THE EASTER SERVICE.
EASTER morning rose clear and bright in the village of Brooksville, and
the hills which inclosed the valley seemed to put on their most smiling
aspect, to welcome in the Resurrection Morn. The season was remarkably
forward, and many early flowers were in blossom, while the air was
filled with the fragrance of the blossoming fruit-trees, and the songs
of birds.
Edah rose earlier than usual, for she felt anxious, by devotion and
meditation, to prepare herself for the full enjoyment of the day's
solemnities. After her usual prayer and reading, she seated herself by
the open window, and endeavored to compose her mind to a realization of
the blessings she enjoyed, and the labors yet before her.
Last Easter she had been at school; she had attended church on
that day, but it had been only as a spectator of the devotions of
others;—the sermon had pleased her, but it was only as a specimen of
finished eloquence that she admired it; and when the invitation was
given for the followers of Christ to draw near, and with thankful
hearts to celebrate their Passover, she had turned away with the crowd,
who thus proclaimed that they had no part nor lot in the matter.
The remaining hours had been spent in miscellaneous reading, or in
preparing some school exercise, and she could not remember that, during
the whole day, she had bestowed one thought upon the great event it was
intended to commemorate.
What would she have said, had some supernatural power spread before
her eyes, at that time, the scenes through which she had just passed,
and the labors in which she had since found her chief pleasure—had
some one told her that in less than a year she would find herself the
painstaking mistress of a district school, and devoting all her fortune
to the single object of educating her then almost unknown brother for
the ministry? As she contrasted her thoughts and feelings and pleasures
then, with those which possessed her now, the present seemed like a
dream, and she almost expected to wake in the old familiar room at W.
But the striking clock warned her that it was time to wake and dress
Pauline for church.
Before breakfast, the whole family, including Ruby-Anne, assembled in
the library, when, after reading a portion of Scripture and singing a
hymn, they all knelt in prayer—the first time that the family-altar had
ever been erected under that roof. The absent father was not forgotten
in their petitions, and then it was that Edah first felt a hope that
the wanderer might one day return to the family he had forsaken, a
wiser and better man.
There was not much conversation at breakfast, for all were occupied
with their own thoughts. Mrs. Champlin alone seemed unconcerned, and
Edah exerted herself to entertain and amuse her mother, in order that
the others might be left to their own reflections.
The children felt no fear at leaving their mother alone in the house:
although her derangement had become more decided in its character, she
was more quiet than formerly, and much easier to manage, employing
herself chiefly in reading and writing, to which last she had lately
taken a great fancy, which they took care to encourage. Edah had
purchased a pretty new desk for her in New York, well furnished with
conveniences and elegancies. This she now placed before her for the
first time; and as she witnessed the childish delight with which she
examined it, and began arranging its contents, she felt satisfied that
Mrs. Champlin was provided with an agreeable employment for the whole
day.
They proceeded to church, hoping to be there early, but were surprised
to find nearly the whole congregation collected. The choir, well
drilled in their respective parts, were assembled round the organ, with
their books in their hands; and little Jacob Crampton, who had received
the appointment of organ-blower, was at his post, with his hand on
the handle, feeling all the pride of office, and ready to commence
operations as soon as he should receive the signal.
A good many little heads, and some large ones, were twisted round,
when Edah began the voluntary, and all her resolves could not keep her
from feeling a little nervous, but she acquitted herself to her own
tolerable satisfaction, and to the evident delight of her hearers. She
had felt some anxiety about her choir, as they were all young, and some
of them had never heard chanting before; but all went off exceedingly
well, especially the Easter Chant, "Christ our Passover, is sacrificed
for us." And after the first was through, she began to feel at ease,
and at liberty to give her attention to something else.
