neglect the great salvation--those who reject the overtures of pardoning
mercy and salvation by Christ. They will hereafter know and acknowledge
that "they knew their duty but they did it not." It is said that "Judas
went to his _own place_"--and that "Dives _made his bed_ in hell." And
herein will these words of the poet be strikingly fulfilled in every
human soul--
"'Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die."
* * * * *
Original.
CHILDREN'S APPREHENSION OF THE POWER OF PRAYER.
While visiting in the family of Rev. Mr. F----, one morning as we were
quietly seated at the breakfast table, his two little boys, Willie and
Georgie were seated between their father and mother. All at once
Georgie, the youngest, a child of five years, reached his head forward,
and in a half-whisper said to his brother, "Willie, Willie, if you were
going a journey, which would you give up, your breakfast or your
prayers?"
Willie replied, "I should want both."
"But," said the little fellow, still more earnestly, "What if you
couldn't have both, then which would you give up?"
"I would give up my breakfast," said Willie.
The little urchin said in an undertone, "I think mother would take
something along in her bag." There was certainly a good "look out" for
two worlds.
A mother who resides near me, and has a large family of small children,
related to me the following circumstance of her eldest boy, when quite
young. From the time her children began to talk, she accustomed them,
each in their turn, to kneel by her side, on rising and retiring each
morning and evening, and repeat to her their little prayers.
One day when her eldest boy, as she thought, was old enough to
comprehend her, she said to him rather seriously, "My son, there is one
kind of prayer to God to which I have not directed your attention. It is
called 'secret prayer.' The direction and encouragement for this kind of
prayer is found in the passage, 'Enter into thy closet and shut to thy
door, and pray to thy Father which is in heaven, and thy Father which
seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.' Now do you not desire to
obtain this open reward. If you would like a closet of your own, there
is a little retired place near my bed-room--you can go there each day by
yourself, and shut your door as directed."
One day, not long after, the child was gone some time; his mother did
not like to accuse him of having trifled on so serious an occasion, for
he was a remarkably conscientious and honest boy--and she said to him,
"Frank, you have been gone so long I fear you may have been using 'vain
repetitions.'"
The color mantled at once in the little fellow's cheeks, and almost
ready to cry, he said, "Mother, when aunt Mary left us yesterday, she
said that she and the children would be exposed to many dangers during
the voyage, and she asked me to pray for them, and it took me a good
while."
I was told by a friend, of a group of little boys when visiting a little
companion, all seated on the floor near each other, looking at some
pictures. They came to one representing Daniel in the den of lions. It
was noticed that the lions were not chained, and yet they were in a
reposing posture. None seemed to understand how this was. One little boy
said to another, "Ah, wouldn't you be afraid to be put into a den of
lions?" "Oh, yes," was the reply. And so the question went all round,
eliciting the same answer. At last the youngest of the party reached
himself forward and pulled his brother by the sleeve, saying, "Johnny,
Johnny, if lions are afraid of praying people, they'd be afraid of
mother--wouldn't they? And she wouldn't be afraid of them, for she says
we needn't fear anything but sin."
I was acquainted with a family where the following circumstance
occurred. The two youngest boys in the family were often trusted to take
long walks, and sometimes they were permitted to go over, by themselves,
to N----, a distance of nearly four miles, and make a call on their aunt
and cousins, who resided there.
One day they came and asked their mother if they might take a long walk.
She told them not a very long walk, for that day they had not been as
studious and dutiful as usual. They took hold of hands, and without
designing to do so at first, it was believed, they ran on very fast till
they reached the village of N----, where their aunt lived.
On going to the house, their aunt thought, from their heated appearance,
and hurried and disconcerted manner, that they were two "runaways." She,
however, welcomed them as usual--invited them to partake of some fine
baked apples and new bread and milk--quite a new treat to city boys--but
N----, the eldest, declined the invitation. She then proposed to them to
go to the school-house, which was near by, and see their cousins. This,
too, N---- declined. He said to his brother, "Charley, we must go home."
