familg Cita
THE SWEETEST WORD.
One sweet word of holy meaning
Cometh to me o'er and o'er,
And the echoes of its music
Linger ever—evermore ;
Trust—no other word we utter
Can so sweet and precious be,
Tuning all life's jarring discords
Into heavenly harmony.
Clouds of thickest blackness gathered
O'er my soul's dark sea of sin,
And the port of heaven was guarded
From my guilty entering in ;
Then came Jesus, walking to me,
O'er the surging waves of sin,
Calling, clear above the tempest,
" He that trusteth heaven shall win !"
NoW, through all the sae'red - pagee, -
Where my woe and doom had been,
Gleam those golden words of promise,
"He that trusteth beaVen shall win."
Blessed, sure, and blood•bought promise,
Let me drink its sweetness in
that trusts his soul to Jesus,
" He that trusteth heaven shall win."
nust—oh, Saviour, give its fulness
To me at thy feet in prayer,
Grant my dying lips to breathe it,
Leave its lingering sweetness there;
Sweetness there, to stay the breaking
Of the hearts which love me so,
Whispering from my silent coffin,
" Trust the hand which lays me low."
Loved ones, as ye rear the marble,
Pure above my waiting dust,
Grave no other word upon it
But the holiest, sweetest—TßUST;
For this password know the angels,
Guarding o'er.the pearly 400 r,
Password to his blessed presence,
Whom I trust for evermore. .
LITTLE GEORGE'S PRAYER.
" Henry, I would like you to go to the
store for me to day," said Mrs. Gray to her
husband, as they sat in the neat cottage
kitchen, at breakfast, on a frosty December
morning.
" I guess you will have to wait until to
morrow. My work is in the other direction,"
replied the cottager.
"I don't see how I can. We are about
out of everything. Not so much as an end
of candle, and I've got eggs and stockings
and yarn to trade with."
" Send George. He knows the way to the
village by the road or through the wood-cut
ting."
George, a bright little boy of six years,
cried out, " Oh, mammy, let me go ; it will
be so nice !"
"Henry, he is so little, and it is so cold,"
said the mother, hesitatingly.
Nonsense, wife; George is no baby. But
I will tell you what to do.‘„ Send both the
little ones to Sister Ann's. You promised
her they should go to spend a day, and you
know Jake always brings them home before
dark."
So it was arranged that George and little
Bettie, the four year old girl, should go to
spend the day at their aunt's in the village,
a trip which they often took, the hired man
always bringing them home.
Very carefully did the mother wrap up
her little treasures, so that, as Bettie said,
" Jack Frost should not nip her nose." She
made out the list of her wants at the
store, and packed the little basket which
George was so proud to carry. Then throw.
ing on her own cloak and hood, she went
with them over the hill, until the village was
in sight. Then she said to herself, "Now
they are all safe, and it is not as cold as I
thought it was."
George was so anxious to make his pur
chases at the store that he stopped going
through the village, and had his basket
packed with the goods for his mother, When
they arrived at their aunt's, she had gone
several miles away, to stay until after night.
George proposed returning home immediate
ly, but Bettie wanted to stay and play with
the two children left at home. The little
boy consented, and the hours slipped away.
The servant-girl gave them dinner, and they
had a happy time. The short winter after
noon wore away, and as the sky had clouded
over during the day, it was looking very
shadowy when the girl told them they had
better start for home. Jake had gone with
his mistress, so they had to go alone. If
they had had to go to the store all would
have been well, but as it was, George thought
lie would take a near route, as it was late,
and go through the woods.
"It will be night in the woods Geordie; see
low dark it is," said little Bettie.
"But I know the road, Bet, and we will
get home in a jiffy. The little path will take
us right to the kitchen door, and mammy will
have a big light. We can see, oh, ever so
far."
" Mammy won't have a candle till we get
home, Geordie ; they are all in the basket,"
urged Bettie, still holding back.
