Phelps’ husband had bequeathed her a controlling interest in the firm, and one day she startled the other partners by proposing a heavy increase in the rates paid for making up clothing. They demurred, and said that such an increase would bankrupt the firm. But Mrs. Phelps persisted in her demand, and finally induced the senior partner to accompany her to the abodes of some of the people employed by the firm. They had not visited many places when he said he had seen quite enough.
“How do you suppose the patronage of Phelps & Co. would be affected,” asked Mrs. Phelps, “if our customers were aware that their new garments had been lying a few hours before on the dirty floor of a tenement or on the bed of a child sick with a contagious disease?”
Being unable to answer this question satisfactorily, both partners submitted to the inevitable. The wages were raised, and, far from becoming bankrupt, the firm of Phelps & Co. is more prosperous than ever. And Mrs. Phelps to-day is a very cheerful, happy woman—far happier than when she was a devotee at the altar of fashion. For she knows that she has the smile of Him to whom she has consecrated, not only her wealth and her time, but herself.—C. E. Reed, in N. Y. Observer.
Political Promises
By Editor
It was earnestly hoped that the promises of the return of prosperity would be realized after the late presidential election; and for a little time there was a seeming revival in business, but at the present money matters seem to be fully as uncertain as they were before the election. Some of the best banks in the country have failed; and others stand in a precarious position. The great commercial reviews of Dunn and Bradstreet show that the volume of business being transacted is much less than in years gone by, even as low as the financial crisis of 1892, as indicated by the clearing houses. And yet in the face of these things the business men are solacing themselves with the hopes of a better time next autumn. It is not our object to discuss the political situation. The simple facts are that in the light of reason and the prophecy of God’s word the condition of things in the commercial world, and in fact throughout the whole earthly régime, is abnormal. There is no country which can prosper with a great amount of its wealth in the hands of a few. Monopoly and corporation control nearly all the necessities of life. Legislators are at their beck and call; and the end is not yet. What it will be is foretold in the “more sure word of prophecy.” If the reader wishes to understand, let him ponder such scriptures as James 5:1–7; Habakkuk 2; and Amos 8:1–10; and then let him place his hope, not in the promises of politicians, but in the exhortation of the word of God. “Be patient, therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord.”
Roman Catholicism in the Metropolis.
The New York Christian Advocate gives an interesting item in connection with certain remarks anent the great Protestant Episcopal cathedral soon to be built in that city. The Advocate says:—
“Notwithstanding the narrow views of the Protestant Episcopal Church at present—so different from those held by many of its founders in this country, and hardly known in the early days of the Protestant Reformation in England—in view of its claims, customs, and methods, it should certainly have a cathedral. It is necessary to assist it against the growing power and influence of the Roman Catholic Church, which is to become a more potent rival in fashionable society than the Protestant Episcopal Church has yet encountered, and whose pope has recently declared fully as derogatory an opinion of the succession in the Protestant Episcopal Church as the extremest high churchmen in that body have affirmed concerning the orders in other religious communions. As that church has an imposing cathedral on Fifth Avenue, the Protestant Episcopal Church, without a cathedral in this great metropolis, seems indeed, notwithstanding its many fine churches, poorly furnished.”
We have italicized the important part. It has been said over and over again that if the people were educated there would be no danger of apostasy to Roman Catholicism. It is being demonstrated that an age of boasted education is favorable to the Roman Church when that education cuts loose from the Gospel.
IMPORTANCE OF CLEAN STABLES.
THE natural tendency of the average person, remarks the Public Health Journal, seems to be toward slackness and untidiness, thus making thorough cleanliness an appropriate war cry that should be constantly sounded in every dairy, great or small, in the land, without which it is impossible to produce those goods whose character will carry with them the impress of this very word, which is so much appreciated by the better class of consumers.
And so we go with pail and stool for our morning and evening work, the stable being properly cleaned and good bedding supplied at all times; we whistle as we brush the side and udder for an instant to remove the dust, and with clean hands and dry teats we go merrily at our task.
But suppose the stable floor is bare, save of filth, a too common case, what then? The whistle or song is peremptorily smothered, and the milker with his heart in his boots seeks a pail of water and a cloth to perform the disgusting job of cleaning the cow, which ten to one is more of a pretense than real cleaning; or, what is worse, his merriment is turned to muttered or outspoken cursing while he milks the cow as she is. This applies to those who have some sense of cleanliness, but not to those who habitually neglect all precautions of cleanliness, and milk the cows as they are, clean or dirty, it is all the same to them; they have no compunction of conscience in the matter; they are satisfied to live that way, and do not seem to realize but what everybody else is in the same happy boat.
A WORD WITH MOTHERS.
When a mother grows careless about her appearance at home, she is either declining in health, or her heart’s love for her husband and children is lukewarm. How many hours did she spend in personal toilet attentions before she took up the sacredness of marriage, when her lover came “a-courtin’ and admirin’”?! Often and often these same dressy girls develop into veritable slouches after marriage, and why is it? Mother, why do you “dress up” when looking for company or going a-visiting? And why do you show the very worst side of yourself to your immediate home circle?
