they possess, or upon good actions which they imagine they have done.
These, they conceive, are sufficient to save them; and sinners generally
feel quite secure. How little concerned, my son, have you been. But
sinners mistake as to their goodness. They are all "dead in trespasses
and sins." They are under condemnation. They are in imminent danger. Any
day they may fall into the hands of an angry God. Sinners under
conviction see this and feel this. The branch of self-righteousness on
which they stand is insufficient to bear them. By-and-by it begins to
give way. When the sinner feels this he cries, "What shall I do? Who
will save me?"
Now Christ is commissioned to save, and when the poor sinner sees that
he is about to perish, and in that state cries for help, Christ comes to
him and says, "Let go all hope in yourself; let go dependence upon every
other thing; trust to me and I will save you." "Come, for all things are
ready." But may be the sinner is afraid. Will Christ do as he promises?
Is he able to save? Well, the sinner looks round--he hesitates--perhaps
prays--weeps--promises; but while all these are well enough in their
places, they never of themselves bring peace and safety to the anxious
heart. At length he sees and feels that there is no one but Christ, who
stands as it were at the bottom of the tree, that can save him. And now
he lifts up his voice and cries, "Lord, save me, or I perish." Into the
hands of Christ he falls, and from that moment he is safe. This is
Gospel faith or confidence.
And this repentance and faith which I have described are necessary in
order to salvation. So the Bible decides; and whenever a soul exercises
them that soul is a Christian soul, and that man is a Christian man.
There is yet one question further of great moment. You hope, perhaps,
that you are a Christian--that you have truly repented, and do exercise
true faith. You ask, _How shall one decide?_
I will tell you this also. Suppose you agree with a nurseryman to
furnish you with a tree of a particular kind. He brings you one. You
inquire, "Is this the kind of tree I engaged?" He replies, "Yes." But
you say, "How do I know? It looks indeed like the tree in question, and
you say it is; but there are other trees which strongly resemble it." He
rejoins, "I myself grafted it, and I almost know." "Ah! yes, _almost_;
but are you certain?" "No," he replies, "I am not absolutely certain,
and no one can be sure at this moment." "But what shall I do?" you ask.
"I want that particular tree." "Well," says he, "I will suggest one
infallible test. Set it out on your grounds. It will soon bear _fruit_,
and that will be a sure and satisfactory test." "Is there no other way?"
you ask--"no shorter, better way?" "None," he replies. "This is the only
sure evidence which man can have."
Let us apply these remarks. As there is but one infallible test as to a
tree, so there is but one in respect to a man claiming to be a
Christian. "What _fruit_ does he bear?" "By their fruits," says our
Savior, "ye shall know them." Only a good tree brings forth good fruit.
Here, then, we have a plain, simple, and, I may add, infallible rule for
testing ourselves. What kind of fruit are we bearing? What fruit must we
bear? "The fruits of the Spirit," says the Bible, "are love, joy, peace,
long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith," &c. If, then, we have been
born of the Spirit, _i.e._, born again, or in other words, if we are
Christians, we shall bear the fruits of the Spirit.
I have known persons suggest various marks or tests by which to try
themselves; but I have never found any which could certainly be depended
upon besides the one which I have named--_the fruit which one brings
forth_. The application of this test requires time. For evidence of
Christian character, a person must examine himself month after month and
year after year. His great aim must be to glorify God. He will,
therefore, strive to keep his commandments. He will shun all known evil,
and let others see that he sets a high value upon all that is "lovely
and of good report." He will pray, not one day or one month, but
habitually. His life will be a life of prayer, and in all the duties of
the Christian profession he will endeavor to persevere. He will find
himself imperfect, and will sometimes fail; but when he fails he will
not sink down in despair and give up, but he will repent and say, "I'll
do better next time;" and thus he will go forward gathering strength.
Many trials and difficulties he will find, but the way will grow
smoother and easier. His evidence will increase. The path of the
righteous is as the light which shines brighter and brighter unto the
perfect day.
And now, my dear son, are you willing to set out in all sober
earnestness so to live, not one day, but always? If you are, God will
bless and aid you. You will be a happy boy, and as you grow older you
will be happier still; and in the end you will go to God and to your
pious friends now in heaven, or who may hereafter reach that blissful
abode, and spend an eternity in loving, praising and serving God. This
is the constant prayer of your affectionate father.
* * * * *
Original.
CHILDREN OF THE PARSONAGE.
BY GEORGIANA M. SYKES.