And they took hold of hands and ran all the way as fast as possible, and
immediately on entering the house, their faces as red as scarlet, N----
confessed to his mother where they had been, and asked her forgiveness.
This being granted, N---- could not be happy. He said, weeping, "Mother,
will you go up stairs with us and pray with us?" She did so, with a
grateful heart, and sought pardon for them. N---- did the same. When it
came Charley's turn to pray, he made an ordinary prayer--when his
brother repeatedly touched him, and in a low whisper he said, "Charley,
why don't you repent--why don't you repent?"
A very little child, not two years old, always seemed delighted to hold
her little book at prayer time, and when her father said Amen, she
always repeated it after him aloud. One day she seemed very uneasy
during prayer time, and though she made great resistance, she was taken
out of the room. She insisted on going back to the drawing-room, and the
chairs being still in the order in which the family had been seated
during prayer time, the little creature went by the side of each, and
folding her little hands, she repeated "Amen," "Amen," until she had
been to each one. Thus we see it is not so much for want of knowledge,
as for a right state of heart, right teachings, right examples, that
children do not live and act, speak and think and pray aright.
* * * * *
Original.
FIRST PRAYER IN CONGRESS.
In the letters of John Adams to his wife, Sept. 10, 1774, we have an
account of the _First Prayer_ in Congress. What an instructive and
encouraging lesson is here taught to all religious persons, always
unhesitatingly to obey all holy and good impulses.
Had Mr. Cushing, who moved the resolution, held back,--or had Mr. Samuel
Adams refused to second this resolution,--or had Rev. Mr. Duché
declined, when called upon to lead on that occasion, our nation might
never have presented the sublime spectacle of uniting, as a body, in
calling upon God at the opening of their Congressional sessions.
And who would dare to predict the loss which this omission might at that
time have occasioned to this infant Republic!
Mr. Adams's account is as follows:--
"When Congress first met, Mr. Cushing moved that it should be opened
with prayer. This was opposed on the ground that the members, being of
various denominations, were so divided in their religious sentiments
that they could not join in any one mode of worship. Mr. Samuel Adams
arose, and after saying that he was no bigot, and could hear a prayer
from any gentleman of piety and virtue who was a friend to his country,
moved that Rev. Mr. Duché--an Episcopal clergyman, who, he said, he
understood deserved that character--be invited to read prayers before
Congress the next morning. The motion was passed; and the next morning
Mr. Duché appeared, and after reading several prayers in the Established
form, then read the Collect for the 7th of September, which was the
thirty-fifth Psalm. This was the next morning after the startling news
had come of the cannonade of Boston;" and, says John Adams, "I never saw
a greater effect upon an audience: it seemed as if Heaven had ordained
that Psalm to be read on that morning."
"After this," he continues, "Mr. Duché, unexpectedly to everybody,
struck out into an extemporaneous prayer, which filled the bosom of
every man present. I never heard a better prayer, or one so well
pronounced. Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor, ardor,
earnestness, and pathos, and in language so eloquent and sublime, for
America, for the Congress, for the province of Massachusetts, and
especially for Boston. It had an excellent effect upon everybody here,"
and many, he tells us, were melted to tears.
* * * * *
Original.
MY BABY.
Within a cradle, still and warm,
There lies a little gentle form,
Just look beneath the coverlid,
And see the tiny sleeper hid!
Then peep beneath the cap of lace,
Behold his rosy happy face;
The velvet cheek, so pure and white,
Didst ever see a fairer sight?
His dimpled arm across his breast,
His chubby limbs composed to rest,
The gentle curls of waving hair,
Falling upon the pillow there!
The drooping lashes shroud his eyes,
Blue as the tinge of summer skies,
His damask lips like tints of rose
Which garden buds at twilight close.
Art thou a form of human mould,
Or stray-lamb of the heavenly fold?
A little herald to the earth,
Or cherub sent to bless our hearth?
