61jf amity etas.
ABIDE WITH US FOR IT IS TOWARD
EVENING.
BY REV. H. N. POWERS
The tender light is fading where
We pause and linger still,
And, through the dim and saddened air,
We feel the evening chill.
Long hast thou journeyed with us, Lord,
Ere we thy face did know ;
Oh I still thy fellowship afford,
While dark the shadows grow.
For passed is many a . beauteous field,
Beside our morning road ;
And many a fount to us is sealed
That once so freshly flowed.
) The splendor of the noontide lies
On other paths than ours ;
The dews that lave yon fragrant sines
Will not revive our flowers.
It is not now as in the glow
Of life's impassioned heat,
When to the heart there seemed to flow
All that of earth was sweet.
Something has faded—something died—
Without us and within;
We, more than ever, need a guide,
Blinded and weak with sin.
The weight is heavy that we bear,
Our strength more feeble grows
Weary with toil, and pain, and care,
We long for sweet repose.
Stay with us gracious Saviour, stay,
' While friends and hopes depart;
Fainting, on thee we wish to lay
The burden of our heart.
Abide with us, dear Lord ; remain
Our Life, our Truth, our Way.;
So shall our loss be turned to gain—
Night dawn to endless day.
—Evening Post
A SCENE IN AUSTRALIA;
In the Wimmera district, in Austra
lia, lives a carpenter named Duff. On
the 12th of August, three of his chil
then were sent by their mother into
the woods to cut broom. It was not the
first time they had gone on the same
errand, and they had always returned
safely ; but this time, they missed their
way and were " lost in the bush."
When some hours had"passed away,
the father commenced a search on
horseback, but though assistance was
rendered to him by the nieghbors,J he
could not find them. On Saturday all
available force was mustered, and the
bush searched far and near, by horse
men and footmen, but no trace ap
peared. Efforts were made continuous
ly from Sabbath to Thursday, but
without success. The father now de
termined to get the assistance of the
natives, as they are noted for being
able to track the. path anything has
taken in travelling. They were direct
ed to a trail which had already been
followed by some of the party, and
they declared themselves confident that
they had found the right path. After
wards the party came upon another
trail, which the blacks declared to be
newer than the other ; and after fol
lowing it for 300 yards, they said the
children had slept there the night be
fore, pointing out a little clump of
saplings, in which was found, on ex
amination, some broom strewed about,
and a little pillow of broom, on which
their weary heads had rested. The
spot was well sheltered. from the wind
and rain, and was capable of protecting
the children from the severe weather
of the previous night. The statement
of the blacks gave new courage to the
father and the party ; the former for
the first time in several days began to
hope he might find his children living.
The track ,seemed plainer as they pro
ceeded ; shortly the blacks pointed out
a spot where they said one of the chil
dren had stopped to lift the younger
one, and further on they pointed where
the child had been set down again,
after being carried a considerable dis
tance ; again they pointed out a place
where one of the elder children had
stopped to carry the little one, but this
time they said the elder one had been
unable to rise with the burden, and the
three tracks were followed as before.
The day was now wearing, away, and
it was suggested to the father. that he
should ride on in the direction -the
track was - taking, in order Icofind it'
ahead ; if possible, anit so lave" time ;
this was done, and providentially the
track was foundthree-quarters of a
mile ahead. The party continued fol
lowing the track until an hour before
sundown, when Vie father again rode
ahead of the party; and having got on
to some rising ;ground,, saw,something
white a little distance away ; he went
towards it,' arid found the three children
sleeping in a little clump of trees.
They were lying together, the girl
having taken off her frock to cover the
three. It is probable the little ones
would never have travelled from this
last resting-place, unless discovered. on
this night. The two eldest were al
most unable to speak. The eldest boy
was the first to awake, he uttered one
word, "Father," and staggered towards
hiko. ; the youngest boy sat up and
cried, " Father, why didn't you come
before ?" He had to assist the girl to
get up; she seemed utterly powerless,
and could not speak. The youngest
child was the strongest of the three.
It is most probable that the other two
would not have been able to continue
their journey the following day, even
if "they had lived through the night.