Little Charlie, the youngest child of our pastor, was the delight of all
the household, but especially of the infirm grand-mother, to whose aid
and solace he devoted his little efforts. He was a beautiful and active
child, of nearly three years, and was to the parsonage what the father
emphatically called him,--its "_fountain of joy_." But little Charlie
was suddenly taken from it, after an illness of a few hours. A week
afterward, FANNY, a beautiful and highly intelligent child of
five years, died of the same fearful disease, scarlet fever. The
following little poems were intended as sketches of the characteristics
of the two lovely children.
Some three years after, death bore away also little EMMA, a
child two years old, who had in some measure replaced the lost children
of the parsonage. To express the sparkling and exuberant vivacity of
this last darling of friends very dear to the writer, has been the
object of another simple lay. There are smitten hearts enough in the
homes to which this magazine finds its way to respond to notes that
would commemorate the infant dead.
LITTLE CHARLIE.
Beside our pilgrim path there sprang
A pleasant little rill,
Whose murmur, ever in our ear,
Was cheerful music still.
The earliest rays of brightening morn,
Back to our eyes it flashed,
And onward through the livelong day,
In tireless sport it dashed.
We loved the little sparkling rill,
We sunned us in its glance;--
The turf looked green where, near our feet,
It kept its joyous dance.
And welcome to our weariness
Was the clear draught it gave;
E'en way-worn age took heart and bowed,
Its aching brow to lave.
But where is now our pleasant rill,
We miss it from our side;
We looked, and it was at its full--
We turned, and it was dried.
Oh Father.--thou whose gracious hand
Bestowed the boon at first,
A parched and desert land is this--
Let not thy servants thirst!
Fountains of joy at thy right hand
Are gushing evermore--
Bid them for us, thy fainting ones,
Their rich abundance pour.
FANNY.
We miss thee on the threshold wide.
Smiling little Fanny!
Thine offered hand was wont to guide
Our footsteps to thy mother's side,
Ready little Fanny!
We miss the welcome of thy face,
Winning little Fanny!
We miss thy bright cheek's rounded grace
Thy clear blue eyes' confiding gaze,
Lovely little Fanny!
We miss thy glowing earnestness,
Guileless little Fanny!
We miss thy clasping arms' caress,
The solace of thy tenderness,
Loving little Fanny!
We miss thy haste at school-time bell,
Docile little Fanny!
Learning with eager face to spell,
Thy Sabbath verses conning well,
Studious little Fanny!
We miss thee at the hour of prayer,
Gentle little Fanny!
Thy sweet low voice and thoughtful air,
Reading God's word with earnest care,
Serious little Fanny!
The hour of play brings woeful dearth,
Merry little Fanny!
_With thee the voice of childhood's mirth,_
_Died from about our twilight hearth_,
Joyous little Fanny!
But angels' gain doth our loss prove,
Precious little Fanny!
Now dwelleth with our God above[C]
That little one whose life was love,
Blessed little Fanny!
EMMA.
A floweret on the grassy mound
Of buried hopes sprang up;--
Tears fell upon its bursting leaves
And gemmed its opening cup.
But such a rosy sun-light fell
Upon those tear-drops there,
That no bright crystals of the morn
Such diamond-hues might wear.
No glancing wing of summer-bird
Was ever half so gay
As that fair flower--no insect's hues
Shone with such changeful play.
It nodded gaily to the touch
Of every wandering bee,
Its petals tossed in every breeze,
And scattered odors free.
And they who watched the pleasant plant
In its bright bursting bloom,
Hailed in its growth their bower of rest,--
Solace for years to come.
But He who better knew their need
Laid its fair blossoms low;--
Between their souls and heaven's clear light
Tendril nor leaf might grow.
Then oh! how sad the grassy mounds
Its graceful growth had veiled!--
How sere and faded was their life,
Its fragrance all exhaled;--
Till from the blue o'erarching sky,
A clearer beam was given,
A light that showed them _labor_ here,
And promised _joy_ in heaven.
* * * * *
Original.
GLEANINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. No. 2.
I shall attempt to show by an every-day sort of logic, rather than by
any set argument, that young children, when religiously educated, do at
a very early age comprehend the being of a God,--that the mind is so
constituted that to such prayer is usually an agreeable service,--that
in times of sickness or difficulty, or when they have done wrong, they
do usually find relief in looking to God for relief and for forgiveness.