Must evil spirits intertwine
And lead astray that heart of thine?
And must thou be with sin defiled,
That seemest now an angel child?
Oh blessed Lamb of God! to thee
I come, and with my baby flee
Within thy fold, and sheltering care,
I lay my child, and leave him there.
EUCLID, _Ohio_.
* * * * *
Original.
THE MOTHER'S PORTRAIT.
Night was coming on. The tall elms which beautify the little village of
G---- were waving to and fro their pendent branches, heavy with the
evening damp, and as the boughs swayed against the window panes of one
of the largest mansions in the town, the glass was moistened by the
crystal drops. But heavier and colder was the dew that gathered upon the
forehead of the sufferer within; for extended upon the couch lay a dying
woman.
The trembling hand of an aged man wiped the forehead, and the tears that
stood in his eye told that his remaining days on earth must be uncheered
by the kind voice and radiant smile of her who had been a mother to his
children. Those children, grown to full age, were there, and if need be
could have borne clear and convincing testimony that sometimes, at
least, the connection between a step-mother and her husband's family is
only productive of good. But where were her own offspring? Three noble
looking men, and as many matrons, owed their existence and education to
her, and she had hoped, ere she died, to behold once more their faces.
Soft and gentle were the hands that smoothed her pillow; low and sweet
were the voices that inquired of her wants, but dear to her as were
these, they were not _her own_, and the mother's heart yearned once more
to trace their father's likeness in the tall dark-eyed sons who but a
few years ago were cradled in her arms. And can these feelings cause the
pang which seems at once to contract the face? So thinks her
step-daughter, as she says, "They will be here to-morrow, mother." "It
is not that, my dear," murmured the sick one, "but when I was just now
enjoying the blessedness of committing my soul to Him who died for me,
when feeling my own unworthiness of one of his many mercies, I had cast
myself on the mercy of the 'Sinner's Friend,' like a wave of agony
rushed in upon me the thought that my dear sons have denied the divinity
of the Savior, into whose name they were baptized, and who laid down his
life to redeem them. Oh! could I be assured that they would be led back
to their fathers' God, I could die happy." There was stillness in this
chamber of death. The invalid's pale lips moved as if in prayer, and
soon the lids were raised, and the brilliant black eye was lighted up as
of old, and triumphant was the strain that burst forth. "I know in whom
I have believed, and am persuaded that He will keep that which I have
committed to Him, my most precious treasures, _my children_, against
that day. I know Him--I rest in His faithfulness." The smile lingered on
her features, but the spirit had fled.
* * * * *
The Green Mountain range in Massachusetts presents a series of most
magnificent scenery, and in the villages which nestle among its
summits, dwell some of the noblest hearts and sturdiest frames of New
England.
Mountains have always been the rugged nurses of independence of thought
and action, and the grand chains of our own land form no exception to
the rule. Nor is this all--none who have not dwelt among our rural
population know the strong sympathy which pervades the inhabitants of
the same settlement--long may it continue! Each takes an interest in the
welfare of all about him, and though there are some things disagreeable
in the minute surveillance to which one is thus exposed, yet it is more
than compensated by the affectionate interest which is manifested in the
weal or woe of each neighbor. Not there, as in the crowded city, may a
man be laid in his grave, while the occupant of the next dwelling
neither knows nor cares concerning his fate.
The intelligence of illness spreads from house to house, and who can
number the kind offices which are immediately exercised by neighbors far
and near. The very schoolboys lower their voices as they pass the
darkened windows, and there needs no muffling of the knocker, for who
would disturb the invalid? And when the bell solemnly announces the
departure of a soul, sadness settles in every heart, and the cathedral
hung in sable is a poor tribute to departed worth, compared to the
general mourning of the whole village, when the long funeral procession,
whence old and young unite
"To pay the last sad tribute, and to hear
Upon the narrow dwelling's hollow bound,
The first earth thrown."
Oh! who would not exchange the pomp and hollow pageantry of the
metropolis for such attentions?
