1ut when the day of deliverance from the drink-thraldom is proclaimed, such a current of gladness shall sweep from shore to shore and over all the land, as will herald the fulness of joy at God's right hand." Then the mother will not clasp her babe with terror lest it die a drunkard's death. Then, when her boy goes out into the world, she will bless him, no longer with a sinking heart lest the drink lead him astray. Then father and mother will no longer look into each other's eyes, each fearing to mention the fear that lies in both their breasts. Then they shall no longer look when he returns, with fear lest signs of dissipation are showing themselves on his young cheek. Then the wife will no longer shudder as she hears her drunken husband's unsteady step nearing the threshold. Then, if poverty does come, or care invade, or sorrow visit, or death look in, these trials will come as the visitation of the Almighty, and will not have the sting and shame and disgrace and dishonour burying itself deep in the sufferers' heart. Then our country shall take out a new lease of existence, our social atmosphere become purer, and the Church-breathing more freely, as if a millstone were taken from her neck-shall "look forth clear as the sun, fair as the moon, and terrible as an army with banners." Then she may lift up her head, for the day of her redemption draweth nigh, and she may set out to meet her coming Lord, and as she goes she may sing:
"Thou art coming-we are waiting
With a hope which can not fail;
Asking not the day or hour,
Resting on Thy word of power,
Anchored safe within the vale.
Time appointed may be long,
But the vision must be sure;
Certainty shall make us strong,
Joyful patience can endure."
NE summer's evening, ere the sun went down,
To reach their home-some near at hand-some far
By snorting train, by omnibus, or car,
To be beyond the reach of City's din-
A tram-car stopped, a little girl got in,
A cheery-looking girl, scarce four years old,
Although not shy, her manners were not bold;
But all alone-one scarce could understand.
She held a little bundle in her hand-
A tiny handkerchief with corners tied,
But which did not some bread and butter hide.
A satin scarf, so natty and so neat,
Was o'er her shoulders thrown.
And laid her bundle underneath her arm,
And smiling prettily, but yet so calm,
She to the conductor said, "May I sit here?”
He answered instantly, "Oh, yes, my dear."
And there she seemed inclined to make her stay,
While once again the car went on its way.
The tall conductor, over six feet high,
Now scanned the travellers with a business eye;
But in that eye was something kind and mild
That took the notice of the little child.
A little after and the man went round,
And soon was heard the old familiar sound
Of gathering pence, and clipping tickets too,
The car was full, and he had much to do.
"Your fare, my little girl," at length he said ;
She looked a moment, shook her little head,
"I have no pennies, don't you know," said she,
My fare is paid, and Jesus paid for me?"
He looked bewildered, all the people smiled. "I didn't know. And who is Jesus, child ?”
Why, don't you know He once for sinners died,
For little children, and for men beside;
To make us good, and wash us from our sin?
Is this His railway I am travelling in?
"Don't think it is. I want your fare, you know."
I told you Jesus paid it long ago:
My mother told me, just before she died,
That Jesus paid when He was crucified;
That at the cross His railway did begin,
Which took poor sinners from a world of sin.
My mother said His home was grand and fair;
I want to go and see my mother there.
I want to go to heaven where Jesus lives.
Won't you go, too? My mother said He gives
A loving welcome. Shall we not be late?
Oh! let us go before He shuts the gate!
He bids us little children come to Him.”
The poor conductor's eyes felt rather dim,
He knew not why; he fumbled at his coat,
And felt a substance rising in his throat.
The people listened to the little child;
Some were in tears; the roughest only smiled.
And some one whispered as they looked amazed,
"Out of the mouth of babes the Lord is praised."
"I am a pilgrim," said the little thing;
"I'm going to heaven. My mother used to sing
To me of Jesus and His father's love-
Told me to meet her in His home above;
And so to-day, when aunt went out to tea,
And looking out, I could not father see,
I got my bundle, kissed my little kit,
(I am so hungry-won't you have a bit?)
And got my hat, and then I left my home,
A little pilgrim up to heaven to roam;
And then your carriage stopped, and I could see
You looked so kind. I saw you beckon me.
