LITTLE EDDIE.

Wevisit an ant-hill, dear children, to-day.Come, witness the instinct these creatures display;“Consider their ways and be wise;”Thus spoke a wise king, in the Proverbs, you know,And though we’re no sluggards, I think if we goWe’ll find a rich feast for our eyes.One square foot of earth, though to us very small,To the ant is a kingdom. Each house has a hall,With chambers and passages lined;And thousands of homes in one square foot of ground,With swarms of these insects are frequently found,And such a one now we will find.The ants’ mode of building we first will explain—The earth being moistened with dew or with rain,Large swarms of these insects will meet;Each one takes a grain that you scarcely could see,And kneads it and moulds it as nice as can be,Then pats it down smooth with its feet.These diligent builders thus work at their trade,Till hundreds and thousands of houses are madeBeneath all these little mud balls;In these tiny ant-hills we see above groundSmall buildings of full twenty stories are found,Supported by pillars and walls.What wonderful instinct these creatures displayIn the care of their young on a damp rainy day,As they run from one room to another!And up stairs and down stairs they hasten again,As each little ant, to be kept from the rain,Must be carried up stairs by its mother.When the clouds are dispersed, again they must run,These delicate ants could not bear the hot sun;And their mothers immediately goTo move their dear children a few stories lower,And find them a room upon the ground floor,And give them their supper below.Who teaches the ant her food to prepare,And store it in cells with such diligent care,That she all their wants may supply?’Tis God, my dear child; he provides for them all,And each little insect, though ever so small,Is still in the reach of his eye.The same tender parent who watches o’er you,Has guided the ant the whole summer through,And taught her her food to prepare;And when wintry frosts have quite covered the ground,The ant with her family safely is found,Still guarded and kept by his care.LITTLE EDDIE.Theroving eye might vainly seekA fairer to behold,Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,When he was eight years old.And those who love a merry glance,No brighter eye had seen,Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,In meadow or in green.But Edward’s charms of better kind,With more delight I praise,For sweet and gentle was his mind,And pleasant all his ways.No angry passions, fierce and wild,No evil thought or plan,Had place in this beloved child,Throughout his little span.In health and strength he grew, till cameHis ninth revolving year,Then sickness seized his little frame,And suffering most severe.For many a month upon his bed,His feverish hands were laid,Nor could he raise his aching headWithout his mother’s aid.Yet patient lay the little boy,And no repining word,Or fretful wish for other’s joy,From Edward’s lip was heard.Though gentle summer came and strewedFresh beauties o’er the earth,He went not to the field or woodTo share his playmates’ mirth.Though winter, from the frozen north,Brought ice and snow along,Yet little Edward went not forthTo join the merry throng.The rose departed from his cheek,The brightness from his eye,And then his spirit fled to seekIts Father in the sky;Who, in his love, from pain and strifeSuch little ones doth take,And give them endless light and life,For our Redeemer’s sake.His body to the earth was given,And rests beneath the sod,But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,To join in praising God.Long will his many friends approveHis manners, sweet and mild,And tell his innocence and loveTo many a listening child.His mother’s heart the sad, the sweetRemembrance doth employ,And full her trust in heaven to meetHer blessed little boy.FAITHFUL FIDO.Anemblem of faithfulnessHere you behold,As Fido is carefullyGuarding the gold.How eager he watchesFor danger around;So, true to your trust,May you ever be found!LITTLE MARY AND HER WICKED FATHER.“Whatshall I do? What shall I do?” the wicked father said,As in agony of spirit he rose up from his bed,And earnestly entreated his wife to kneel and pray;Alas! dear Mary’s mother had ne’er been taught the way.“I cannot pray, dear husband,” the trembling wife replied.“Oh, then, what can I do?” in bitterness he cried.