The trackers, not having expected to
find the children alive, were unpre
pared with food ; the only eatables
- with the party were a piece of :bread
and some ginger root, which were
given to the famished children. The
little boy's trousers had been taken off,
and when asked the reason for this,
the children said they had got torn by
travelling, and the girl tied them up
in a handkerchief. They
. had taken
off their socks whenthey slept out the
first night, and the wild cats had car
ried them off; wad afterwards they had
slept with their shoes on. Some days
after they had been lost—it is sup
posed the fourth day—they came to a
hill, which they thought was near
their own home, and they again gath
ered some broom to take with them ;
but after carrying it for some "time, and
finding they were deceived, they threw
it away. There does not appear to be
the slightest grounds' for supposing
that the children tasted any food dur
ing the time they were lost, nor that
they tasted water more than once. The
blacks pointed out a place where the
children travelled in the dark; on
being asked why they-said so, they
pointed out where the children had
stumbled and fallen 'over logs and
brushwood in their way. The chil
dren were taken every possible care of
after being found. Seldom has a tale
been told which relates so much patient
suffering as those little children-under
went Seldom has brotherly or sister
ly affection been so - beautifully illus
trated. The girl had regularly taken
off her frock to cover the younger one
when he complained of the bitter cold,
which must have been severely felt
in consequence of their famished con
dition. •
In this surely we have an instance
of heroic conduct on the pact of these
elder children caring so 'nobly for the
little one whose life must have been
lost had he not been warmly wrapped
up in his sister's frock.—Juv. Miss.
Herald.
WHAT "UNCLE SAYS."
We wish our young friends,
.espe,
cially boys, would read the foowing
many times over, and never forget the
wisdom that it contains. •
My uncle is a woodman; he is nOw
getting to 'be an old man. ome peo
ple say he is cross, but I do not think
so. Trouble and thought may -,,give;
his face a thoughtful 'look sometimes;
but I know be has a kind. heart. Of
one thing I am certain—he has ,got 'a
wise head. Meet him. whenever I may,
he has always got something to say.
If You would like to hear some of his
sayings, I will write down some of,
them for you.
One day I salhim with an axe in
his hand, standing by a branch he had'
just cut from an old oak tree, when he
began:—
If you set a thistle seed, there will
spring up, not one or two, but twenty
or thirty ; and it will be just the same
if you set one sin. One sin, he says,
has been known to bring forth a hun
dred more. The farmer ought to take
care that no thistle seeds are sown on
his land; and you ought to take care
that no sins are sown in your heart.
Uncle says a boy seldom looks for
ward, unless it is to a holiday ; when
he is well, he seldom dreams of being
sick ; when he has money, he thinks
it will last him for weeks ; and when
the sun shines, he almost expects it to
shine forever; but he says we should
be ready to endure patiently, as well
as enjoy gratefully. "Shall we re
ceive good at the hand of God, and
shall we not - receive evil?" Job ii. 10.
Uncle says that, if a traveller once
leaves the turnpike road in a part of
the country that he does not know, he
may wander about in lanes the whole
of the day, and when night comes, get
stuck in a bog at last ; and that, if I
venture to wander away from the path
of duty, I May lose myself in the
cross-roads of error and vice all my
days, and . at • last fall into the pit of
destruction.
Uncle says he had. rather read the
Bible and never look at any, other
book, than read every other book in
the world and never look at the Bible ;
for this reason : other books are the
bOoks'of men, but the Bible is the book
of 'God ; and as man's knowledge is
'but ignorance, when compared with
God's knowledge, so the wisdom of all
the books of men is but folly, when
compared with the wisdom of the book
of God.
POETRY IN SERMONS,
"Where did you find that beautiful
poetry you quoted in your discourse
yesterday morning ?"
Such was the inquiry of a gay
young lady who was a half-attendant
on Sabbath services; and whom I re
garded as a very inattentive hearer.
I replied, " You may remember I
gave two poetic quotations. To which
do you refer?"
"-Only one interested me. 0, that
was exquisite ! Where did you get
such a gem ? Either I have never
seen it, or else your rendering of it
made it seem entirely new. I fancy
it must have been taken from some re
cent production that has not come
under my eye."
"As you heard it with so much
pleasure, perhaps you can repeat some
of it."
" Two lines, I recollect, were some
thing like these :
" Where' er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee."
"0, that was from Oliver Gold
smith, published in 1765."
"Is it possible ? Then I must have
seen it. What is the title of the
poem ?"
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, APRIL 20, 1865.
" The Traveller; or, A Prospect of
Society."