I have known quite young children, in a dying state, when their parents
have hesitated as to the expediency of referring, in the presence of the
child, to the period of dissolution as near, in some paroxysm of
distress at once soothed and quieted by the strains of agonizing prayer
of the father, that relief might be afforded to the little sufferer,
commending it to Jesus.
From my own early experience I cannot but infer that young children do
as readily comprehend the sublime doctrine of a superintending
providence as the man of gray hairs. We know from reason and revelation
that the heavens declare the glory of God, and that the earth showeth
forth his handiwork--day unto day utterreth speech, and night unto night
showeth forth knowledge of him.
As soon therefore as a child begins to reason and to ask questions, "Who
made this?" and "who made that?" it can understand that "the great and
good God made heaven and earth." Indeed this truth is so self-evident
that the heathen who have not the Bible are said to be without excuse if
they do not love and worship the only living and true God, as God.
The man, therefore, of fourscore years, though he may understand all
things else,--how to chain the lightning, to analyze all earthly
substances, to solve every problem in Euclid, yet in matters of Gospel
faith, before he can enter the kingdom of God, must come down to the
capacity of a little child, and take all upon trust, and believe, and
obey, and acquiesce, simply on the ground, "My Father told me so."
One of the first things I remember with distinctness as having occurred
in the nursery, related to the matter of prayer. One night when a sister
a year and a half older than myself had, as usual, repeated all our
prayers suited to the evening, which had been taught to us, from a
sudden impulse I made up a prayer which I thought better expressed my
feelings and wants than any which I had repeated. My sister, who was
more timid, was quite excited on the occasion. She said that as I did
not know how to make up prayers, God would be very angry with me. We
agreed to refer the case in the morning to our mother. When we came to
repeat our morning prayers, the preceding transaction came to mind, and
we hurried as fast as possible to dress, each one eager first to obtain
the desired verdict.
Almost breathless with excitement, we stated the affair to mother. Her
quick reply was, "The Bible says that Hezekiah, king of Israel, had been
sick, and he went upon the house-top, and his noise was as the
chattering of a swallow, but the Lord heard him." Without asking any
further questions, ever after we both framed prayers for ourselves.
Soon after this occurrence a sudden death occurred in our neighborhood,
and my mind was deeply affected. I went stealthily into our spare
chamber to offer up prayer, feeling the need of pardon. Just as I knelt
by the bedside, my eldest sister opened the door. Seeing her surprise at
seeing me there and thus engaged, I was about to rise, when she came up
to me, put her arms about my neck, kissed me, and without saying
anything, left the room. This tacit approval of my conduct, so
delicately manifested, won for her my love and my confidence in her
superior wisdom; and though nearly sixty years with all their important
changes have intervened, yet that trifling act is still held in grateful
remembrance.
One such incident is sufficient to show the immense influence which an
elder brother or sister may have, for weal or for woe, over the younger
children. The smothered falsehood, the petty theft, the robbing of a
bird's-nest, the incipient oath, the first intoxicating draught, the
making light of serious things, with the repeated injunction--"Don't
tell mother!" may foster in a younger brother the germ of evil
propensities, and lead on till some fatal crime is the result.
When I was nine years old a letter was received by my father, the
contents of which set us children in an uproar of joy. It was from our
father's elder brother, who resided in a city seventy miles distant from
our country residence. This letter stated if all was favorable we might
expect all his family to become our guests on the following week, our
aunt and cousins to remain in our family some length of time, and be
subjected to the trial of inoculation from that dreaded
disease--small-pox. We were all on tip-toe to welcome our friends, and
especially our uncle, who from time to time had supplied us with many
rare books, so that we had now quite a valuable library of our own. All
our own family of children were at the same time put into the hospital.
I shall never forget "O dear," "O dear, I have got the symptoms, I have
got the symptoms!" that went around among us children.
I cannot but take occasion to offer a grateful tribute of thankfulness
that we are not now required by law, as then, to subject our children to
such an ordeal and to such strict regimen. Who ever after entirely
recovered from a dread of "hasty pudding and molasses" without salt?
When all was safely over, and my uncle came to take his family home,
there seemed to have been added a new tie of affection by this recent
intimacy, and it was agreed that my uncle's eldest son, a year or two
older than myself, should remain, and for one year recite to my father,
and that I should spend that time in my uncle's family, and become the
companion of a cousin three years younger, who never had a sister.