"Don't be scared, Bettie. I can take
care of you, and mammy's got pine knots
that will make a sight bigger blaze ner all
these candles," said brave little George, and
hand in h they ran along. When the
two children entered the woods, twilight was
gathering fast, and it was beginning to
snow. On they trudged, George talking to
amuse his sister, and thinking every moment
to see the lights of home. But the path
seemed to grow wider and then to be no path
at all. Large limbs of trees lay in their way,
and everything around seemed unfamiliar.
Bettie lagged far behind and,
" Geordie, I'm so tired. Why don't we
see mammy's light."
HERBERT NE WBURY
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JUNE 20, 1867.
" We will soon, Bettie; don't cry, mammy
will give us a nice supper," said the brave
boy; but his own great brown eyes grew
larger still, as he strove to peer through the
darkness,
and his heart gave a great throb of
terror. The shadows of night closed black
and heavy around them, while the snow fell
in a blinding sheet, and piled up in the path
less woods before them.
Poor little babies, alone in the vast woods,
on a bleak winter night, with the snow drifts
gathering higher and higher, and an icy
chill striking to their little hearts. For
awhile the boy strove to push his way On
ward, but his little strength failed him, and
poor .Bettie was fast giving way to the
numbness of icy sleep.
"Are you very cold, Bettie ?" asked little
George, as they both sank down upon a
fallen tree.
" Oh, so cold, and so sleepy," moaned
the little one. George made a desperate ef=
fort, and rousing himself up showed all the
noble nature that was in him. He took the
woolen comforter from about his neck and
wound it around his little sister's head and
face.' Then he put his own coat under her
shiwl, and sitting down he gathered her, as
best he could, in his arms, that she might
receive all the strength of his little body.
Lovely angel boy ! not alone was that no
ble child, when he thus sacrificed his life for
his little sister. In the midnight darkness
of the dense wood, the eye of Him who never
sleeps nor slumbers, looked down from the
vast canopy of heaven upon those forlorn
little creatures. And will He, who suffers
not a sparrow to fall without His notice, let
those little angels perish there? Some such
thought as this must have entered the mind
of little George, and as he drew Bettie
closer to him, he rallied his little strength
once more to put himself under the protec
tion of his Heavenly Father. His little
voice rose Clear and shrill on the night wind
as he prayed.
" Oh, good, kind Jesus who loves the little
children, you know every thing, and you see
us here. I know lam a naughty boy, but poor
little Bettie is good, so keep her warm and
safe dear Jesus, and when pappy and mammy
find us here, let her be awake to tell about
it, and if I die dear Jesus take me to heaven.
I did not mean to be naughty or do what
was wrong. Let the angels watch us both,
but most take care of Bettie—my sweet little
sister."
The blessed Saviour heard that innocent's
prayer, and , according to his own good plea
sure, answered it. Dr. Walton had been to
visit a very ill patient at the terminus of the
pine wood, and as the night was so bad, he
preferred walking to running the risks of
driving along the road. He had a large
snow dog, of the kind which the monks of
St. Bernard have to hunt travellers lost in
the snow drifts, and he was with him. The
doctor came within a short distance -of the
children, and then to reach his home, the
path led away from them. As he turned
around Bernard placed himself right in his
way, making a great fuss, and trying to force
him the other way. He walked on a little .
way to see what .the dog wanted, and as he
drew nearer the fallen tree, he heard little
George's prayer. With feelings indiscriba
ble, he hastened to the spot where Bernard
had already preceded him, and there of a
surety, he said are the " Babes in the Woods."
Betty was asleep. What kind of sleep he
could not then stop to ascertain,
for little
George was unable to stand, and fast losing
consciousness. It took but a short time for
the doctor to strap Bettie across Bernard,
then wrapping the boy in his own fur-lined
cloak, he bid the dog seek the path to the
village, and followed.
,All day there seemed to be a weight hang
ing over Mrs. Gray, and twice sh 6 almost
made up her mind to go after the children,
but thinking it foolish, she waited their re
turn at dusk of evening. The dark set in
early, and snow fell, but they did not come.
