Trust in the Lord, and do good;
Dwell in the land, and follow after faithfulness:
Delight thyself also in the Lord;
And He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
Commit thy way unto the Lord,
Trust also in Him,
And He shall bring it to pass.
And He shall make thy righteousness to go forth as the light,
And thy judgment as the noonday.
Rest in the Lord,
And wait patiently for Him:
Fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way,
Because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.
Cease from, anger, and forsake wrath:
Fret not thyself; it tendeth only to evil-doing.
PSALM 37:3-8.
[Illustration: "The light of the sun does us no good unless we are living in it!"]
[Illustration: "The light of the sun does us no good unless we are living in it!"]
"The light of the sun does us no good unless we are living in it! Yes, that is just what the minister said," mused Tim, as he tossed his Sabbath-school paper upon the table, and gave himself up to the flow of his own thoughts. "Yes, he said just that, and more, too. He said that the life of Christ will do us little good unless we are living in it; that is, unless we are Christians, it makes little difference to us whether Christ gave His life for us or not."
"What is on your mind, now?" It was Tim's sister Ada who asked this question as she came running into the room upon her return from school. She had stopped on her way to gather violets, and that, you see, is why she had not reached home as soon as Tim.
"Oh, I was just thinking about what the minister said last Sabbath, that is all," replied the lad in a low voice.
"Oh, yes, what he said about people being 'born again' if they would live the Christ life, and that reminds me that I must write his text down in my text book. Let's see, it was last Christmas, wasn't it, when Mrs. Martin gave us those little books, and told us to write in them the text of every sermon we heard preached; and I am glad to say that I have not missed many Sabbaths since then."
"Neither have I," said Tim. "And do you know, I have been wondering whether Mrs. Martin will give her class any presents this Christmas."
"Oh, I don't know. I should think a teacher did her duty by teaching a Sabbath-school class fifty-two times in a year, without spending her money on presents for us, even if we are but four. I think it would be more appropriate for us to be giving her a present this year, than for us to be expecting one from her."
"And let's get up one for her," proposed Tim.
"And that means that we will," laughed Ada. "When you say, 'let's' in that tone something is always sure to happen."
"But we don't want to have the whole say about the presents ourselves," observed the boy, evidently pleased at his sister's compliment. "Mark and Nettie haven't come by from school yet. When they do, we will call them in, and see what can be done."
"All right, and let's watch for them."
The windows facing the road were immediately taken possession of, and it was not long before Ada and Tim were both rapping on the panes of glass.
"What is it?" shouted Mark from the road.
"Come and see," replied Ada.
Mark and Nettie, a rosy-cheeked brother and sister, were soon in the little sitting-room, and Ada and Tim were laying before them their plans for Christmas.
"It is just like this," said Ada; "I found Tim dreaming about Christmas, and I just suggested that we give Mrs. Martin a Christmas present this year. Now what do you think of it?"
"That would be just the thing," said Nettie.
"But what do you think she would want?" queried Mark.
"We can't tell, unless we ask her," replied Ada. "But have any of us ever heard her say what she wanted?"
"I have," said Tim. "I have heard her say that what she wanted the most of anything was to have her scholars come to Christ."
"But I mean something that we could give her."
"But if we should make up our minds to be Christians, it would make her pleased," said Tim, "and perhaps she'd rather be pleased in this way than to have a present."
"I know that she would," said Nettie; "and I say, let's settle the question once for all."
The others looked in amazement at Nettie; they could scarcely understand what she meant. Her face was flushed, and she was trembling with emotion, but one thing was certain, and that was that Nettie was in earnest—also Tim; and whatever Tim wanted the others to do they generally did.
"You may as well tell us what you do mean," said Mark.
[Illustration: "We might sign a paper."]
"Why, just what I said," replied Tim. "I think it is about time that we began to think some of being Christians—that is, if what the minister says is true, and I suppose that it is, for everybody believes everything else that he says, when he has anything to say in our house and in the store."
"I should say as much," said Nettie.
"But what can be done about it?" queried Mark, in perplexity.
"We might all sign a paper, telling her what we intend to do, and give it to her Christmas," proposed Tim.
"So we can," said Mark, "and let's do it at once."
So Tim went to the desk, and spent a few minutes writing something upon a piece of paper. When he had finished, he turned around and asked; "Want to hear it?"
"Of course," answered Nettie.
So he read: "We four scholars of your class have made up our minds to be Christians, and we give you this information as your Christmas remembrance from us."
"Just the thing," said Ada.
"And I suppose that we must all sign it," suggested Nettie.
"Of course," answered Tim.
"But is this all that we must do to be Christians?" queried Mark.
"I should say not," answered Tim, "but if Mrs. Martin knows that we are in earnest, she will tell us what to do."
So the paper was signed by the four, after which Mark and Nettie continued on their way homeward.
On the Sabbath following Christmas, after the class had gathered, and were waiting for Sabbath-school to begin in the little church on the hill, Tim passed to Mrs. Martin an envelope bearing her name. When she opened it and read the note that was within, her eyes filled with tears of joy.
