be misused and misinterpreted. It has been applied, like oratory, to
pernicious, as well as to useful purposes. It has been made to minister
to vice, to indolence and to luxury--as well as to virtue, to industry,
and to true refinement. But we must not on this account question the
preciousness of the gift itself. The single circumstance that the Master
of Assemblies requires it to be employed through all time, in the solemn
assemblies of his worshipers, should suffice to prevent us from holding
it in light estimation.
Other good things besides music have been abused. Poetry, and prose, and
eloquence, for example; but shall we therefore undervalue them?
Painting, too, has its errings--some of them very grievous; but shall it
therefore be neglected, as unworthy of cultivation? Things the most
precious all have this liability, and should on this account be guarded
with more vigilance.
Music, merely as one of the fine arts, has many claims to our attention.
We could not well say, in this respect, too much in its favor. Wrong
things, indeed, have been said; and many pretensions have been raised to
which we could never subscribe. It does not possess, as some seem to
think, any _inherent_ moral or religious efficacy. It is not _always
safe_, as a _mere_ amusement. An unrestrained passion for it, has often
proved injurious, and those who would become artists or distinguished
amateurs, have need of much caution on this head. Music is in this
respect, like poetry, painting, and sculpture. The Christian may cherish
any of these arts, as a means to some useful end; but the moment he
loses sight of real utility he is in danger, for everything that he does
or enjoys should be in accordance with the glory of God.
The most interesting point of view in which music is to be regarded is
that which relates to the worship of God. This gives it an importance
which is unspeakable. There is no precept which requires us to employ
oratory, or painting, or sculpture in the worship of the Most High. Nor
is there any direct precept for the consecrated use of poetry; for
"psalms and hymns and spiritual songs," may be written in elevated
prose. But the Bible is filled with directions for the employment of
music in the sacred service. Both the Old Testament and the New require
us to sing with devout affections, to the praise and glory of God. The
command, too, seems to be general, like those in relation to prayer. If
all are to pray, so "in everything" are all to "give thanks." If we are
to "pray without ceasing," so we are told, "let every thing that hath
breath praise the Lord." Again, "is _any_ man afflicted, let him pray:
is he merry (joyful), let him _sing_ psalms." The direction is not, "if
any man is joyful, let him attend a concert or listen to exercises in
praise," but "let him _sing_." There is something to be done in his own
proper person.
Our necessities compel us to pray. A mere permission to do so, might
seem to suffice. For we must pray earnestly and perseveringly, or perish
forever. But will it do meanwhile to be sparing in our thanks? True, one
may say, I am under infinite obligations to give thanks, and I generally
endeavor to do so when engaged in the exercise of prayer. But, remember
there is another divinely constituted exercise called praise. Why not
engage in this also, and mingle petitions with your praises? This is the
scriptural method of expressing gratitude and adoration, and for
ourselves, we see not how individuals are to be excused in neglecting
it. Every one, it is true, would not succeed as an artist, if he had
never so many advantages. But every one who has the ordinary powers of
speech, might be so far instructed in song, as to mingle his voice with
others in the solemn assembly, or at least to use it in private to his
own edification. This position has been established in these later times
beyond the possibility of a rational doubt. Proofs of it have been as
clear as demonstration. These, perhaps, may be exhibited in another
number.
But in reply to this statement it will be said, that cultivation is
exceedingly difficult if deferred to adult years. Well, be it so. It
follows, that since it is not difficult in years of childhood and youth,
all our children should have early and adequate instruction. There
should be singing universally in Christian families. And this is the
precise point I have endeavored to establish in the present article. How
far the neglects and miscarriages of youth may excuse the delinquences
of adult years, I dare not presume to decide or conjecture. It may
suffice my present purpose to show that according to the Bible all
_should_ sing; and that all _might_ sing if instruction had not been
neglected. Is it not high time for such neglect to be done away? And how
shall it ever be done away, except by the introduction of music into
Christian families?
