familg WHO IS MY SAVIOUR ? Who is my Saviour? He Who made and lAndled the beautiful flame Of the Southern Cross, and spangled the seas With the silver light of the Pleiades, And calleth the stars by name. Who is my Saviour? He Who•stands, a Lamb on the hill of Zion, Yet gnideth Arcturus and all his sons, The polar host, and the shining ones Thatgirdle the strong Orion. Who is DIY Saviour ? He Who, girt with the seraphim's deep devotion, Swathed the young sun with arobe of splendor, And the moon with &mantle ofibeauty tender, And fashioned the Alp and the ocean. Who is my Saviour? He Who smiled upon man's primeval sleep ; Yet Earth, with its Rephaim, wrapped in ,a flood" Through Egypt rolled a river of blood, And busted its pride in the deep. -Who is my Saviour?. He -'' Who guided the tribes by a pillar of flame, And taught them a long millennial year. By judge, by monarch, by psalmist and seer, Till the hour and the God-man came. Who is my Saviour? • He Who toiled in the carpenter's shed, for his food, And shaped for the Nazarene cradle and bier; Who wept with the sorrowing, sympathy's tear, And on Calvary poured his blood. Who is my Saviour ? He Who hung upon Golgotha's cross of shame; A conqueror fell ~.► the awful strife, And liveth for evlr, the Prince of Life, Through ages unending the same. —George _Paulin THE SCEPTIC SUBDUED. "I cannot feel as you •do. I wish I could ; but I was born a sceptic—l cannot help my doubts. Other • people swallow down these visionary things; but as for me, I can't. Ido not know there is a God ; and if there is, what he has to do with us particularly, I can't see. Nature has her laws, and whoever breaks them' - will bring evil upon his own head; that is , about all that I can see." Thus spoke, an eminent politician as he walked with a Christian friend through the blackness of a winter's night. It was bitter cold, and, the snowflakes powdered the rich fur coat wrapped about him, and whitened the thick clusters of raven hair that peeped out from beneath his cap. Yes, John Hunter was a'sceptic. A man of rare intellectual powers, wield ing a mighty influence, and yet no God 1 No hope for the future—walk ing in the darkness satisfied, contented. Almost everybody had given him up. He parried reason skilfully and calm ly, and, to all human appearance, it seemed impossible to make an impres sion on the rocky soil of his heart. But one friend had never despaired , of him ; they had been boys together, sat on the same form at school, played at the same games. Manhood opened to both invitingly. Ambitious of, worldly honor, and feeling what it is, the. power to sway men to his will, John Hunter early entered the political arena, and it was not - long before his fellow-countrymen applauded to his heart's content. He was >a successful man. The other, Jasper Schumann, was a quiet, unobtrusive man, a humble me chanic, supporting his faidly by his daily labor, a cheerful, happy Christian. man ; of every-day life, these two were still friends whenever they chanced to meet ; and when absent on his politi cal circuit, John -Hunter was always remembered as Jasper Schumann gath ered his loved ones around the family altar. It chanced, on this particular night, Jasper Schumann had been pressing the matter of personal religion on the attention of John Hunter, and-now his. only reply was, "God has more poWer over your heart than you have, John, and I mean still to pray for you." "0, I'm willing that you should do that, if it's a `comfort to you ; go on ; but I shall never change. I've read more books of divinity than most ministers. I've about as much as I can do in this world, and must run the risk of another. However, Ws change the subject. Whew ! how tie snow flies! Here's a restaurant ; let us stop and order supper." How warm and pleasant it looked as they entered! The bright gaslight streamed over the glitter of cut glass and silver, falling into the hearts of the flowers lavishly strewed, over the rich ly tinted carpet, while splendid mirrors and marble tables reflected the waves of light dazzlingly. Goodly viands were placed before them, and their conversation had been genial and pleasant. John , Hunter was on the point of rising, when a strain of soft music came throu.gh a half-opened door —a child's voice. Passionately fond of music, the politician stopped`to hear. Sweet, isn't it Pis his eye caught Jasper Schumann's. " We've no time to hear you now ; out of the way !" cried the waiter; and the little voice was hushed. " But I .want to hear him," said John Hunter ; " let him come in here." "It's against the rule, sir." "Very well,_send to the read ing-room ;" and , the two gentlemen followed - a small,` slight figure in patched coat and little torn hat. The room was quiet. John Hunter walked to the opposite side and mo tioned the little boy to his. side. Timidly