She walked up the hill calling to them, but
got no answer. On returning to the cottage,
she found her husband, and he started im
mediately for his sister's. The girl told when
the children had left; and then they knew the
horrible truth, they were lost in the woods in
the snow storm. Several persons started to
search for them, led on by the nearly frantic
mother. When the doctor had nearly reached
the cottage, be met the parents. When Bet
tie's numerous wrappings were taken off, she
was found to be in a warm, healthy slumber,
but what clothes George had left upon him
self, were frozen to his body, and his long
leather boots, the doctor almost fearedwould
never come off. When the child opened his
eyes, and found he was at home, be asked:
" here is Bettie? Is she well and warm ?"
"Yes, my darling boy, you saved Bettie's
life."
" Oh, I am so glad, she did not want to
go in the woods, it was my fault, I was
naughty." Then he told them all that had
occurred, and turning to the doctor he said,
" The dear, kind Jesus heard my prayer, and
he sent you and the big dog to save us,
did n't He."
The doctor's voice was husky, as he an
swered, " Yes George, He heard and an
swered your prayer. Jesus always hears a
prayer of faith, and He will not suffer harm
to come those who really love and trust
Him."
" I knew he would not let Bettie die, for
she is so little, and she was not naughty.
He has been so kind to me too. I will love
Him more, and thank Him for hearing a
naughty boy's prayer," and the little fellow
turned wearily on his pillow and sank into a
feverish slumber.
Anxious days and nights followed, as pa
rents and friends watched beside George's
sick-bed, and, as they all thought, death-bed.
But he only hovered on the confines of eter
nity, as he passed through the valley of sha
dows, although it was not until the spring
days had come that he was given back to
the arms of his parents ' but given how ? A
helpless cripple all the remaining days of
his life. Those poor little frozen limbs could
never be brought back to warmth and life,
although the heart beat on as nobly as be
fore. The bright summer days came, the
flowers' bloomed in wild luxuriance around
the cottage. Under the large oak tree in
the green. grassy meadow, little George sat
day after day with his books and his play
things' around him, a 'sweet smile always
ready to play over his countenance, or a gush
of ;childish melody to break forth in song.
Bettie ran about gay as a bird, bringing flow
ers and berries to the little brother whom she
was taught almost to worship.
Years passed, and although George was so
much of a cripple, he was by no means use
less. He had early taught his hands to
work, for he said, " God heard my prayer in
the woods, and saved my life, not , to be a
burden to those around me, but to do .all that
I can with the strength 'he gives me."
At the cottage firesides on stormy winter
evenings, when the little children gather
round their parent's knees, and beg for a
story before they are tucked in their warm
little beds, they are often told of the terrible
snow storm, long years before, and of the
two little children lost in the woods, while
many a lesson of trust and faith is both taught
and learned by the touching story of " Lit
tle George's Prayer."— Vara Montrose in
Ger. Ref. Messenger.
THE THREE NAILS AND THE 'MARKS
• THEY MADE;
"Find a piece of board, six nails and a
hammer, and bring them to .me," said Mr.
Andrews to his son Philip one Monday morn
ing. Philip collected the articles required,
but greatly wondered to what use his father
was going to put them; so on entering the
parlor he said,
" I thought, father, that you were going
out this morning for the whole week?",
"So I am, my boy, and the board, the
hammer and the nails are for your mother's
use while lam away. There are six nails—
one for each day ; the board is for the nails
to be driven into, and the hammer is to drive
them in with."
Philip was not a wicked boy, but when
ever his father was from home he took ad
vantage of his absence, teased his brothers
and sisters, constantly neglected his lessons,
and had a hundred thoughtless tricks, which
gave his mother annoyance and trouble.
Whenever Mr. Andrews returned from a
journey, his peace was always broken by' a
long list of complaints against this pervers
son.