Let Christian parents once become awake to the important results
connected with this subject, and they can ordinarily overcome what had
seemed to them mountains of difficulty; nay, more, what seemed
impossibilities, by considerable effort and a good share of
perseverance.
Even one instance of successful experiment in this way should be quite
sufficient to induce others to make similar efforts.
A father who for many years, during his collegiate and professional
studies, was for a long period abstracted from all domestic endearments,
much regretted this, as he was sensible of the prejudicial influence it
had in deadening the affections. Not many years after he became settled
in business, he found himself surrounded by quite a little group of
children. He became exceedingly interested in their spiritual welfare,
and in the success of Sabbath-school instruction. His heart was often
made to rejoice as he contemplated the delightful influence upon
himself of these home-scenes, and which he longed to express in sacred
song. But as he had never cultivated either his ear or his voice, he
felt at his time of life it would be quite useless for him to try to
learn. Neither did the mother of his children know anything about the
rules of music.
They had at one time a very musical young relative for a visitor in
their family. The children were so delighted with his lofty strains that
they kept him singing the greater part of the time. The mother expressed
great regret that neither she nor her husband could gratify the children
in their eager desire to enjoy music.
This young friend said he was sure, if she would but try, he would soon
convince her of the practicability of learning. She promised to try--and
in the attempt she was greatly encouraged by the assurances of her
husband that he also would try.
It was soon found that all the children had a good ear and a good voice,
and particularly the eldest, a girl of seven, who was at length able to
take the lead in singing a few tunes at family worship.
After a few months' trial, no money could have tempted these parents to
relinquish the pleasure and the far-reaching benefits which they felt
must result from this social and exalted pleasure of uniting on earth in
singing the sacred songs of Zion, as a preparation for loftier strains
in Heaven.
* * * * *
It has been beautifully said that Reason is the compass by which we
direct our course; and Revelation the pole star by which we correct its
variations.
Experience, like the stern-light of a ship, only shows us the path which
has been passed over.
Happiness, like the violet, is only a way-side flower.
* * * * *
Original.
"WHY ARE WE NOT CHRISTIANS?"
A SKETCH FOR DAUGHTERS.
It was the day for the meeting of the Monthly Missionary Society, in the
village of C.; a day of pure unclouded loveliness in early summer, when
the sweetest flowers were blossoming, and the soft delicious air was
laden with their perfume, and that of the newly-mown hay. All nature
seemed rejoicing in the manifestations of the goodness and love of its
Creator, while the low mingled murmurings of insects, breezes and
rivulets, with the songs of birds, formed a sweet chorus of praise to
God. The society was to meet at deacon Mills's, who lived about four
miles out of the village, and whose house was the place where, of all
others, all loved to go. Very early in the afternoon all the spare
wagons, carriages, carryalls, chaises and other vehicles were in demand.
A hay-rack was filled with young people, as a farmer kindly offered to
carry them nearly to the place, and toward evening, they considered, it
would be pleasant to walk home. So deacon Mills's house was filled with
old, middle-aged and young, who were all soon occupied with the
different kinds of work, requisite for filling a box to be sent to a
missionary family among the distant heathen. Seaming, stitching,
piecing, quilting and knitting, kept every hand busy, while their
owners' tongues were equally so, yet the conversation was not the
common, idle talk of the day, but useful and elevating, for religion was
loved, and lived, by most of those dear and pleasant people, and it
could not but be spoken of. Still there was interest in each other's
welfare, as their social and domestic pursuits and plans were related
and discussed.
There was a piazza in front of the house, the pillars of which were
covered with vines, running from one to another, gracefully interlacing,
and forming a pleasant screen from the sun's rays. At one end of this
piazza, a group of five young girls were seated at their work. They were
chosen and intimate friends, who shared with each other all that was
interesting to themselves. They had been talking pleasantly together for
some time, and had arrived at a moment's pause, when Clara Glenfield
said, "Girls, I think this is a good opportunity to say to you something
that I have for a long time wished to say. You know we are in the habit
of speaking to each other upon every subject that interests us,
excepting that of religion. None of us profess to be Christians,
although we know it is our duty to be. We have all pious mothers, and,
if yours are like mine, they are constantly urging, as well as our other
friends, to give our hearts to God, and we cannot but think of the
subject; now, why should we not speak of it together? and why are we not
Christians?"