After the close of the second lesson, Mr. Laurence advanced to the
chancel rails, and requested the candidates for Baptism to come forward
with their sponsors. There was a stir in the little congregation, as
bonnets were removed and Prayer-Books taken: one group waited for
another, and finally, by a simultaneous movement, all together rose and
advanced up the aisle. Mr. Bell went with his two boys, as he called
them, Robert Raymond and John Downing; Mrs. Bell with her unmarried
sister who had spent part of the winter with her; Edah accompanied her
sister and Ruby-Anne, while Mr. Stuart was Sam's chosen witness. The
others were Mrs. Hildreth, Mr. Crampton, with his wife and apprentice,
black Jacob's eldest daughter Sally, two of Edah's school-girls, and
last not least Charley Strong, whose pale face and wasted figure
perhaps attracted more notice than all the rest. It was the first time
he had appeared in Brooksville since the Sunday when Mr. Downing had
seen him riding home with Mr. Laurence from church.
The candidates and their witnesses made quite a crowd around the
chancel, where they remained standing till a short address had been
made and a hymn sung, when they returned to their seats, and the
service continued: A stranger would have been struck by the great
earnestness with which the responses were made, and the unanimity with
which the congregation rose and knelt. This was in a great measure
owing to Edah's example, and that of the children and young people whom
she had instructed.
We have been before now in Episcopal churches, where the responses
were only a faint inarticulate murmur, and where the congregation
paid so little attention to the prescribed position that we had some
difficulty in realizing where we were. It may perhaps be a matter of
minor importance, but we do confess a dislike to see one-half the
congregation sitting during the Psalms and Hymns, and not rising even
at the Gloria Patri, or the Creed. It may undoubtedly be the case that
some persons are unable to stand through the Te Deum and we have now
and then, when in feeble health, been obliged to sit down before the
close of the Psalms; but we can hardly imagine that any one who is well
enough to come to church at all should be unable to maintain the proper
position during the recitation of the Apostles' Creed.
Mr. Laurence's sermon was appropriate to the occasion; and at the close
of it, he addressed himself particularly to those who were then and
there to receive the Communion for the first time. He exhorted them
always to remember the profession which they had just made, and the
vows which they had taken upon themselves. He reminded them that they
had not only renounced the service of the world, but they had taken
upon themselves the service of God, and they were bound to labor for
Him and for His Church, as long as they remained on the earth, looking
unto Him for strength and wisdom to do His work. He bade them remember
that they were no longer their own, but bought with a precious price,
and that henceforth they had no right, as they should have no desire,
to live to themselves. Whatever they ate or drank, or whatever they
did, they were to do all to the glory of God: in the workshop or in
the field—at home or abroad—in their places of business or in the
house of God—they were to have Him always before them, and to lose
no opportunity of advancing His cause, with their time, their means,
and their talents. Thus when they came to render up their account,
they would do it with joy and not with grief, and though they might
perchance go forth weeping, and bearing their precious seed, they would
surely come again with joy and great gladness, bringing their sheaves
with them.
"God," said he, "has been pleased by the exertions of a faithful few to
set His Church in this place, so long without the sound of the Gospel.
The little seed, planted in faith and self-denial, has sprung up and
begun to bear fruit; it will depend greatly upon you, whether the plant
shall become a great tree, so that the fowls of the air may lodge in
the branches thereof, or whether it shall wither for lack of earth and
moisture. Should this ever happen, your last state will be worse than
the first; but I trust it will never be. Stand, then, having your loins
girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness,
and your feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace; above
all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench
the fiery darts of the wicked, and take the Helmet of Salvation and the
Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Be faithful and watch
unto prayer, yea, be faithful, and He who has called you from death
unto life shall give you a crown of glory in that day when He shall
come to judge both the quick and the dead, saying—
"'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you
from the foundation of the world. Ye have been faithful over a few
things—I will make you ruler over many things; enter ye into the joy of
your Lord!'"