I thought you must belong to Jesus' train;
And are you just going home to heaven again?"
The poor conductor only shook his head:
Tears in his eyes-the power of speech had fled.
Had conscience by her prattle roused his fears,
And struck upon the fountain of his tears,
And made his thoughts in sad confusion whirl ?
At last he said, "Once I'd a little girl;
I loved her much, she was my little pet,
And with great fondness I remember yet
How much she loved me; but one day she died."
"She's gone to heaven," the little girl replied;
"She's gone to Jesus-Jesus paid her fare;
Oh! dear conductor, won't you meet her there?”
The poor conductor now broke fairly down;
He could have borne the harshest word or frown.
But no one laughed; but many sitting by,
Beheld the scene with sympathetic eye.
He kissed the girl, for she his heart had won.
I am so sleepy," said the little one;
"If you will let me, I'll lie here and wait
Until your carriage comes to Jesus' gate.
Be sure you wake me up, and pull my frock,
And at the gate give just one little knock;
And you'll see Jesus there!" The strong man wept.
I could but think, as from the car I stepped,
How oft a little one has found the road,
The narrow pathway to that blest abode;
Through faith in Christ has read its title clear,
While learned men remained in doubt and fear.
A little child! the Lord oft uses such
To break or bend, the stoutest heart to touch,
Then by His Spirit bids the conflict cease,
And once for ever enter into peace.
And then along the road the news we bear,
We're going to heaven-that Jesus paid the fare!
IERCE, yea fiercer grew the tempest
As the daylight waned away,
Higher rose the foaming billows,
Dashing up their snow-white spray.
'Twas a scene of awful grandeur
As all bowed beneath their sway.
Hark! amid the tempest's fury!
Is not that the signal-gun,
Telling sailors of their danger,
Making many hearts to burn?
For they see the poor wrecked vessel,
As they to the life-boat run.
Quickly haste they to the rescue,
Ere the ship is seen no more,
Ere the souls of shipwreck'd sailors
Live no longer on Time's shore.
Haste, oh, haste! or ere you reach them
Their last struggle will be o'er.
See those men in yonder life-boat,
Straining every nerve to save
Poor, forlorn, despairing seamen
From a yawning, watery grave!
Is there one sad coward 'mong them?
No, they're bravest of the brave.
See! they reach the stranded vessel!
Frantic sailors loudly cheer:
Now they're in the ark of safety,
And for land again they steer.
Answered are the prayers, yea, answered,
Of the hundreds on the pier.
Is there not in this a lesson
For each Temperance band to heed?
Shall we cast it careless from us?
'Tis so plain, "who runs may read."
No! with courage we'll press forward,
And be earnest, word and deed.
"We will strive to save the fallen;"
Let us speak as if one voice,
"Raise the drunkard, cheer and heal him,”
May this be our every choice!
Not alone shall mortals bless us,
But the angels will rejoice.
W The royal lion hugs his chain,
HERE gently swinging o'er the gate,
Deck'd in a tawny hide and wig (Instead of mane),
As frizzled and as big
As that which clothes the wisest judge's pate,
The village club, inspired by beer,
Had met, the "Chronicle" to hear,
Which, weekly, to the list'ning crowd,
Aaron, their clerk, proclaim'd aloud.
While talking over state affairs,
Each fault in politics discerning,
And praising Aaron's wondrous learning,
A hawker came to vend his wares;
The well-pack'd box his aged shoulders prest,
And his rough beard descended to his breast.
Vell, shentelmen, vat you vant to puy;
Goot razors, knives, vate'er you choose;
Vatchkeys, or puckles for de shoes;
Or do you stand in need
Of spectacles, vich help to read?"
"Do you sell helps to read?" Hodge cries
And yawns and rubs his drowsy eyes.
"Hand me a pair-at least I'll try ;
Who knows but when the old man's dead,
I may be clerk in Aaron's stead."
So said, he fix'd them on his snout,
And stared, and wink'd, and look'd about,
But all in vain.
|