Emily Upton. "I should really be very glad, Clara, if we could. It seems
to me we might talk much more freely with each other, than with older
persons; for some things trouble me on this subject, and if I should
speak of them to mother, or any one else, I am afraid they would think
less of me, or blame me."
Clara. "Then let us each answer the question, why are we not Christians?
You tell us first, Emily."
Emily. "Well, then, it seems to me, I am just as good as many in the
church. I do not mean to say that I am good, but only if they are
Christians, I think I am. There is Leonora D., for instance, she dresses
as richly with feathers and jewels, attends parties instead of the
prayer-meetings, and acts as haughtily as any lady of fashion I ever
knew. Now, I go to the Bible class, evening meetings, always attend
church, and read the Bible, and pray every day. Notwithstanding all,
mother says, so tenderly, 'Emily, my child, I wish you were a
Christian,' and I get almost angry that she will not admit that I am
one."
Alice Grey. "Well, I do not blame Leonora much. To tell the truth, I do
not believe in so much church-going and psalm-singing. I think God has
given us these pleasant things to enjoy them, and it is perfectly
natural for a young girl to sing and dance, visit, dress, and enjoy
herself. It seems to me there is time enough for religion when we grow
older, but give me youthful pleasures and I can be happy enough."
Sophia. "But you think religion is important, do you not?"
Alice. "Yes, I suppose it is necessary to have religion to die by, and I
own I sometimes feel troubled for fear that I may die before possessing
it, but I am healthy and happy, and do not think much about it. I want
to enjoy life while I can, like these little birds in the garden who are
singing and skipping so merrily."
Clara. "Annie, you are the reverse of Alice, quiet, gentle, and sedate;
why are not you a Christian?"
Annie. "Since we are talking so candidly, I will tell you. I really do
not know how to be. I cannot feel that I have ever done anything that
was so very sinful, although I know, for the Bible says so, that I am a
sinner. To be sure, I have done a great many wrong things, but it does
not seem as though God would notice such little things, and besides it
did not seem as though I could have done differently in the
circumstances. Mother has always commended me, and held me up for a
pattern to the younger children, and I suppose I have become, at least,
you will think I have, a real Pharisee. Yet when I have been urged to
repent and believe in Christ, I have not known what to do. I have spent
hours in the still, lonely night, thinking upon the subject, and saying,
if I could only feel that I am a sinner I would repent. I have always
believed in Jesus, that He is the Son of God, that He assumed our
nature, and bore the punishment we deserve, and will save all who
believe in Him. Now what more can I do? I know that I must do
everything, for I feel that I am far from being a Christian, and yet I
know not what. I suppose your experience does not correspond with mine,
Clara?"
Clara. "Not exactly. I not only know, but deeply feel, that I am a great
sinner; sometimes my sinfulness appears too great to be forgiven. The
trouble with me is _procrastination_. I cannot look back to the time
when I did not feel that I ought to be a Christian, but I have always
put off the subject, thinking I would attend to it another time, and it
has been just so for year after year. Only last week I was sitting alone
in my room at twilight, enjoying the quiet loveliness and beauty of the
view from my window. I could not help thinking of Him who had made all
things, and had given me the power of enjoying them, besides so many
other blessings, and I longed to participate in the feeling which Cowper
ascribes to the Christian, and say, '_My Father_ made them all.' Then
something seemed to whisper, 'wilt thou not from _this time_ cry unto
me, My Father, thou art the guide of my youth?' 'Now is the accepted
time.' 'To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart.' But I
did harden my heart. I did not feel willing, like Alice, to give up the
pleasures which are inviting me all around, and become a devoted,
consistent Christian, for I do not mean to be a half-way Christian,
neither one thing or the other."