"I can hardly believe it. I thought
I had read all the good poetry. How
could I have missed that passage ?
It was perfectly splendid! After 'you
had repeated it I could think of
nothing else. The impression lasted
through the day." .
"In those ten lines I fear there was
not much Gospel."
"0, sit, was all Gospel ;it was so
beautiful! Nothing , so impresses me
in your sermons as good classic poetry.
You may be sure that it does much to
make you popular with the better
class of your hearers. You know this
is an age of high ''esthetic culture, and
if a minister would attract and hold
young people, he must meet 'the de
mands of refined taste. There is the
Rev. Dr. who is a great reader,
and give,s, in his morning sermon, the
finest, passages from, the .best authors,
French, German, and :English. The
most ace,omplished young ladies go to
hear him for the improvement of their
style."
A discussion ensued which, on
neither side, was very profitable.
After 'she had retired, as unben.efitted,
probably, by my conversation ill'she
had been by my sermon ; I had leisure
for reflection. She had spoken words
that made me think. She had not in
tended to leave wounds; but barbed
points were fastened deep out of her
sight. I had captivated her ear by a
few lines of Christless poetry ! She
" could think of nothing else !" "The
impression lasted through the day I"
She was so delighted with the .passage
that she must come early on Monday
to compliment my taste and encourage
me to a repetition of the - process ! And
that was the way I, had dealt with an
immortal soul hastening with me to
the final judgment 1 I had enough to
think of that day, and that week. I
felt no compunction for quoting
poetry ; but a review of the - particular
quotation, and a knowledge of its
effect 'upon a young miud, - put me
upon a train of , ' -reflections that
liuMbled me: before God And created ,
an 'epoch in: my ,ministry.- •.I -had
duty to do , to that.young parishioner,
and. was. enabled to-.perforrn it in. a
way which the. Holy Spirit honored.
-with His blessing. The next Monday
morning she was at my honk, an in
quit& for the *ay of eternal life.
Never since account she made accnt of
" zesthetic culture," or complimented
her pastor-for hiss " exquisite taste" in
citations from godless poets; or taught
him how to be popular with frivolous
minded young ladies. She became a
Christian, labored zealously for her
Lord, grew rapidly in grace, and was
faithful unto death.— Watchman and .
Reflector.
A SECOND ROBINSON CRUSOE.
General Scott, in his interesting
autobiography, gives an account of a
Robinson Crasoe, a Mr. Pain, who
lived a solitary life for many years on
the Island of Cape Breton. He says :
Mr. Pain sailed from Boston in a
smack for the banks of Newfoundland
and other fishing grounds, in 1774,
'before the outbreak of the Revolution.
Having made up the cargo in the Gut
of Oanso, Pain begged his companions
to let him remain till the return of the
party the following season. They,
assisted in building him a hut, and left
him with a good supply of personal .
and bed-clothes, some axes and other
tools, a gun, with ammunition, fishing
tackle, and such other stores as could
be spared, together with a Bible,
Paradise Lost," and the "Pilgrim's
Progress." Prayers were said at part
ing, and the smack sailed for home.
This was the last that our adven
turer saw of " the human face divine"
for. nine or ten years. The Revolu
tionary war supervened. There was
no more fishing and cu.riifig of fish by
Americans on tapse shores—the Gut
of Canso not being nayig,ated. at that
period except bylvessels driveninto it
by 'stress of weather. There was no
road and no trail across the mountains
to any settlement whatever.
_For the first year, and, indeed, till
his supplies, began to fail
Pain, then young, did not lament his
condition. But when the second and
third seasons came, and again and
again
there was no return of his
friends, it seemed evident that they had
abandoned him ; his spirits &doped,
and he was in danger of being,lost in
despair.
But man is the most flexible and
pliable of all animals. According to
his own account, Mr. Pain began soon
to relish food without salt ; the deer
and fleece goat were abundant, furnish.-
ing him with both food and raiment.,
and which he contrived to entrap after
his powder and shot were exhausted.
So too, in respect to worn out hooks
and lines ; these were replaced by
bones and slips of skin, so that there
was no want of the " finny prey." By
the fifth year he began to like the new
life as well as at first. His books were
more .than a solace to him, and the
autobiographer can testify that he
could accurately recite, from memory,
entire chapters of the Bible, and many
of the books of " Paradise Lost."