"I have talked, and talked, and talked
again," was always part of the mother's re
port. "I am tired of talking; lam sure no
body has more said to him than Philip, and
yet I don't see that it does him a bit of
good."
Mr. Andrews quite believed this, and there
fore he bad thought of a new mode of regis
tering Philip's feelings; so he said,
"Now,
Philip, ask your mother to please
to come here, and I will explain how the
nails and the board and the hammer are to
be used."
The three were quietly seated, when Mr.
Andrews, in a calm and affectionate manner,
said,
" Philip, you are so often troublesome
when I am away from home, that my plea
sure is spoiled with the thought that you are
giving your mother so much unnecessary
trouble. I wish, therefore, to have your
conduct written on this board, with this ham
mer, and these six nails—one for each
day."
Philip's face wore a very comical inqui
ring sort of look, as his father proceeded:—
" If you are good every day of my ab
sence the board will have no nail driven in,
but will be as smooth and clean when it is
shown to me on Saturday night as it is now.
But for every day you misbehave yourself a
nail will be driven in; if, however, you should
afterwards be good, a nail will be drawn out
for each day."
Philip certainly feared a stern look • from
his father, much more than the long lecture
of his mother. On this occasion . Mr. An
drews did not look stern, but he looked very
lovingly and anxiously and so long at him,
that Philip felt the tears trickling down his
cheeks, and no sooner had his father given
him an affectionate kiss than he stole out of
the room, fully resolving that the board should
be given in on Saturday night as clean and
smooth as it then was.
Philip, however, in making this good reso
lution, had never thought of asking help
from the Strong Arm, and beside that he had
ro notion of offering up a prayer to God, ex
cept his usual morning and evening prayer.
After trying to be good for a few, hours, he
found it so difficult that he gave it up, and
when night came, his mother said,—
" Philip, I am very sorry, but I really
must drive a nail into that board to mark this
day's misconduct."
" Ugly nail !" said Philip, when he saw its
black head on one side of the board, and the
point half an inch through on the other.
On Tuesday the same careless, thoughtless
conduct was repeated, and another nail was
driven into the board. On Wednesday he
was worse than ever, and a third nail was in 7
serted. On Thursday night Mrs. Andrews
told him she really believed he had been try
ing to be good, so she would knock a nail
out. She, therefore, turned the board over.
bitting one of the nails on the point, and out
it fell on the floor. On Friday, Philin secured
a good character, so another nail was re
moved, and about an hour before the return
of Mr. Andrews on Saturday night the last
" ugly nail" was knocked out.
When Mr. Andrews returned, he gave each
member of the family an affectionate greet
ing, and they sat down to tea. Philip hung
about his father's chair all the time, but he
did not look happy. He said he was glad
his father had come back, but still his face
showed that he was uneasy about some
thing.
"Now, Philip," said his father, as the
tea-things were carried out of the room, "let
me see the board."
Philip carried it to his father.
After thoroughly looking for some time at
this silent reporter, Mr. Andrews said :
" Well, my boy, I am glad to see there
are no nails it. Not a single nail, eh ?"
" No, father," said the weeping boy, "but
there are the marks !"
" Ah, yes," said his father, "there are the
marks. You have removed the nails but
the marks remain. So it is always, miclear
son with sin. Every sinful word you speak,
every wicked act you commit, you make a
mark on your soul,—a spot, a stain, which
cannot be removed by any earthly means.
But if you repent of your sins, and turn with
humble trust to your Saviour, all your
sins shall be removed, and when you are
called to give up, your accounts, you shall
give them up with joy and not with grief."
—Youth's Magazine.
DILIGENCE.
Every present holds a future in it
Could we read its bosom secret right,
Could we see its golden clue and win it,
Lay our hand to work with heart and might
True it is, we shall not live in story,
But we may be waves within a tide.