the child, looked up; his chdek was' brown, but a flush rested there, and out of.the thinnest face, un iler 'the arch of 'a massive forehead, deepened by masses of soft brown ,lutir, looked two eyes, whose softness THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY. DECEMBER 13, 1866. and tenderness would have touched a heart harder than was John Hunter's. " What do you sing, my boy ?" " I sing German or English," was sweetly answered. " Why, child, what makes you trem ble so ? Are you sick ?" • As if unheeding the question, the child began to sing. His voice was wonderful, and simple and common as were both air and words, the power and purity of the tones drew many of the gentlemen from their tables. The little song commenced thus:— I'm but a stranger here, Heaven is my home,; Earth is a desert drear, , Heaven is my home. Dangers and sorrows stand Round me on every hand ;" Heaven is my Father's land, • Heaven is my home. The tears were in John Hunter's eyes, and his voice was tremulous. "Look here, child, where did you learn that song?" " My mother learnt it to me." "And do you suppose there is such a place?" "I know there is; I'm going to sing there." " Going to sing there ?" " Yes, sir ; we shall all sing in hea ven ' • father and mother both, said so." "Where does your father live, child ?" "In heaven." " YOur mother ?" " She went too, last spring," while the tears dropped over the thin cheek. John Hunter was silent ; his eyes were brimming over. "Who do you live with?" • "I live with granma now, but it wont be for lona '' ." " Why so ? What makes you talk so ?" " I have just such a cough as mo ther had. When she went, she said it would not be long. There won't be any pain up there, sir." " How do you know ?" " The Bible tells us so." John Hunter had a praying mother . , his heart traveled , backward ; once more he knelt at her knee, a simple hearted child. Where was that mo ther now ? Years 'ago she HAI gone to her rest, her last breath fluttering out in a prayer for her only son. The little boy turned to go. "Child, have you been to supper ?" fd Granma will be waiting for me." " Have you no overcoat ?" • " These are all the clothes I have, " His father was an organist," said Jasper Schumann. " The mother was also a musician, but they were both in consumption when they landed. They were not here long." Along the snowy streets, down in the.dark alleys, walked John Hunter, a little, trembling child's, hand in, his. At an old, dingy ,tment they stopped. Up broken, creaking stairs they climbed. " Here we are, and here is gra - nma," said the boy, as the door jarred on its hinges; and an old woman tottered across the room. "0, Harman, has anything happen ' ed to you ?" "Only this kind gentleman came home with me," and again the, slight body was racked with that terrible cough. "Poor child 1 poor child!" and the randmother held out her arms to the little sufferer. John Hunter had taken it all in, the want and care that had driven the pa rents to their graves. It was no place for him. " I'll see you again soon," and he groped his way down, stairs. l4te did not forget his, promise. All ;that money could do was done; but it was too late. ' Harman was dying of disease ; the grandmother, of want and misery. The winter had not gone when we find John Hunter and Jasper Schu mann again walking the streets togeth er. No longer in a fashionable square, but through lanes and alleys, till they Came to the gloomy building, where lived Harman Stein. They. had not seen his face at the widow, and it looked gloomier than ever as they mounted the stairs. A slight rap at the door did not arouse any one. The room was not empty, as they had at first thought. Harman lay on his bed, the cold, clam my sweat standing on his forehead, while his cheeks were crimson. " I was in hopes to find you better, • " 0, no, sir ; I did not expect to get well. Mother said we should all meet up there." TheAeyes of the two gentlemen met, and. it would be difficult to say-which felt the most deeply. "You have been so kind, I should like to sing for you ; but I can't sing any more, it hurts me; it wont b.e so there." "Is there, any one you expect to meet there ?" asked John Hunter's friend. " The blessed Jeius; I shall meet Him ; mother said he loves little child ren." "And you love Him ?" asked Jasper Schumann with a trembling voice." "Love Aim, when he has taken care of us ever since they went , away ! Some days - grandma and I had noth ing to eat, but we knew he would not forget us I • and at night, when we could not sleep for the cold, we could think of Him And - what they were all doing up there: Mother said it was such a beautiful place, more beautiful than anything we had ever seen." The blue eyes closed wearily. " There is something in this," said John Hunter ; " children are not led away by their imaginations ; and if there is a heaven, where will my por tion be?" "You love Jesus, " said Harman, ad dressing thai hardend sceptic. "Every body that loves Jesus will be there. 