Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing,Onward through life he goes,Each morning sees some task begun,Each evening sees its close;Something attempted, something done,Has earned a night’s repose.
Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing,Onward through life he goes,Each morning sees some task begun,Each evening sees its close;Something attempted, something done,Has earned a night’s repose.
Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing,Onward through life he goes,Each morning sees some task begun,Each evening sees its close;Something attempted, something done,Has earned a night’s repose.
Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes,
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Longfellow.
Beneaththe scorching rays of a blistering summer’s sun, or chilled by the piercing blast of winter, a puny, sickly youth might have been seen daily ascending a ladder, bearing on his head a heavy weight of slate. There is nothing about his appearance but his feeble step and emaciated frame, calculated to attract the attention of the passer-by: a closer observation, however, will show that he possesses an eye which bespeaks an amount of patient perseverance but seldom known.
On one occasion, when about twelve years of age, while engaged in his accustomed labor, his foot misses the round of the ladder which he had so long ascended, and the infirm youth is throwna distance of thirty-five feet on the hard stone pavement beneath. In a state of perfect insensibility he is taken up and borne to the arms of his afflicted friends. For two long weeks he remains in a state of unconsciousness, not knowing the nearest and dearest of his relatives.
At the expiration of this time his mind begins to revive, and his feeble eye wanders about the room with listless indifference. Recovering from his attack, he immediately inquires for a book in which he had been deeply interested previous to the accident which came so near terminating his earthly career.
No one seems to answer his inquiries. “Why do you not speak?Pray let me have my book!” Still no one replies. At last some one takes a slate and writes upon it that the book had been returned to its owner.
“Why do youwriteto me?” exclaimed the sufferer—“speak,speak!SPEAK!” Again was the pencil taken and the three words—you are deaf—written.
How severe the affliction! No more can that ear drink in the sweet melody of the little warblers; no more listen to those words of affection which make home the brightest and happiest spot in the world; no more hear the gentle notes ofthe “sweet singer of Israel,” or gather the soul-stirring anthems that echo and reëcho through the vaulted roof of God’s sanctuary.
As his father was very poor, he was placed in an almshouse to keep him from starvation.
He was soon removed, however, from his lonely prison home, and placed under a shoemaker, but was treated so unkindly that his friends found it necessary to have him again put in the poorhouse.
His studious habits and intellectual qualities soon attracted the notice of the officers of the almshouse, and he was treated with marked kindness and attention. While others were wasting the golden moments of youth, thedeaf shoemakerwas busy garnering his spare minutes, and storing his mind with information which was destined to exert an influence throughout the world.
In a short time he was removed to the London Missionary Society, whence he went to Malta as a printer.
Here he studied very closely, and, after returning to London, accompanied Mr. Groves in a tour through Russia, Georgia, Armenia, Kurdistan and Persia.
During this tour he gathered a vast amount ofinformation relative to Eastern manners and customs, which rendered him one of the most instructive and interesting writers in the world.
He published, as the fruit of his arduous toil during this journey, quite a number of books, which have been greatly sought after both in Europe and America, and have made him a welcome guest at thousands of happy firesides.
His toilsome and unceasing labors for the cause of truth and religion were too severe for so feeble a frame, and at an early age, not fifty years old,John Kitto—the deaf shoemaker of Plymouth—gently fell asleep in the arms of his Saviour—beloved and respected by all who knew him, and honored by those who had become familiar with him from his deeply interesting and invaluable productions.
In speaking of Kitto, a clergyman of considerable distinction uses the following beautiful language:—
“Rarely have we read a more touching record of heroic struggle than the toilsome ascent of the deaf boy of Plymouth to the lofty position of the world-famed Editor of the Biblical Encyclopædia, the Pictorial Bible, the Daily Bible Illustrations. He reached, through incredible difficulties, a position that few attain under the mostfavorable circumstances, and has left behind him nearly fifty volumes, some of which take high rank as works of critical authority. Truly the heroic ages have not yet ceased, and there is a heroism of the solitary student that is a nobler thing than that of the warrior on the field of battle; and such heroism is seen in the life of Kitto.”
My young friends, how touchingly beautiful and highly instructive is the brief but brilliant life of John Kitto! Do not
“Lives ofsuchmen all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of Time—“Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart again?”
“Lives ofsuchmen all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of Time—“Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart again?”
“Lives ofsuchmen all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of Time—
“Lives ofsuchmen all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of Time—
“Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart again?”
“Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again?”