Help the human flood to near the glory
That shall shine when we have toiled and died
Therefore, though few praise, or help, or heed us,
Let us work with head or heart or hand;
For we know the future ages need us,
We must help our time to take its stand ;
That the after day may make beginning
Where our present labor hath its end ;
So each-age, by that before it winning,
To the following help in turn shall lend
Each single struggle hath its far vibration,
Working results that work results again;
Failure and death are no annihilation,
Our tears, absorbed, will make some future rain
Let us toil on; the work we leave behind us,
Though incomplete, God's hand will yet embalm,
And use it some way; and the news will find us
In heaven above, and sweeten endless calm.
INDIVIDUAL EFFORT.
" I love your meetings for prayer," says
the Rev. Dr. Guthrie; "you cannot have too
many of them. But we must work while
we pray, and pray while we work. I would
rather see a man, saved from the gulf be
low, standing on a rock casting a lifeline to
others struggling in the maelstrom of death,
than on his knees thanking God for his own
deliverance; for I believe our blessed Master
would look on that effort as the highest pos
sible expression of gratitude that a saved
soul can offer."
Now, this is the principle - which must un
derlie all Christian work in order to its be
ing successful; and it has found many stri
king illustrations in the history of the Chris
tian enterprise. When Andrew was called
by Christ, be brought Peter to Jesus; i - when
Philip was called, he brought Nathanael to
Christ; when the' woman of Samaria was
converted, at the side of Jacob's well, she
returned to the city, and said to every one
she met, " Come, see a man that told me all
things that ever I did—is not this the
Christ?" and when the maniac of Caperna
um was delivered from the powers of evil,
he wanted to follow Jesus, but Christ told
him to go home to his neighbours and friends,
and tell them what great things had been
done for him. And as with the individual,
so with the Church. When Paul planted
the first Christian church in Europe, at Phil
ippi, he gave the members to know that
they were to " shine as lights in the world,
holding forth the Word of Life ;" the master
a light, the servant a light, the child even a
light—each one illumining his own sphere,
and known as brethren.
In modern times, the same principle has
received apt and most encouraging illustra
tion. When John Williams, the great mis
sionary, and the martyr of Erromanga, was
a youth, he was loitering at the corner of
Old Street, London, when a lady, a member
of a Christian Instruction Society, in which
every member had something to do for
Christ, spoke kindly to him, and persuaded
him to go to - the tabernacle, close at hand,
and hear a sermon. That night he was con
verted. When the late. James Smith, the
martyr of Demarara, was near Easton Road,
a Christian friend met him and induced him
to go to Tonbridge chapel, in that neighbor
hood, where he heard the word which
brought him to Christ. And the late John
Angell James, in a little tract, tells us how
one Christian layman was the means of im
pressing about one hundred young men,
most of whom were brought to Christ; and
one worker in Mr. James' church, rejoiced
in the belief that he had been honoured to
have "three in heaven."
But the most remarkable illustration, per
haps, which has been presented in these
days, is that of the individual work of the
members of the Baptist churches, which
have sprung from the first church Rimed by
the Rev. Mr. Oncken, of Hamburg, now
more than thirty years ago. That minister,
when he formed his little church, 'solemnly
resolved that they would receive members
only on these conditions:—First, Spiritual
life in the soul. Second, That every o ne
received would do something for Christ; and
Third, That one and all of the fellowship
should give for the support and extension of
the gospel.
For many years the original church had
to face the most cruel and bitter persecution
and scorn ; but, in the course of ten years,
-it established itself as a central power, with
a missionary character; and now nearly
100,000 profess to be worshippers, of whom
50,000 are members in connection with the
churches and mission stations belonging to
the parent society, but spread all over Ger
many. We have heard, from Mr. Oneken's
own lips, within the last ten years, the story
of this enterprise; and can trace the triumphs
of grace to the consecration of the individu
al doing something, and just what he could
best do, for the Master.
If, then, individual effort were realized,
as it ought to be, and might be, how soon
would the world -be converted ! Suppose,
for-example, there were but 200 Christians
among the three millions of people in Lon
don, one million of whom are living in open
neglect of the means of grace; and suppose
that each Christian should resolve to be the
means of converting one sinner in 1867, and
suppose those converted should be the means
of saving one each in 1868, and that this
rule of conversion, one in a year, should con
tinue for eleven years, how many would be
saved ? Why .more than all the millions
who are now making no profession of the
Christian faith. Go then, brother, and do
this work.