I have often wished that such exchanges might be more frequently made by
brothers and sisters and intimate friends. It is certainly a cheap and
admirable method of securing to each child those kind and faithful
attentions which money will not always command. I needed the polish of
city life--the freedom and the restraints imposed in well-disciplined
schools, where personal graces and accomplishments were considered
matters of importance as well as furniture for the mind; while my cousin
would be benefited in body and mind by such country rambles, such
fishing and hunting excursions, such feats of ball-playing, as "city
folks" know but little about. Some fears were expressed lest this boy
should lose something by forsaking his well-organized school, and fall
behind his classmates. But I have heard that cousin say, as to literary
attainments, this year was but the beginning of any high intellectual
attainments; for till now he had never learned how to study so that
intellectual culture became agreeable to him. And what was gratifying,
it was found on his return home that he was far in advance of his
classmates. So needful is it often to have the body invigorated, and
the mind should receive a right bias, and that such kind of stimulants
be applied as my father was able to give to the wakeful, active mind, of
his aspiring nephew.
Many times after my return home did my mother bless "sister N----" for
the many useful things she had taught me. My highest ambition had been
to iron my uncle's large fine white cravats, which, being cut bias, was
no easy attainment for a child.
I cannot well describe my astonishment and grief of heart, on being
installed in my new and otherwise happy, delightful home, to find
wanting a _family altar_. I had indeed the comfort of knowing that in my
own distant home the "absent child" was never for once forgotten, when
the dear circle gathered for family worship.
So certain was the belief which my parents entertained that an
indispensable portion was to be obtained for each child in going in unto
the King of kings, that in case of a mere temporary sickness, if at all
consistent, family prayer was had in the room of the invalid. Not even a
blessing was invoked at the morning meal till every child was found in
the right seat. In case of a delinquency, perhaps not a word of rebuke
was uttered, but that silent, _patient waiting_, was rebuke enough for
even the most tardy.
It was felt, I believe, by each member of the family, that there was
meaning in the every-day, earnest petition, "May we all be found
_actually_ and _habitually_ ready for death, our great and last change."
My father did not pray as an old lady is said to have done each day,
"that God would bless her descendants as long as grass should grow or
water should run." But there was something in his prayers equivalent to
this. He did seldom omit to pray that God would bless his children and
his children's children to the latest generation.
Oh how often, while absent, did my mind revert to that assembled group
at home! Nothing, I believe, serves to bind the hearts of children so
closely to their parents and to each other as this taking messages for
each other to the court of heaven. Never before did I realize that each
brother and sister were to me a second self.
I was a most firm believer in the truth of the Bible, and I have often
thought more inclined to take the greater part as literal than most
others. I had often read with fear and trembling the passage, "I will
pour out my fury upon the heathen, and upon the families that call not
upon my name." To dwell in a Christian land and be considered no better
than heathen--what a dreadful threatening; a condemnation, however, not
above the comprehension of a child. Here I was in such a family, and
here I was expected to remain for a full year. I do not recollect to
have entertained any fears for my personal safety, yet every time a
thunder-storm seemed to rack the earth, and as peal after peal with
reverberated shocks were re-echoed from one part of the firmament to the
other, I was in dread lest some bolt might be sent in fury upon our
dwelling on account of such neglect. Little did these friends know what
thoughts were often passing through my mind as I ruminated upon their
privileges and their disregard of so plain and positive a duty. I did
often long to confide to my aunt, whom I so much venerated, my thoughts
and feelings on religious subjects, with the same freedom I had been
encouraged to do to my own dear mother. I can never forget the struggle
I had on one occasion. A lady came to pass a day in the family. The
conversation happened to turn upon the importance and efficacy of
prayer. Here now, I thought, is an opportunity I may never have again to
express an opinion on a subject I had thought so much about; and
summoning to my aid all the resolution I could, I ventured to remark,
"the Bible says, 'the effectual and fervent prayer of the righteous
_prevaileth_ much.'" I saw a smile pass over the radiant and beautiful
countenance of my aunt, and I instantly conjectured that I had misquoted
the passage. For a long time, as I had opportunity, I turned over the
pages of my Bible, before I could detect my mistake. I cannot say how
long a period elapsed, after I left this pleasant family, before the
family-altar was erected, but I believe not a very long period. One
thing I am grateful to record, that when my aunt died at middle age,
all with her was "peace," "peace," "sweet peace." And my venerated uncle
recently fell asleep in Jesus, at the advanced age of more than
fourscore years, like a shock of corn fully ripe.
* * * * *
INTELLECTUAL POWER OF WOMAN.
BY REV. S. W. FISHER.