0, I am so happy." With a little sigh his eyes again closed. " Are faith and hope nothing ?" asked Mr. Schumann ' pointing to the face taking on such strange beauty. "To feel as that little boy does I mould gladly give all that I possess," was the broken response. " And this you can have without money And without price. Yield your stubborn will, your sceptical doubts, and accept the offer of mercy." There was no answer; the shadow of death rested over that little room. The physician Mr. Hunter had called, came in and shook his head; it needed no great skill to see that the messenger was near. Presently the hands moved, the eyes opened. " 0, there is mother 1 and there are the angels; they are coming for me." The voice wag gone, the hands were still, but the celestial., 14:lightness , lingered yet on the face. "You cannot doubt the realty of something here,more than this world can give, said Mr. Schumann/ " It is incomprehensible," said John Hunter. " Neither can I longer doubt, the reality of a religion that Can com fort, sustain, and render, triumphant a death like this." Not many days, and the aged grand mother followed. John Hunter is still a leading man and a politician ; but he is no longer a sceptic. His days are filled up with use fulness. " Not for myself, but for others," is his motto ; and when he dies the world will be better for his having lived in it. f THE EDGE OF THE CATARACT. A good. many years. since, a steam- boat was accustomed to make - daily trips between Buffalo and Niagara Falls. The nearest point to which she could approach the mighty cataract was Chippewa Creek, about ten miles distant, on the Ca - nada side. One day there was a pleasure excursion, and several hundred men, women and children went down from Buffalo. After spending the day in all sorts Of amusements, in looking upon the falls, admiring the, rainbow passing under Table Rock and behind the falling water, they gathered themselves on board of the boat toward night, to return to their homes. By some mis calculation of the engineer, sufficient steam hacT not - been generated, and when, after passing out'of the creek, the boat met the strong, rapid current of the river, instead of going forward, she was slowly, slowly borne back ward toward the dreadful cataract. The people on board, as may well be imagined, became instantly alarmed. The color fled i.rq,4,tfir cheeks—they stood in speechless horror—the roar of the cataract sounded fearfully di& tinet in their ears, as slowly, slowly they were, still borne back to - ward it. At , length the engineer ;bethought him of the oil with which he 4ubricated his machinery. He threw it into the fur nacethe flames blazed up more in tensely—steam was generated ‘'more rapidly—the wheels moved round with increased velocity—there was a pause, as the Titan forces were contending for the mastery. A moment more, and there was an upward movement. Now slowly, slowly, the bOat passed against-the current. In a short time the point of danger was passedrad a long, heavy sigh of relief broke from the bosom of every one on board. A venerable, gray-haired man there was among them. He lifted his hat from his head, and said, in a voice trembling with emotion, " The Lord has delivered us; great is the name of the Lord. Let us pray." And down upon the. deck kneeled the multitude, while the heartfelt offering of thanks giving went up to God, who had wrought for them so great a salvation. But it did not end here. The feeling, that had been awakened by the near approach of death did not, with all; pass away when the danger was over, as is very often the case. Even there, on the brink of that awful precipice, many found their Saviour. A revival followed in the church to which a large number of them belonged—it was a Sabbath-school excu'rsion—and many found peace in believing. One, a man of great wealth, dedicated much of it to• God in the building of a church, as a memorial of his gratitude for being snatched from destruction, both in this life and the life to come. Thus God got unto . himself many froin the carelessness—as we term it— of that engineer, through which the liveiof hundreds were for the moment imperilled. He chose this way to work out his gracious purposes toward that people. It is thus- that the gate of heaven seems often hard by the gate of hell. God takes the heedless sinner and.. shakes him over the mouth of the pit. He trembles all over. He sees sin; he sees righteousness;. he sees wrath ; hesees grace ; he sees judg ment;, he sees love. He looks up and calls upon the name of the Lord. The Lord saves ; and the delivered soul praises Him forever. A new song is put into his mouth. He re joices in the Lord.