"Sow, though the rock repel thee
By its• Cold and sterile pride,
Some cleft . there may be riven,
Where the little seed may hide.
"Work while the daylight lasteth,
Ere the shades of night come on,
Ere'the Lord of the Vineyard calleth,
And the laborer's work is done."
-- —London Christian Times
WAS THOMAS PIOUS OR PROFANE ?
In reviewing,, some weeks ago, an article
in the Liberal Christian on the "Sonship of
Christ," we made the statement that Thomas
called Him "my Lord and my God." The
above named paper, after quoting our words,
says:
"This is a fine specimen of evangelical 1
reasoning. The involuntary exclamation ofl
Thomas in his surprise and bewilderment is
taken as a cool statement of opinion. .
There is no reason for imagining that Thomas
really thought that Jesus was. God."
It is but a poor compliment to Thomas,
and not much more respectful to his Divine
Teacher, to suppose that after having been
intimately associated with the latter for
more than three years, he had not yet been
cured of the vice of profane speech= For,
as Olshausen has remarked, such an exclama-1
tion, in view of the stringent character of the
law, would have been a transgression of the :
command, " Thou Shalt nottake the name of {
the Lord thy God in vain." We are • quite
willing to have our interpretation of the
words of Thomas submitted to the severest
tests of impartial criticism. Alford's note on I
the passage is so comprehensive,
condensed,
and forcible, that we cannot do better than
to present it entire.
"The Socinian view, that these words are
merely an exclamation, is refuted (1) by the 4
fact that no such exclamations were in use
among the Jews; (2) by the introductory
expression, "He said to Him; (3) by theµ
impossibility of referring the words "my'
Lord" to another than Jesus.; see v. 13; (4)
by the New Testament usage for expressing)
the vocative for the nominative with an ar-'
ticle; (5) by the utter psychological absur
dity of such a supposition; that one just
convinced of the presence of Him whom he
deeply loved, should, instead of addressing:
Him, break into an irrelevant cry; (6) byi
the further absurdity of supposing that ifs
such were the case the apostle John, who of,
all the sacred writers most constantly keeps k:
in mind the object for which he is writing,
should have recorded anything so beside that
object; (7) by the intimate conjunction of
"thou hast believed." (v. 29.)
HAVE YOU NOT A HEAVENLY FATHER ?
Rev. Samuel Kilpin, a Baptist, gives the
following account of his son :
" On one occasion when he had offended )
me, I deemed it right to manifest displeasure;:
and when he asked a question about the bu
siness of the day, I was short and reserved',
in my answers to him. An hour or more!
elapsed. The time was nearly arrived when'
he was to repeat his lessons. He came into
my study, and said: "Papa, I cannot learn !
my lessons except you are reconciled; ram ,
very sorry I have offended you; I hope you;
will forgive me; I think I shall never offend!
again."
I replied, "All I want is to'make you sen-I
Bible to your fault; when you acknowledge.
it, you know I am easily reconciled with!
you."
"Then, papa," said he, "give me the token;
of reconciliation, and seal it with a kiss."
The hand was given, and the seal most hear
tily exchanged on each side."
" Now," exclaimed the dear boy, " I will
learn Greek and Latin with anybody ; " and
was hastening to his study.
" Stop , stop," I called after him ; "have
you not a hem-Ably Father? If what you
have done has been.evil, He is displeased,
and you must apply to Him for forgive
ness."
With tears starting in his eyes, he said
" Papa, I went to him first; I knew that,
except he was reconciled I could do no
thing." As the tears fast rolled down his
cheek, he_ added;' " I hope he has forgiven
me; and-now lam happy 1" I never had
occasion to speak to him again in tones of
disapprObation.