“Perhaps,” she said, “our Mary has learned to say her prayers,She seems so good and holy.” He hastened up the stairsWhere slept that young disciple, a child of seven years;Her father gently woke her, then, bursting into tears,He said, “O, can you pray, my child; has Jesus taught you how?And will you try to pray for your poor father, now?”She knelt, put up her little hands, “Our Father up in heaven,”She sweetly said, “for Jesus’ sake, let father be forgiven;Have mercy, blessed Savior, wash all his sins away,And send thy Holy Spirit to teach him how to pray.”That father rose in penitence, sweet thoughts within him stirred,A yearning, warm desire to hear from God’s own WordThose precious truths she thus had lisped in accents sweet and mild;He placed the Bible in her hand; “Take this and read my child.”She read the holy Book, and, at that midnight hour,God sent his blessed Spirit to seal it home with power;Those sweet words of the loving John, that “all who look may live,”[4]He heard, and said, “Dear Mary, can Jesus now forgive?”“Oh listen, father! ‘Godsoloved,’ he sent his only Son,And all who now believe on that dear, blessed One,The Lamb of God, shall never die, shall have their sins forgiven,And he will take them home at last, to dwell with him in heaven.”“That is for me!” he cried; “for sinners just like me;I will look up to Jesus now,—Savior, I come to thee;I hear those blessed words, ‘Come unto me and live;’I can believe,—I do believe! Dear Jesus now forgive.”Yes, look to Christ, believing one, he whispers now you may.He heard, and went, from that glad hour, rejoicing on his way.SALLIE M——.Iknew a lass, but quite too longWas her whole name to weave in song,But, lest a change she should condemn,We’ll only call her Sarah M——.Now, from her youth, this damsel’s mindWas most industriously inclined;No little girl could sew, or hem,Or stitch, or mend, like Sarah M——.Her father had not wealth to spare,And many children claimed his care,So little Sarah early learned,That her own living must be earned.Yet no complaining Sallie made,That she must work while others played,But set about with right good will,The task her fingers should fulfil.Though aching head and weary sightWere sometimes hers, her heart was light,And equal was her well-earned store,For clothes to wear, and even more.Thus, while from day to day she drewHer ready needle through and through,She gained far more than worldly pelf,She learned to commune with herself.And this communion, deep and still,Soon led her heart to know its ill,And ask her Maker to impart,For Jesus’ sake, a holy heart.Now, had she spent in early days,Her time in idleness and plays,At work repining, sought her joysWith careless girls and idle boys—Her after years had never knownThe independence now her own;Perhaps those wasted hours had evenDispelled the thoughts which turned to heaven.But care and industry are found,With, heaven and earth’s best blessing crown’dAnd those who truly value them,Should early do like Sarah M——.THE PROUD GIRL.JANE.Whatmakes you wear that muslin dress,And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?See here! my shoes are real kid;Just look at them—see how they shine;My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,And only see the straw, how fine!Why, I should fret myself to death,If I were dressed as mean as you;I always cry and tease mammaFor everything I see that’s new.MARY.What! cry and tease your dear mammaFor finery? That would not I;I would not grieve her for the world,And she would grieve to see me cry.She gives me everything she can,And that is everything I want;And I should be a wicked child,To ask for more than she could grant.But, Jane, from what you say yourself,You’re never happy, and your prideIs such, that, with this finery,You never are quite satisfied.JANE.But what if there should be a ball,And you should have a chance to go,Where every one is richly dressed,Would you appear among them so?MARY.A ball! I never went to one;I do not care for scenes so gay;But with the birds and trees and flowers,I can be happy any day.When dear papa comes home at night,I’m joyous as a little bird,For, after tea, he always tellsSomething amusing he has heard.You ought to see our pleasant home,Dear Jennie, then you would not say,That I, from this dear, happy group,Could often wish to be away.Sometimes, he brings us home a book,Then, after supper, down we sit,He reads to us, while dear mammaTakes out her work to sew or knit.Then he will read some wondrous tale,How mighty nations rose and fell,And sometimes lay aside the book,And some amusing story tell.How some have climbed the highest hill,And yet have murmur’d all the way,While others walk along the vale,As pleasant as a summer’s day.“My children,” he will often say,“You know I cannot give you wealth;But you have riches dearer far,And these are innocence and health.