[Illustration]
Our task is done for the present. We have traced in these pages
the path of a young girl, with no peculiar advantages, with some
faults, and many weaknesses. We have seen her, though professedly and
by Baptism a member of Christ, spending some of her best years in
forgetfulness of Him. We have seen her suddenly aroused by the power
of the Spirit of God, alive to a sense of her great sin, seeking
instruction, and finding at last peace in believing. We have seen
her acting no more from the caprice of the moment, from a refined
selfishness, or, at best, from simple good impulses, but guiding all
her actions by the one great principle of glorifying God. We have seen
her under the influence of this motive, renouncing innocent and refined
pleasures for the sake of nursing the sick, comforting the afflicted,
and teaching the ignorant—bearing with misconstruction and ridicule,
overcoming evil with good, and perverseness with love, till we have
seen, at last, a family-altar raised, where once the name of God was
never spoken, save in profanity, and a well-filled church adorning the
beautiful valley, where, for many years, there had been a famine, not
of bread nor of water, but of hearing the word of the Lord. And now may
the Author be permitted to linger a moment longer, for the purpose of
saying a few words to the younger part of her readers, and especially
those of her own sex?
You, my dear young friends, have put on Christ in Baptism, and been
signed with the Sign of the Cross, in token that hereafter you might
not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified. Many have
acknowledged, in the solemn rite of Confirmation, that the promises
made in your name at your Baptism are binding upon you. Some of you,
perchance, have even received the Sacrament of Christ's most blessed
Body and Blood. Will you not now pause and ask yourselves, in all
honesty and sincerity,—
"What am I doing to fulfil my baptismal vow? How many battles have
I ever fought under Christ's banner against sin, the world, and the
devil? Has the coming of that blessed time when all shall know Him,
from the least to the greatest, ever been hastened one moment by my
exertions? Have I, since I became a member of Christ's Church, ever
made one sacrifice, or denied myself one gratification, or labored one
hour for the salvation of souls?"
I fear there are many, yes, some even of my own acquaintance, who
cannot honestly answer these questions in the affirmative. To such
I would say, Is not your position rather a singular one? Members of
Christ, yet having none of His Spirit; heirs of God, and living as
if you had no hope and no expectation of any thing beyond this life;
inheritors of the Kingdom of Heaven, yet with all your treasures upon
earth! Now, if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of
His; and dare you say that you have that Spirit, when you have never
yet spent one hour as He spent all his hours when He was here among
men? He purchased His Church with His own blood: you have never
yet lifted a finger for it; and can you, then, imagine that your
Church-membership will be any thing to you but a savor of death unto
death?
Nor can you properly plead as your justification ignorance of the way
to do good. Wilful ignorance is no excuse, and yours must be wilful
if it exist at all. A little thought might show you more ways than
one in which you might be useful, and your pastor is always ready to
advise you, and put you in the right way. Is there a Sunday School in
your parish, and if there is, what have you done for it? If you are a
pupil, do you set an example of regular attendance and good lessons? Do
you pray for your teachers and your classmates? If you are a teacher,
are you doing all you can, by study, by prayer, by regular attendance,
and by visiting your pupils, for the good of your class? If you are
not a teacher, cannot you become one? Are there no young people of
your acquaintance to whom you may say a word upon the all-important
subject of personal religion? Are there no poor children coming to your
door with baskets to beg, over whom you may obtain an influence for
good—whom you may teach to read and to sew—whom you may persuade to
attend the Sunday School, and clothe decently that they may be able to
do so?
I have mentioned but a few out of the many ways of doing good that
constantly surround us, but I shall wonder if, even in this short
catalogue, there cannot be found some work that you can do—something
that, perhaps, you have never yet thought of doing. Then put your hand
to the work, and be not discouraged nor faint, though you find it hard
and unpromising at first, and though in the course of months you may
seem to effect nothing. Be no longer the barren fig-tree, which only
occupies uselessly the garden of the Lord, lest He should one day say—
"Behold, I come these many years seeking fruit, and finding none. Cut
it down: why cumbereth it the ground?"
Rather let it be said of you, as was said of one of old, whose memorial
was to be cherished wherever the Gospel was preached—"She hath done
what she could."
FINIS.