Finally, when, at the end of the war,
his old master in a smack came in
search of him or his remains, he had
become so attached to this new mode
of eNistence that he refused to return
to his native soil. A good supply of
necessaries were again left with him.
His little property at home was in-
vested in cattle, with materials for a
small house, some furniture, etc., all of
which were sent out to him, with an
qld sister, a farm, laborer and a 'Led—
a relative. Before 1812 some new
connections and laborers bad. -joined
him, and he had become a thrifty
farmer.
DRIVING HOME THE COWS,
out of.the clover and blue 7 eyed grass
'He turned them into the river lane ;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow bars again.
Under the willows, and over the hill,
He patiently folio - Wed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face
Only a boy and his father, had said
He never could let his youngest go;
Two already were lying. dead ,
Under the feet of, the trampling foe.
. .
But after the evening work was done, . .
And . the
frogs were loud in the meadow
swamp, . : -
Over his shoulder he slung his gun
And stealthily. followed the foot-path damp,
Across the clover, and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind-at's flitting startled him. •
Thrice since then had the lane been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
And now, when the cows came back at night,
The feeble father drove them home.
For news had come to the lonely fart
That three were lying where two had lain ;
And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm,
Could never lean on a son's again.
The summer day grew cool and late.
He went for the cows when the work was done;
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming, one by one
Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,
Shaking their horns in the evening wind ;
Cropping the butter-cups out of the grass—
But who was it following close behind?
Loosely swung in the idle, air
The empty sleeve of army blue
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew.
For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,
And yield their dead unto life again
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn,
In golden , glory at last may wane.
The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;
For the heart must speak when the .lips are
dumb ;
Arid under the silent evening skies
Together they followed the cattle home.
~ Harper's Monthly
•
A LOST- CHILD !
A few .evenings ago, the quiet vil
lage of was suddenly thrown
into a state of excitement and anxiety
by the ringing of bells, just as - the
families were retiring to rest. What
can it mean 7 Has - Richmond been
captured ? Has Sa,vannah fallen'? Is
it a fire? No, the cry is heard, " A
child lost ! a' child lost !" It was a lit
tle boy of three or four years. The
night was cold. Snow had fallen, and
it was freezing sharply. The child
had been gone for several hours.
Search had already been made in
every direction whither it was thought
he might have wandered. But no
tidings banae• to relieve the anxiety of
the now agonized parents. What shall
they do ? The child will certainly
perish, if not speedily found. It was
finally agreed that an alarm should be
rung, with a view to a general search
by the whole village. The population
was quickly on the, move.
_Every
heart was touched with
~ympathy for
the imperiled: child. "It was then pro
posed to examine carefully all wells
and cisterns to which it might have
found access. The discovery is now
made ! Alas, it had fallen into a
neighbor's cistern incautiously left
open for a little time only during the
afternoon, and then closed without
suspecting what had ; happened. The
agony of suspense.was now over, but
the agony of bereavement remained,
which time and grace only can cure.
Every parent, who may chance to read
these lines, and many, who are not
parents, will feel'un involuntary throb
of sympathy for this afflicted family.
And yet how many of them have chil
dren and friends who are _lost in a far
more dreadful sense than was this lit
tle unfortunate ? The writer could
not help thinking, while all the village
was on the alert to find this little wan
derer, how many older, boys, in the
same town, were at that very moment
exposed to infinitely greater dangers,
but kr whom no one seemed to have
any special solicitude. Could we but
realize that every child is, by nature,
a child of wrath, and therefore lost to
God, and heaven,: until renewed by
the grace of the Holy Spirit, we would
surely feel a much deeper solicitude
for them.
Ha - ve you, dear reader, an uncon
verted child'? one whose heart is un
renewed by the grace of God ? Then
remember, I entreat you, that this
child is lost. It is a wanderer from
God and the way of heaven. If you
knew it was in imminent danger of a
temporal death from any cause, you
could not rest a moment till every
possible effort had been made to avert
such danger. Why, then, not the
same, and a far greater anxiety, about
its spiritual interests? What signifies
the death of the body to that of the
soul ? As heaven is higher, arid holier
and happier than earth ; and as eter
nity is more enduring than the present
transitory life, so is the peril of all
who are out of Christ, more alarming
than any mere physical or temporal
evil. Would that all who have the
care of children could realize this, and
act, as though they believed it.