"Oh, my precious class! My precious class!" This was all she could say, as she looked from one to another with face shining like an angel's.
"We thought that you'd tell us just what to do," began Ada. "We felt that we needed help from you."
"And you shall have it this very hour. We will let the lesson go to-day, and just have a little meeting all to ourselves."
"That will be just beautiful!" exclaimed Nettie.
While the other classes in the church were discussing the lesson for the day, Mrs. Martin's class in the pew in the rear were settling the great question of their lives.
Mrs. Martin began by telling them the story of the Christ—how Christ left His heavenly home, and came to earth to die for all men, since all are sinners; and how all may be saved from sin by being sorry for their wrong-doing, deciding to lead a right life, and taking Him as their personal Saviour. "Is this what you all believe?"
"It is," replied the class, softly.
Then all closed their eyes, and Mrs. Martin prayed softly for them, after which each prayed for pardon, and by the time Sabbath-school was dismissed, all felt that Christ had accepted them as His very own.
"Oh, how I shall prize this little note," said Mrs. Martin, as they were leaving the church for home. "You could not have given me a Christmas remembrance which would have meant more to me. And I am sure that I am not the only one you have remembered this day—you have given yourselves to Christ, who died and arose from the grave for you, and He will treasure the Christmas gift you have given Him more than I can the one you have given me."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "I can't make yesterday over again."]
She was a tiny girl, playing by herself in a wide, grassy yard. The older children had gone to school, but she, too young for that, was busying herself with putting in order a playhouse in an arbor—arranging it as nearly as possible as it had been the day before, when she and two or three little mates had enjoyed such a merry time there. To and fro trudged the tireless feet, patiently the small hands worked, and at last all was complete. Then the young worker looked about her, and slowly a shadow of disappointment crept over the face that had been so eager. Something was lacking. Everything was in the remembered order, but it did not seem the same. She studied it for a minute or two, then walked away and sat down on a sunny doorstep. The mother found her there a little later, a listless, quiet little figure.
"Are you tired of your playhouse already, dear?" she asked.
The childish eyes were uplifted with a look of wistful wonder in them, and the answer came slowly.
"I can't do it—I can't make yesterday over again."
It was the hopeless task that in one form or another we all undertake, and with which many darken their whole lives because they will not learn that it is an impossible one. Yesterday's roses died with the day, yesterday's manna was only for yesterday's need, but there are new flowers and new food for to-day from the same gracious hand that bestowed the other, if only we will go cheerfully and trustingly forward. The treasures and pleasures we have had are for memory and thanksgiving, but the moment we sit down beside them to grieve or to try to reconstruct them out of their ruins we have changed them from a blessing to a hindrance. We cannot make yesterday over again.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Meg had been playing in the garden all the morning, and when mama called her in she had earth on her hands, and smuts on her face, and she looked such a grubby little thing.
Mama smiled. "You have been having a good time, Meg," she said.
And she put a tin bason with some soap and warm water in it on a chair where Meg could reach.
"Now, then, wash your hands and face, dear. Dada will soon be in for dinner."
But Meg pouted. "I don't want to wash," she said. "I am not dirty."
Mama waited a little, but when she saw that Meg did not begin to wash, she said, quite gravely:
"You cannot sit at the table, as you are, dear. If you do not wash, then you must go without your dinner."
Meg stood a minute, then, as she saw that mama was quite firm, she put her hands into the water and began to wash and scrub them.
Lucy is older than Meg, and she had looked on all the time to see what Meg would do. When Lucy saw her begin to wash and be good, she said:—
"Why is it, mama, that you and dada can do just as you like about everything, but we children have to do as you tell us all the time? I don't think it is fair. I wish we could do as we like, too."
Mania did not speak for a moment. In her heart she said, "Lord help me to make this plain to my little girls."
"Did Meg have to wash?" she asked them.
"Yes," said Lucy. "If not, she would have to—"
"Bear the punishment," said mama. "You say, Lucy, that dada and I do just what we choose, and that is quite true. But if we choose to do wrong, then we have to be punished too, and the punishment is far worse than any that dada or I can give you, for it comes from God.
"Little children do not always know right from wrong, so in order to help them and make right easy, God gives them parents and teachers to praise them when they are good"—and here mama laid her hand on Meg's head—"or else to punish them when they are naughty.
"My two little girls may do just as they choose, as long as they choose to do what is right, and then when they are big and there is no mama to tell them all the time what to do, I hope they will do right of themselves."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
In a little village lived a poor old woman with a pretty granddaughter. One day the aged woman went out without her crutch, but her granddaughter was near to serve her as a support. It continued thus for a long time. To the promenade, to church, or market, the good old grandame no longer used her crutch, but leaned on her granddaughter. There was much prattling about this in the village, and all wondered. At last they found out the cause. The granddaughter, in a fit of passion, threw her grandmother's crutch in the fire, and the old woman was too poor to buy another. The hasty girl cried and repented, and the frail old woman pardoned her; but, to make reparation, her grandchild never quitted her for an instant, and served as a faithful crutch, till she saved up money enough to buy a substantial new crutch, on which were these words, "Repentance and restoration."