Sophia. "Nearly all these reasons have been my excuse for not becoming a
Christian, but another has been, that I do not like to be noticed, and
made an object of remark. My father and mother and friends would be so
much pleased, they would be talking of it, and watching me, to see if my
piety was real, and I would feel as if I were too conspicuous a person.
Now if we would all at the same time resolve to consecrate ourselves to
the Lord, I think each particular case might not be so much noticed."
"But why should you dread it so much Sophy?" asked Emily.
"I hardly know _why_" she replied, "but I have always felt so since I
was quite a child, but since I have for the first time spoken of it, it
seems a much more foolish reason than I had before considered it."
Alice. "And I must confess that I am not always so careless and
thoughtless on this subject. When I am really possessing and enjoying
the pleasures I have longed for, there seems to be always something more
that I need to make me happy. Fanny Bedford, pious and good as she is,
seems always happier than I, and I have often wished that I was such a
Christian as she is."
"Who has not," exclaimed the other girls; and their praise of her was
warm and sincere.
"She is so consistent and religious, and yet so humble, and so full of
love to every one, that it is impossible not to love her and the
religion she loves so much. Annie, I have never wished so much that I
was a Christian, as when I have thought of her; how much I wish I was
like her." "There is Fanny in the hall, let us speak to her of what we
have been saying," said Sophia.
They agreed that they were willing she should know it all, and called to
her. She came and sat with them, and they related to her the
conversation which they had had together, to which she listened with
much interest, and a warm heart, and replied, "It is a great wonder to
me now, dear girls, that any should need to be _persuaded_ to accept of
Christ, and devote themselves to His service; yet it was once just the
same with me. I had all of your excuses and many more, and considered
them good reasons for not becoming a Christian. How true it is, that
'the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them that believe not,
lest the light of the glorious gospel should shine unto them.' Could you
but once experience the blessedness of being children of God, you would
be surprised and ashamed that you have so long refused so precious a
privilege, to possess instead, the unsatisfying pleasures of earth.
Consider, to be a Christian, is to have God for your father, to have all
that is glorious and excellent in his perfections engaged for your good.
It is to have Jesus for an ever-present, almighty friend, ready to
forgive your sins, to save you from sin, to bear your sorrows, to
heighten your joys, to lead and bless you in all the scenes of life, to
guide and assist you while you engage in his blessed service, to be with
you in the hour of death, and to admit you to the realms of eternal joy.
I can scarcely commence telling you of all the benefits he bestows on
His people."
"What must we do, Fanny?" inquired Annie.
"The first thing of all, dear Annie," she replied, "is to go to the
Savior, at His feet ask for repentance and true faith in Him. Consecrate
yourself to Him, and resolve that you will from this time serve the
Lord. Then, Annie, you will have done what you could, and 'He giveth the
Holy Spirit to them that obey Him.' That Spirit will convince you of
sin, and you will be surprised and grieved that you could ever have
thought of yourself as other than the chief of sinners, and while you
shed tears of sorrow and repentance, He will lead you to Christ, the
Lamb of God, whose precious blood will prevail with God for the pardon
of your sins; in it you can wash away your sins, and be made pure and
holy in his sight. Do what you know how to do, and then shall you know
if you follow on to know the Lord; will you not?"
Annie. "I will try."
Fanny. "I think the sin of procrastination must be very displeasing to
God, as it is to our earthly parents, when we defer obeying their
commands. It is solemn to think that He against whom we thus sin, is He
in whose hands our breath is, and who can at any time take it away. If
He were not so slow to anger, what would become of us? Dear Clara, and
each of you, you are only making cause for sorrow and shame in thus
neglecting to do what you know you ought to do. 'Enter in at the strait
gate and walk in the narrow way that leadeth unto life,' and you will
find that every step in that way is pleasure. Not such pleasure as the
world gives, Alice, but more like the happiness of angels. Religion
takes away no real pleasures, nor the buoyancy and happiness of the
youthful spirit. It only sanctifies and leads its possessor to do
nothing but what a kind heavenly Father will approve, Alice."
"But, Fanny, all Christians are not happy ones."