The children appreciate pretty gowns and smooth coiffures far more than you think; then why go about “arrayed in calico and loose hair,” when these wide-awake critics are so alert to observe the least error in your appearance?
Our little ones appreciate a neat attire and smiling face; then mother should by no means deny them this pleasure, and reserve her best gowns and best smiles for the world, who only half appreciate them. I came from my dressing-room one warm afternoon, dressed in a plain, neat wrapper, but the collar and cuffs were of deep red, and also wore a dainty bow in my coiffure. My three-year-old boy, glancing up from a story-book, said admiringly, “Mama dot a new dress with fancy work on it,” and he was pleased, yet only a baby. It does pay to dress up at home. By dressing up I don’t mean for a woman to wear out her best church or party dress in the kitchen, but try to always appear well dressed, even in calico and a gingham apron. Let the garments be clean and neat, pin on a little bow at the throat, have the hair shining and well arranged, not curled and fluffed like an actress, and the husband as well as the children will be pleased and full of praise for the woman who regards it her duty to look her best for dear loved ones.—Womankind.
Do Not Send Guests to Cold Beds
NEVER send your guest who is accustomed to a warm room, off to a cold, damp, spare bed to sleep.
HOW SHALL THE WORLD BE CHRISTIANIZED?
THE field editor of Our Day, Mr. T. B. Davis, 1303 Y. M. C. A. Building, Chicago, has projected an elaborate plan for an advance movement in missionary work. The plan starts out by raising the great questions, How to abolish the liquor traffic, and how to Christianize the world. Assuming that all lands are now open to the Gospel, that the great strategic points are occupied by Christian missions, Mr. Davis thinks that the things now indispensable to success are: “(1) A knowledge of the enemy’s country; (2) a definite plan of attack.” On the first point he proposes a “Christian Commission,” composed of a “band of experts,” which shall “make a pilgrimage around the world in the same ship,” to inspect all the leading countries of earth, report their spiritual condition to those at home, and what methods should be used to convert the people of these various countries. These “experts” are to be made up of representatives of the great religious newspapers, delegates from all evangelical denominations and sects, and from the W. C. T. U., the Y. P. S. C. E., the Epworth League, the B. Y. P. U., the Salvation Army, the Luther Leagues, etc. These are to spy out the lands, interview the kings and statesmen, heathen and otherwise, and the missionaries, and wise ones of all classes and conditions, with reference to dispelling the darkness of heathenism and illuminating every inhabitant with the light of the Gospel. These “experts” would also write articles and agitate the matter all over Christendom, and arrange a plan for a great federation of all sects and societies, to carry out their recommendations so as to have no friction. This great itinerary would complete the survey, and arrive in Jerusalem by Christmas, 1899, to lead the world in a week of prayer. The year of 1900 is to be a year of jubilee, with twelve monthly celebrations in Jerusalem, Rome, Berlin, Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Edinburgh, London, Paris, New York, Chicago, New Orleans, and San Francisco.
What of it? Will the proposition be carried out?—Quite likely; for there are many in the various religious bodies of Christendom who would be glad to take such a trip. What would be the result?—Nothing, so far as the Christianity of Christ is concerned. It would amount to about the same thing as did the World’s Parliament of Religions. It would be a pleasant journey, a sort of Modern Pilgrim’s Progress. We do not question the motive or zeal of its projector, but we do not indorse the plan; it is not the way of Christ and the cross. “The kingdom of God cometh not with outward show.” Souls are not converted by great conventions, great federations or jubilations, great pomp or display of the great of earth. They are born into the kingdom of God by travail of other souls. Man and what is of man will be hidden and Christ will shine out through his truth. This truth will not be suppressed, curtailed, or compromised in any particular in order to prevent friction with those who believe not. The men who preach it should be, must be, to convert souls, even as was John the Baptist, voices crying in the wilderness. God’s word has revealed the condition of all countries. “The whole world lieth in wickedness.” He has given the Gospel to every converted soul to bear to those in darkness. Let men preach God’s message of the everlasting Gospel. Rev. 14:6–14. That is God’s plan, “Preach the word;” “Preach the Gospel to every creature;” “Preach Christ.” Such plans and methods of men as that summarized above promise much, and disappoint at last. There is no other way than the way of the Cross, of the Word, of the Truth.
DOING HER WORK.
ABOUT thirty years ago a young girl in a western city was given charge of a Sunday-school class of rough boys, usually known as “river rats,” who had never been in any school before. When she entered the room, she found them lounging on the desks and benches, wearing their hats, and puffing vile cigars, a defiant leer on every face. They greeted her with a loud laugh, and one of them exclaimed: “Well, sis, you going to teach us?”
She stood silent until the laugh was over, and then said quietly, “Do I look like a lady?”
An astonished stare was the only reply which they gave.
“Because,” she continued gently, “gentlemen, when a lady enters the room, take off their hats and throw away their cigars.”
The lowest American secretly believes himself to be a gentleman, and in a moment every hat was off, and the lads were ranged in orderly attention.