— Christian Treasury: THE MAN. Is a man a whit the better For his riches and his gains? For his acres and his palace— If his inmost heart is callous— Is a man a whit the better? And if a man's no whit the better For his - coffers and his mines. For his purple and fine linen, For hij vineyards arid his wines, Why do thousands bend the knee, And-Viiiiga rri theaii'servility; ' - If a man's no whit the better*? Is a man a whit th,e worse Fora lowly dress of rags?' , Though he owns no lordly rents, If his heart is kind-and' gentle, Is a man a whit the worse And if a man's no whit the worse For'a poor and lowly stand, • For an empty, even pocket, And a brawny, working hand, - Why do thousands pass him by, With= a cold and scornful eye, If a man's no whit the worse? THE LITTLE SCARECROW. Barbara was a little English girl. She was very pretty and Sweet-look ing,4br her temper was very sweet. She was only six . years old, yet she , atid to work in the fields all day, scaring away the crows and other birds from, the grain. She had a lit tle wooden clapper, with which she made a loud noise, that frights ed them. It was very tiresome to her to keep making it, and hearing it all day ; but she did it patiently and cheerfully, for it was her duty. The first thing in the morning, as soon as it was light, she was dressed and in the field, driving off the early birds,, and looking as fresh and sweet as the flowers beside, her, her yellow curls golden in the sunlight, and her blue eyes clear as the dew-drops. But when the sun rose high, and shone hot and burning, the little thing wilted like the flowers, and would have gone to sleep like some of t'hem, only it would not have been right. She climbed upon the stump against which she had been leaning; and clapped the harder when she felt herself growing too tired and sleepy. What she had to do she would do. Clap, clap I She was earning two English pence a day. What a little woman, earning money and helping her parents. They worked hard ; she could work hard. Clap, clap! Still the noise was , disagreea ble and tiresome. • " Come, Barbara, come and play," somebody called ; " come, Barby." It was her, neighbor Josy, older than, she, and who ought to have been watching, the grain fields as well as she; but he was too lazy, and no one would trust him. " nab - Y," - Ve - Calred - coaxingly- 7.0 c-I can't, Josy." "I've got something here I want to show you," he , still coaxed. ,"What is it, Josy?" "Come and see." o . can't." And the clapper made.the loudest noise t,o; * drive away temptation from Barbax& If she heard Josy any more, she might want to go , and see what he had. She mudiWt Clap, clap l Were the birds so very thidlnit' en ? No; bit tempation was growing strong, and must not be'lis tened to, not a minute. -.Never for a single minute should any child listen to it. Shut your ears when that wrong word is said. A. - 6 "Tbarby," again. "BarbY, why don't you come and play,? nobody'll know it." "Yes, they will. And wont you please to go away, Josy?" I tell you nobody'll knocar it, Barby. You needn't tell, and I wont; you can play with me just as well as not." " I do wish Josy'd go away," Bar bara sighed, feeling very tired, and then the clapper sounded deafeningly loud again. She wondered if God and the angels really saw how hard she tried to be good, and if they really. cared :itnything ,abOut, it. .pear child, of course they did. Diery clap was heard by them ; every , struggle of her little , Soul to do right was watched by them with the deepest interest, as deep as if Sh&had been the stateliest lady, in' the land. " Barby I" The dutiful child was growing stronger, the, angels were strengthening hdr, and she' 'Spoke firmly :—" I cannot play with you, Josy; and the squire's men said you must not come into the field." The squire himself was at hand, and had heard all. " Barbyl." called a - oice richer and heavier than Josy's. Barbara ,was startled. There was a rustling among the grain, her name was called again, and the squire had , found the faithful little girl. " You're, a darling scarecrow," he said. "Why, who taught you to be so good, and to do my work so well?" "My mother," Barbara answered in'a sweet, low ,tone. " Well, then, here's somethiug to pay her for it," said the squire, pin ning a pound-note into the crown of li her straw hat, which was hanging on her arm; "and, darling, here's a AM ' ling for you," .he 'added, putting a coin into her hand- "Now I'll drive off the birds while you carry them home and get a half-hour's rest, but be sure and don't play with Josy ; he might tempt you. too much." Barbara blushed and courtesied, and said, "Thank your honor," a great many times, and then ran home with speed, her weariness quite forgot- Mt. The half-hour was not ended when she was again at her post. The squire had already found her work so tedious and tiresome, that he was glad to be relieved, Audi: praised her for coming so soon. As ht was leaving her, he stopped to pat, her rosy cheek, and bade her tell her :lather that she was to have double wages, since one faithful child was worth more to him than two unfaithful ones._ When he came upon Josy, laying in the grass, he forbade his entering the fields again.