The mother who should allow her
little one to fall in the flames or into
the water, and thus perish through her
neglect, could never forgive herself
such remissness in duty. This sad
and bitter reflection would haunt her
till her dying day. But who can
imagine the anguish that must pierce
the heart of every parent who, by a
similar neglect, has permitted a be
loved child to fall into the fire that is
never quenched I—into that pit where
soul and body will be lost forever 1
Know, then, that every unconverted
child is thus exposed. And if you are
not travailing in birth for them, till
Christ be formed. within them the hope
of glory, you are assuredly treasuring
up all this anguish for yourself. What,
therefore, thine hand findeth to do for
them, let it be done quickly. Time,
with , rapid wing, is bearing us all,
parents and children, pastors and peo
ple, to the confines of that endless
night in which no man can work.—
Cincinnati Presbyter.
ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH,
The ground-work of all manly char
acter is veracity; or the habit of truth
fulness. That virtue lies at the found
ation of everything said. Holcom
mon it is to hear parents say, "I have
faith in my child so long as he speaks
the truth. He may have many faults,
but I know that he will not deceive.
I build on that confidence." They are
right. It is a lawful and just ground
to build upon. So long as the truth
remains in a child, there is something
to depend on ; but when truth is gone,
all is lost, unless the child is speedily
won back again to veracity. Children,
did you ever tell a lie?, If so, you are
in imminent danger. Return at once,
little reader, and enter the stronghold
of truth, and from it may you never
depart again.—Selected.
fret fly 'fit& talb.
FAMILIAR TALKS WITH THE CHIL
DREN.
13Y REV. EDWARD PAYSON HAMIOND
I never saw a little child but loved
the singing birds, and so my readers
will like to hear about a Robin Red
breast.
One spring, about twelve years ago,
the birds left their winter quarters
away down at the Gulf of Mexico, and
over mountains, rivers, forests, and
cities they flew away for their New
England homes. Redbreast came
singing with the rest, and no doubt
expected to have a gay time among
the mountains and by the sea side.
Perhaps he felt a little as some of you
have felt when you. thought of going
to the White Mountains or to Long
Branch.
This little fellow finally reached his
new home in Connecticut. I think he
had before spent one summer there,
among the laughing brooks and green.
hills. His parents were with him
then. But this time he came with
some friends., He thought he was
old enough to take care of himself
Perhaps, like some naughty boys he
disobeyed in, going away without his
mother's consent. All went well. for
a week or two. He thought he should
have a splendid time. He had plenty
to eat every day, and he was as merry
as he could be. The trees rocked him
to sleep at night. And the children
heard him singing in the morning be
fore they were out of bed.
When little Willie came to break
fast, one morning, his first words were,
"Ah I papa, I heard a robin singing
this morning, and I want to run out
and see him !" But one morning when
Willie awoke he heard no songs from
the birdies. He thought at first either
he had opened his eyes too SOOl3 . or
that the robins had all overslept them
selves. But when he looked out of
the window - , and saw -the feathery
snow falling so still, and covering up
all the new green tips of grass, he
knew the reason the birds did not, as
usual, wake him up.
When he came down that morning
he looked sad, and his first words
were, "Ah ! father, I am afraid my
little Robin Redbreast is frozen to
death. I have not heard him sing
once this morning."
"Oh no," said his father, "he has a
warm overcoat, and he is out in the
garden in some warm nook. I think
he will live through it."
Not a bird was to be seen that day,
for it kept snowing very hard, and the
next day it snowed, and the cold wind
blew, and. when Willie's father came
home at night he made little Willie
feel very sad, by telling him that he
had seen a great many birds that day
that could not get any thing to eat,
and they were frozen to death.
Little Willie could scarcely sleep
that night for fear his little birdie was
among the dead. But in the morning
he looked out the window and saw in
the garden little Robin Redbreast.
He was all shivering with cold. He
looked half starved and frozen.
Little Willie was glad he was not
dead, and away he bounded, saying,
"Mother 1 mother! here's my little ro
bin, half-starved! may I
. call him in
and feed him with some crumbs ?"
And without stopping for her to an
swer, away he went to the pantry.