In one of these same homes of virtue and happiness dwelt a family, who,
contented with their lot, sought no wide sphere of enjoyment. With a
good education, fine talents, with a strong constitution, the father had
commenced his career about forty years before, and by his own exertions
had risen to wealth, respectability and honor. Having often represented
the interests of his fellow-townsmen in the assembly of the State, the
county in which he resided had deemed that they could commit to no safer
hands the senatorial dignity.
His gentlemanly bearing, his benevolent smile, his tall and commanding
appearance won all hearts; while his calm judgment, his energetic course
of action gained respect and demanded admiration. In public and private
life he was a pattern of excellence. Surely his mother must have looked
upon such a son with feelings of gratitude and even pride. As you enter
the door, from which no poor man was ever turned empty away, and
crossing the hall, advance into the elegant parlor to greet your host
and his amiable wife, you can fancy a smile of satisfaction upon the
lips of that mother's portrait, which hangs in the place of honor on the
wall, a smile which seems to say, "this is my eldest born." But, alas!
it was for this son that that mother had put up her last prayer--for him
it was, she had poured forth her soul, and now years have passed since
he stood by her helpless remains, and her petition is still unanswered.
* * * * *
It is a May morning, two years later, and cheerily does the sun shine
upon the village of ----. The pine forest at a little distance, sheds
forth after the last night's rain that fragrance which is so delicious,
the fields are gay with dandelions, the brooks yellow with the American
cowslip, close beside which peeps forth the lovely veronica, while
yonder slope is enameled with bright blue violets, and the little white
Mayflower. But no children are seen plucking them. The very herds in the
field low in a subdued manner, and the birds warble their gladsome
spring song with a depth which belongs only to sacred music. None are
moving about the streets. The church doors are open, however, for it is
the Sabbath. Come with me to yonder mansion--the tasteful shrubbery, the
vine-covered window, the well arranged garden bespeak for its possessor
wealth and luxury. Enter with me, but tread lightly as we ascend the
staircase. Upon that white curtained bed, raised by pillows, reposes
one who has numbered more than sixty summers. His brow is scarcely
furrowed, though his face is thin. His clasped hands are emaciated, but
he does not look old. The fever spot burns in his cheeks, and his eye is
lighted up with a heavenly ray, which shows that now at least the soul
is triumphing over the body.
A small table, covered with damask of snowy whiteness, stands near, on
which are placed the emblems of the broken body and poured-forth blood
of our Redeemer. A few Christian brethren and sisters are kneeling
around, and the pastor is blessing the bread. Methinks "it is good to be
here." The great Master is present, and "his banner over this little
company is love." One can almost see the ministry of angels as they bend
to watch the scene.
The rite is done. The softly murmured hymn which concludes it, has died
upon the balmy evening air. The partakers of the Lord's Supper have
departed. The pastor has for the last time pressed the hand which has so
recently subscribed to the covenant of the church, and he, too, has
taken his final leave. Relations alone remain in the chamber of death.
Solemnity broods over the spot. The brothers who through life have
looked to this now dying brother, as a father, guide, and friend, sit
gazing on him in mournful silence, the tears slowly chasing each other
down their manly cheeks, with something of the feeling of the prophet
when it was told him, "Know thou that your master will be taken from
your head to-day".
The sisters watch and anticipate his wishes, till first one and then
another is overcome by her emotion, and steals away to give it vent. The
wife, like a ministering spirit, silently wipes the clammy brow and
moistens the parched lips. But now the sick man speaks: "Brother, will
you bring mother's portrait! I would take my leave of that--O, how soon
shall I join her now." It is brought, and the heavy window curtains are
thrown back, and it is placed at the foot of the bed with reverend care,
which showed the veneration in which the original was held.