- " You are worse than the thieving crows," he , said. "They only want to spoil the corn, bat- you want to spoil children who are better than you" —Child's THE HOUR OE NEED. "In the first'Year of my marriage,' relates a pions. German, "I had one, day.not a farthing in the house, when my wife came and asked me for a thaler to pay the, weaver, who was to bring her some cloth home in the evening. The weaver was , poor, there was not a person in the village of whom we could borrow money, and my wife, unaccustomed to such embarrassments ; burst into tears and sobs. I tried to comfort her by telling her that our heavenly Father knew what we needed, and that perhaps the bad weather might prevent the weaver from coming that day. I commended the matter to the Lord, for I saw no means of human help. In the eve ning, I heard with grief the sound of the house bell. My wife hastily en tered the room, and said, the weaver is here I was going to sit down at a table, and was just taking down a book from the shelf above me, when at the very moment a piece of money rolled out of it and ' fell rattling on the table. My wife and I stood motionless ; we felt distinctly' the pre sence of God, who so exactly knew what we needed, and bestowed it upon us at the very moment when we re quired it. " Some time after, I remembered that about three months before, when I was carrying this book with several others from the bookseller's slip in Stuttgardt to my house, I met my brother-in-law on the way ; he owed me a thaler ; and as both my hands were holding the books, I asked him to put it inside of.the uppermost book. So the thaler's falling out was quite natural. But that it should have been put in the book to help me in my hour of need and did not fall out of it before, was a providential incident, the remembrance of which has cheered my wife and myself in many times of trial." ZHE POOR YE HAVE , ALWAYS WITH t„ 4 t was a bright, beautiful - June i4thin g when. I met upon one of the quiet sheets of the ay, a poor, miser able-looking cripple. A thrill of pain first impelled me to pass silently by; but then ,the, thought came to my mind, "Perhaps a few kind words might prove like. sunshine to his heart." Ile was pitifully deformed ; the cords and tendons of the system having become contracted, so that his crook ed limbs crossed each other, making him walk •in a tottering, staggering minuet- Ifis , arnw were curved, so that they could no more be straight ened ; and his fingers drawn lip, so that they looked more like the claws of some large bird than parts of a human hand. His long, light hair, falling from beneath a crushed hat, partly shielded his diStorted face from notice.' One arm" pressed against his side a portfolio of cheap pictures, by the sale. of which he gained the pit tance that still held the soul to that poor, suffering body. He . was pleased to have his pictures praised ; and, though he could hardly talk plainly, he did not seem 'unwil ling to receive a little wayside call. I asked him if he did not get weary of his heavy portfolio. "0, yes, ma'am," said he • "but it buys my bread. It is all I can do." ":Have you a mother living ?" "I had one, ma'am, who always took care of me; but she died four years ago." "Have you no father ?" . "I never saw my father. He is dead, too. A kind man took care of me after mother died ; but he's been dead a year now, and I've no friends— no home." "Yon know of God and heaven ? ".0, yes, ma'am ;" and his face gleamed with a holy light, as, looking heavenward, he said, "I have got a trust, ma'am." How beautiful he seemed then! Like one transformed, I saw in him the image of our dear Saviour, as I. answered, "01 you have a home, then, and a rest not far away. If you are Jesus's child, nothing can 'really harm you; fore with a great deal of love he is watching over you. Life here looks dark and full of trouble ; but your best Friend suffered more, even, than you. He was lonely. He had no home, and enemies were all about Him; but he is in a beautiful home now; and if you truly love Him, he is preparing a mansion there for you, too." "0, yes! there I shalite like any other—there I shall be like Him." The faith of this simple, humble Cliristian, whom the Saviour calls one of the least of these . my breth ,, len awakened emotions too fot , deep other words; and simply saying,. "Goodbye, my friend ; I hope we shall meet one day beside our Saviour," I has tened to