He`got a handful of crumbs, and ran
to the door, out he went on to the step
stone. The snow was almost over his
head and he thought he would not`go
any farther, so there .he stood and
called to the poor hungry robin, to
come and ge t his breakfast.' But the
foolish bird did not stir. "Come,"
said Willie, "come here and I will
give you all you can eat: Come, and
I will get a little basket of warm wool
and make you a nice bed by the fire,
and when the snow melts I will let
you fly away, so that you can wake
me up in the morning ae:ainr But
there the..poor bird stood - shivering
still. He did not seem to care a fig for
all Willie said. He could not bear to
see his wee Redbreast freeze to death
when there_ was j a warm .14se, r and
plenty to eat so n.editi'y, zip.dso seeing
his words did no good, away.he
plunged -into the deep snow . saying,
"I will catch you and make you come
and when you are fed and warm you
will thank me,-for it." But the snow
was so deep he could not run.- He
could hardly waddle through; though
the foolish bird was stiff with cold_he
hobbled away a little faster than Wil
lie could go. The little boy Was tired
out and could go no farther, so he went
back to the house and told his mother
that his poor robin would surely freeze
to death for the snow was so deep he
could not find any seeds to eat.
In a few hours Willie went out
again, and sure enough his pet bird
was frozen and was dead. I can , al
most hear you say, "Ah! what a
foolish bird? Why didn't he come
straight to Willie and let him feed him
and put him in a warm place till the
cold snow went off?" I say so too.
This was not a wise bird.
I well remember that deep snow
storm that came in April. I then saw
a great many birds dying that would
not come and get something to eat;
and though the snow was so deep that
I took a long sleigh ride, I did not en
joy it much, for all along our way we
saw the poor birds freezing and dying.
Don't you think I would liave been
glad to have given up my sleigh ride
and fed: all the birds in my
.neighbor
hood, if they would only havecome to
me? How happy it would have' made
me to have got great loaves of bread
and given them all they would eat.
But I want to. tell you something
that has made more glad than this
would have done.
I have seen flocks of little children
who have been taught by God that
they were hungering for the Bread of
life—that they needed to have their
souls fed and their hearts were cold
and dead. And the loving Jesus, who
- died on the cross to save little children
has , seemed to stand in the midst of
them and call them to his outstretched
arms. I have seen many of these lit
tle ones going to Jesus, and he has ta
ken 'them and fed anal clothed them;
and some day, when all is ready he
will let them fly away to heaven—and
then they will dwell forever where
there are are no cold storms, but
"Where is all is peace and joy and
love
If Robin Redbreast - of whom you
have heard, had known enough to
have come to Willie's warm house and
been fed, what do you think he would
have wished to do, if he could have
talked? Would he not have gone out
and found all 'his wee friends and
asked them to come to his new Master
and. let him take care of them? I
know he would have done so.
Now these little children who have
come to Jesiis feel anxious to tell all
their little friends the way to be happy
here and happy in heaven when they
die. I have seen them going around
among their little friends who were
weeping for their sins, and telling them
how ready Jesus was to take them and
give them new hearts, and fit them
for heaven. And some of their hearts
have been so full of joy they could not
keep it all to themselves, and so they
have written letters to their friends
and told them how Jesus has taken
them to himself.
You said a little while -ago, Robin
Redbreast was a foolish little bird."
But sometimes children are far more
unwise in not coming to Jesus. He
knows their danger and wants to save
them. He - loves them far more than
Willie loved his pet bird. Yes, he
loves you -very dearly, reader, and
wants you, to come to him. If Willie
had died in trying to save that Robin,
you would have said he loved his bird
very much.
But it says in Luke xix. 10: " The
Son of man is come to seek and to
save the lost." Not only this, but he
died a dreadful death on the cross that
he might save lost children. Yes ;
"He was wounded for our transgres
sions, he was bruised for our iniqui
ties :" Will you not, then,, my dear
little friend, go to him and ask him to
forgive you that you have not loved
him?
On your knees tryand offer this
little*
PRAYER
Dear Jesus, I thank thee That Thou
hast come into this wicked world to
save sinners: I thank Thee that Thou
hast died on the cross to save little
children like me. Thou hast been
seeking me, but I have not listened to
thy tender voice. 0, forgive me that
I have been such a wicked child•
Please to take away my naughty heart
and give me a new heart. Help me•
0 God, to believe in the Lord Jesus
Christ that I may be saved.
I give myself to Thee, dear Jesus.
I can do. lam lost, but Thou
hast come to "seek and to save the
lost." Save me, 0 Lord, for Jesus' sake.
Amen.