So remarkable was the success of this girl in managing and influencing men of the roughest sort, that she made it the work of her life. She established clean and respectable boarding houses for sailors and boatmen, and reading and coffee rooms for laborers, and founded an Order of Honor, the members of which strove to live sober, Christian lives themselves, and to help their fellows to do the same.
Some of the members of her first class were efficient helpers for twenty years in all her work. It was a favorite saying with them, “Once let Miss — get her hold upon a man, and she never lets him go.”
She never did let go, but followed him to sea, to the most distant parts of the world, or even to prison, with letters and little gifts. With all the tender pity of a mother, she strove, as many a mother does not strive, to bring the wanderer back to the faith and innocence of his childhood.
Thousands of men passed under this single woman’s influence, and learned something of her Master through her wonderful purity and strong faith in him.
Such instances of helpfulness are not rare in this country. With every year the zeal of educated Christian men and women finds new and practical methods of teaching and elevating the more ignorant people.
Singularly, these efforts are more common in cities than in the smaller towns and villages, where everybody knows everybody, and where the gradations of caste are, perhaps, fixed by strong prejudices.
Many a young lad or girl who reads these lines leads an idle life in such a village, indulging, it may be, in occasional vague visions of going to foreign fields to teach the heathen how to be Christians, while the wharves or taverns of their own native villages are filled with heathen for whose souls no man has ever cared.
Let every Christian ask himself as the day closes: “Have I stood idle in the market place? Has not my Master hired me with a great price to do his work?” —Selected.
FREE FORGIVENESS.
An incident related in the Presbyterian shows how free forgiveness and a token of love won a boy's heart, and illustrates the way in which God forgives every day the sins which we commit against his goodness.
A gentleman who had a house surrounded by beautiful grounds, was looking from his drawing-room one evening, when he saw a boy come across the lawn, evidently bent on mischief. He was trampling down the flowers, treading over the beds, and pulling down the branches from the trees.
The gentleman went down the steps, across the lawn, and before the boy had seen his approach, he had placed his hand firmly on his shoulder.
The boy struggled vehemently to escape, but his attempts were useless; a strong hand had secured him.
“Now, my boy,” said the gentleman, “answer me one question, Which is the best flower in this garden?”
The boy still struggled, but, finding there was no escape from the quiet eye and firm grasp of the man he had injured, he looked round, and after a few minutes’ pause, he answered, “That rose is the best,” pointing to a beautiful moss rose just bursting into bloom. The gentleman, still keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder, reached out his other hand, and, plucking the rose in all its beauty, gave it to the boy, and releasing him as he did it, “There, take it, my boy,” he said.
The boy was amazed. Looking into the face of his strange benefactor, he asked, “Ain’t you going to have me punished, sir?”
“No,” was the reply. “I am giving you the best flower in my garden. You will never come and trample down my flower beds again, will you?”
“Never, sir, as long as I live!” was the emphatic reply; “but please, sir, ain’t there some little errand I could do for you?”
From that hour he was the willing servant of his friend. And many a time that boy would be seen, cap in hand, standing at that gentleman’s gate, with the loving petition on his lips, “Please, sir, is there any little job I could do for you?” You may be sure the request was not refused.
Have we not, as sinners, trampled down God’s holy laws, and grieved him many, many times? And how has he treated us? He sent from the throne of glory, Jesus, the only-begotten Son of God, “the Rose of Sharon,” and offers him to-day to a sinful world.
A Seventy-Year-Old Woman’s Conversion
One of the Baptist missionaries in North China tells an incident which shows the power of Christianity to work a striking reformation even in the lives of the aged: “Among our members is a woman who was formerly very bad. She had a son, a Christian, with whom she lived alone. She was blind and somewhat infirm, but when she got her temper up, able and strong enough for anything. The son often prayed to God that he would convert his mother. One night he removed from the room the idol gods, that she might not worship them. She found it out, picked up an ax, and banged him on the head with it, making a nasty wound. What was he to do? We told him he must forgive her, and still pray for her; and so things went on, until one day she gave her heart to Christ. She came to us, and after eighteen months’ probation she was received, and at that time, altho seventy years of age, she was able to repeat twenty hymns and nearly the whole of the Gospel of St. John. She had never been out of her own village, and had very small feet, yet she traveled fifteen miles to the place of baptism.” —Union Gospel News.
The Necessity of Silent Prayer
No soul can preserve the bloom and delicacy of its existence without lonely musings and silent prayer, and the greatness of this necessity is in proportion to the greatness of the soul.—Canon Farrar.
THE DAY THAT'S COMING.
The heavens shall glow with splendor,
But brighter far than they
The saints shall shine in glory,
As Christ shall them array.
The beauty of the Saviour
Shall dazzle every eye
In the crowning day that's coming
By and by.
Our pain shall then be over,
We'll sin and sigh no more;
Behind us all of sorrow,
And naught but joy before—
A joy in our Redeemer,
As we to Him are nigh,
In the crowning day that's coming
By and by.
Let all that look for “hasten”
The coming joyful day
By earnest consecration
To walk the narrow way;
By gathering in the lost ones,
For whom our Lord did die,
For the crowning day that's coming
By and by.