the silence of my room, to dwell upon the wonderful love of Him " who seeth not as man seeth," but, makes " his dwelling with the humble and the contrite ones." A few days after, I learned that this. poor youth was suffering the taunts and jeers of rude boys, and that even well-dressed ladies and gentle men stood t won the street-corners laughing at Mis awkward gait. 0, how I wished they could have shared the secret which that bright morning revealed to me—that he was one of Jesus's friends. " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the - least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me," are the words of Christ. Be careful, then, how you. treat the unfortunate. The weakest and most miserable children have the tenderest care of the Great Father. Act toward the poor as you would to the Man of Sorrows, were he beside you ; then, when all his friends shall throw off the mask of poverty and human wretchedness to be clothed upon witka Redeemer's righteousness, you may be welcomed as one of those who, through kindness to some of them, shown on account of love to the dear Saviour, have entertained the Master himself unawares.—Freedman's Journal. A PROTESTANT DOG. Henry Vll[. desired that his repre sentatives should appear with great pomp, and accordingly the ambassador and his colleagues went to great ex pense with that intent. Wiltshire en tered first into the audience-hall ; being father of Anne Boleyn, he had been appointed by the king as the man in all England most interested in the success of his plans. But Henry had calculated badly ; the personal interest which the earl felt in the divorce made him odious both to Charles and Clement. The pope, wearing his pon tifical robes, was seated on the throne, surrounded by his cardinals. The ambassadors approached, made the customary salutations, and stood before him. The pontiff, wishing to show his kindly feelings toward the envoys of the "Defender of the Faith," put out his slipper according to custom, pre senting it graciously to the kisses of those proud Englishmen. The revolt was about to begin. The earl, remain ing motionless, refused to kiss his ho liness's slipper. But that was not all; a fine spaniel, with long, silky hair, which Wiltshire had brought from England, had followed him to the episcopal palace. When the Bishop of Rome put out his foot, the dog did what other dogs would have done under similar circumstances—he flew at the apt and caught the pope by the great toe. Clement hastily drew it back. The sublime borders on the ridiculous : the ambassadors, bursting with laughter, raised their arms and hid their faces behind their long, rich sleeves. " That dog was a Protestant," said a reverend father. "Whatever he was," said an Englishman, "he I taught us that a pope's foot was more meet to be bitten by dogs than kissed by Christian men.'--D'Aubigne's Re formation, vol. IV. THE BLIND MAN'S SERMON. A few persons were collected round a blind man, who had taken his station on a bridge over a London canal, and was reading from an. embossed Bible. Receiving from the passers-by of their carnal things, he was ministering to them spiritual things. A gentleman, on his way home from the city, was led by, curiosity to the outskirts of the crowd. Just then the poor man, who Was reading in the fourth chapter of the Acts, lost his place, and, while trying to find it with his finger, kept repeating the last clause he had read: "None other name—none other name —none other name." Some of the people smiled at the blind man's em barrassment; but the gentleman went away deeply musing. He had lately become convinced that he was a sin ner, and had been trying, in many ways, to obtain peace of mind. But religious exercises, good resolutions, altered habits, all were ineffectual to relieve his conscience of its load and enable him to rejoice in God. The words he had heard from the blind man, however, rang their solemn mu sic in. his soul . : " None other name r When he reached his home and retired to rest, these words, like evening chime from village tower nestling among the trees, were still heard "None other name—none other name--- none other ."' And when he awoke, in more joyful measure, like matin belle saluting the morn, the strain con tinned : "None other name—none other name—none other name!" The music entered his soul, and he awoke to a new life. "I see it all ! I see it all! have been trying to be saved by my own works—my repentance, n 37 prayers, my reformation. t see my mistake. It is Jesus who alone can save. To Him I will look. Neither is there salvation in any other. For there is none other name—none other name—note other name—under hea ven given among men whereby they must be saved:" How little really a , rich roan does. when he does nothing but give.
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