"Look, brother: it smiles upon me!" and observing the astonished
expression of his friends, the dying man continued in a less excited
tone, "Do not suppose that my mind is wandering. I assure you on the
word of one who must shortly appear before a God of truth, that ever
since my mother's death the picture has frowned upon me. I knew what it
meant, for you have not forgotten her last prayer, and every time I have
looked upon it I felt, while I continued to deny the divinity of our
Savior, I could not expect my mother's approbation or blessing. For
years I fought against the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, till I examined
the subject more thoroughly, and to-day I have sealed my renunciation of
that error, and have testified my faith in the atonement made for
sinners. The cross of Christ has drawn me with cords of love. I wanted
to see that portrait once more, and, lo, the frown is gone--and my
mother beams upon me the same sweet smile as when at sixteen years of
age I left home a fatherless boy, to make my own way in the world. Thank
God I die in peace."
My sketch is finished. Shall I make the application? Has not every
mother's heart made it already? asking the question, "Is my influence
over my children such that when I am gone my portrait shall have such
power over them for good?"
Cowper has embalmed his mother's miniature in lines which will touch the
heart while our language is preserved. But this picture is hallowed by
strains which are poured forth from angelic choirs, as they tune their
harps anew "over one sinner that repenteth."
The likeness of Cowper's mother led him to mourn for past delights, but
this picture led the son to look in humble joy to that blessed hope and
glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior Jesus Christ.
EDITH.
* * * * *
Original.
LIGHT READING.
During a recent tour in search of health and pleasure, I was surprised
and pained at seeing the amount of light reading indulged in while
traveling, by old and young of both sexes and all classes. I observed,
while rapidly urged over our railways, many thus engaged--many
purchasing eagerly the trash offered at every station, and could but
regret they had not provided with the same care food for the mind, by
placing in the satchel that contained sustenance for the body, some
valuable book, some truthful work.
Lake George, with its clear waters and lovely islands, its majestic,
untrod mountains and historical associations, had not attractions
sufficient to win the lovers of fiction from the false pages of life, to
the open, beautiful book of Nature. It was a bright July morning when I
stood upon the deck of the "John Jay."
"The beautiful sun arose--and there was not
A stain upon the sky, the virgin blue
Was delicate as light, and birds went up
And sang invisibly, the heavenly air
Wooed them so temptingly."
Now the mountain-tops were radiant with the golden light, now valley,
lake, and green islet, rejoiced in the morning sun. Yet, at such an
hour, amid such scenes, ladies and gentlemen were engrossed with the
mawkish sentimentalities of fictitious narrations, their eyes closed to
all the beauty of the time and place, their ears deaf to the delicious
harmony of awakening nature.
Lake Champlain, with its romantic ruins ever dear to the heart of an
American, its verdant shores and rural villages, nestling in the valleys
or crowning the hills, could scarce obtain a passing glance from those
enraptured with the improbable if not impossible pictures of life.
When upon the St. Lawrence, gliding swiftly through the charming scenery
of the Thousand Isles, that like emerald gems adorn the bosom of that
noble river, now passing one with cultivated fields and quiet
farm-house, another low and level bathed in the rays of a setting sun,
others rocky and precipitous, crowned with cedar and fir; again a little
quiet spot where one would like long to tarry, or one with shrubbery and
light-house so peaceful in its rural beauty you almost envied the
occupants their retirement; even here, as I turned from the scene at the
whispered exclamation of a friend, "O, how beautiful!" my eye fell upon
two ladies bending over the pages of newly issued novels, their
countenances glowing--not with holy emotions awakened by the enjoyment
of a summer's sun-set upon the St. Lawrence, but with feverish
excitement, kindled by the overwrought pictures of the novelist. Fair,
young girls, how could you linger over the unreal when passing through
such scenes of God's own work? How could you shut out that gorgeous
sunset, turn from all the pure and heavenly feelings such scenes must
awaken, to sympathize with imaginary beings and descriptions?
And now I tarried at Niagara, wonderful, sublime Niagara--
----"Speaking in voice of thunder
Eternally of God--bidding the lips of man
Keep silence, and upon the rocky altar, pour
Incense of sweet praise."