Fanny. "Yet those who are the most devoted and consistent, are the most
happy. Some have troubles and sorrows which they could scarcely bear if
it were not for religion. They are sanctified by means of these
afflictions and so made happier; holiness and happiness are inseparable.
''Tis religion that must give, sweetest pleasure while we live,' you
know the hymn says, and it is true. Do you think Emily, that because you
are as good as you think Leonora is, you are good enough?"
Emily. "No, Fanny, it was a poor excuse; I see that I must not look at
others, but at what God requires of _me_."
Fanny. "How common is the excuse, so many people profess to think they
can do without religion, because so many who call themselves Christian
are inconsistent. Dear girls, I pray that if you are ever Christians,
you may be consistent, sincere ones. Who can estimate the good, or the
evil, you may do by your example. If you love the Savior more than all
else beside, you will find his yoke easy and his burden light, and for
his sake it will be pleasant to do what would naturally be unpleasant.
Remember this, Sophy, and I hope you will soon all know the blessedness
of being Christians. It is our highest duty and our highest happiness.
Do, dear girls, resolve, each of you, to seek the Lord now."
Just then, their pastor came; he spoke kindly to each of the little
group, before entering the house.
"It is nearly tea-time," said Clara, "let us go and offer our assistance
to Mrs. Mills; as we are the youngest here, perhaps she would like to
have us carry around the plates and tea. We will try to not forget what
you have told us, Fanny."
"Pray for me, Fanny," said Sophia softly, as she passed her, and kissed
her.
"And for me," said Annie.
"And for us, too," continued Clara, Emily and Alice, as they stepped
back for a moment.
Tea was soon over, the missionary hymn, "From Greenland's icy
mountains," was sung, and prayer offered by the pastor, and then the
pleasant interview was ended.
A few days after, Fanny and Annie met each other in the street. "Have
you tried to do, Annie, what seemed your duty to do?" Fanny asked.
"I have," she replied, as she looked up with a happy smile.
"You have done what you could," said Fanny; "it is all that God requires
of you, continue to do so." Annie's heart thrilled with joy, at the
first faint hope that she was indeed a Christian, and from that time
her course, like that of the shining light, was onward and brighter.
C. L.
* * * * *
Original.
MOTHERS NEED THE BAPTISM OF THE HOLY GHOST.
At one period of my life, during a revival of religion, God led me by
his Spirit to see and feel that the many years I had been a professed
follower of Christ--which had been years of alternate revivings and
backslidings, had only resulted in dishonor to Him and condemnation to
my own soul. True, I had many times thought I had great enjoyment in the
service of God, and was ever strict in all the outward observances of
religion. But my heart was not fixed, and my affections were easily
turned aside and fastened upon minor objects. In connection with this
humiliating view of my past life, a deep sense of my responsibilities as
a mother, having children old enough to give themselves to God, and
still unreconciled to him, weighed me to the earth.
I plainly saw that God could not consistently convert them while I lived
so inconsistent a life. I felt that if they were lost I was responsible.
I gave myself to seek the Lord with all my heart, by fasting and prayer.
One day, in conversation with my dear pastor, I told him my trials, and
he said to me, "What you want is a baptism of the Holy Ghost. Give
yourself up to seek this richest of all blessings." I did so--and rested
not until this glorious grace was mine. Then, oh how precious was Jesus
to my soul! How perfectly easy was it now to deny myself and follow
Christ!
I now knew what it was to be led by the constraining love of Jesus, and
to do those things that please him. Then it was that he verified to me
his precious promise, "If ye keep my commandments, ye shall ask what ye
will, and it shall be done unto you." Very shortly, one of my dear
loved ones was brought to make an entire surrender of herself to Christ.
I trust I was also made the instrument of good to others, who professed
to submit their hearts to my precious Savior. Will not many more be
induced to take God at his word and believe him when he says, "Then
shall ye find me, when ye shall search for me with all your hearts"?
* * * * *
Original.
EXTRAVAGANCE.
The following paragraphs, which we have met in the course of our
reading, contain a great deal of truth worthy the consideration of our
readers.