“While thus you live in peace and love,Contented with the blessings given,And grateful to your God, I trustHe’ll fit you for the joys of heaven.”Then, ere we go to bed at night,We kneel together while he praysThat God would fill our hearts with love,And help us serve him all our days.But see! while I stand talking here,The cars are in—papa has come!Now you may go and dance at balls,But I’ll enjoy myself at home.WILLIE’S FEARS.PART I.Williewas nicely tucked in bedOne cold December night,When he began to scream “Mamma,Come quick, and bring a light!“Oh, I’m so frightened, dear mamma;What is that noise? Do hark!Please do not take the candle offAnd leave me in the dark.”“I hear no noise,” his mother said;“What makes my boy so silly?And what good can the candle do,My darling little Willie?“Who did you ask to care for you,When you knelt down to pray,Before I put you into bed,And took the light away?“Remember, love, you prayed to God,And all the long night through,He will keep watch around your bed,And take good care of you.“What could it be, my little son,That gave you such a fright?When you are safe in bed, you know,I always take the light.”“I know you do, but Biddie toldA story yesterdayThat frightened me; please, dear mammaDon’t take the light away.”“I’ll leave the light with you to-night;Since Biddie was so silly;Now think, my dear, your Father’s near,To guard his little Willie.”WILLIE’S FEARS.PART II.MOTHER.Come, Willie, and tell me, my dear,What made you so foolish, last night;I am waiting this morning to hearThe cause of your terrible fright.WILLIE.Biddie said that a wolf would come outAnd catch me if I was not good;That is what I was thinking aboutWhen I screamed just as loud as I could.MOTHER.And where would a wolf come from, pray;Biddy could not find one, should she try.’T was a wicked thing for her to say,—She knew she was telling a lie.Examine your chamber, my dear;Look carefully round before night,And if you can find a wolf here,I will certainly leave you a light.WILLIE.Mamma, you are laughing at me,There’s no wolf anywhere to be found;I know there is nothing to seeIf I take all the day to look round.MOTHER.Then I hope you will not be afraid;Now tell me, my son, if you’re able,Of what mamma’s candles are made,You see one stand there on the table.WILLIE.Of tallow and cotton, mamma;The candles are run in a mould.I went up one day with papaTo the factory where they are sold.MOTHER.Can tallow and cotton, my son,Protect you from harm thro’ the night,When into a mould it is run,And made in a candle to light?WILLIE.The candle could not see or hear,And I’ll try to remember to-night,That God my kind Father is near,Then, mamma, I’ll not ask for a light.“CREATE IN ME A CLEAN HEART, O GOD!”Savior, keep me near thy side,Take my hand within thine own,I would be thy little child,Leave me not to walk alone.“Suffer little ones to come,”Thou didst say, when here on earth;Let my feet no longer roam,I would know thy heavenly birth.Take my wicked heart away,Make me holy like thy Son;Leave me not from thee to stray,Leave me not to walk alone.THE HELEN MARIA.Withsails all setTo catch the breeze,This noble shipNow ploughs the seas.May God in safetyKindly keepOur loved ones whileUpon the deep!THE YOUTHFUL KING.Howmuch God’s holy Book was prizedBy King Josiah in his youth!At eight years old his reign began,When no one served the Lord in truth.His ancestors were wicked men,And walked not in God’s holy ways,But filled Jerusalem with sin,And worshipped idols all their days.The youthful king desired to knowHow to avoid the ways of sin;He wished to live as David did,And have his heart made pure within.Go to the Book of Kings, and learnWhat joy he felt when Shaphan broughtFrom God’s high priest his holy law,And how he had his people taughtThat precious Book to understand,And take it for their daily guide;To love the Lord with all their hearts,And serve no other gods beside.Make thou that precious Book, O Lord,A light to guidemeall the way;May it direct my steps at night,And safely lead me through the day.I love to read those precious words,Sweet truths I meet on every page;Oh, may they be my hope in youth,And my support in hoary age.THE LITTLE BOY’S REQUEST.Sent to the Fulton Street Prayer Meeting in the summer of 1858.Iam a little boy of twelve, and always tell the truth;O pray for me, that I may love the Savior in my youth.Thus from the sunny South that precious message cameTo those who meet in Fulton street to pray in Jesus’ name.Dear little boy in Georgia, oh write once more, and sayThat you “stand up for Jesus,” that you have found the way,—The narrow way that leads to Heaven; then we once more in prayerWill thank our heavenly Father, who hath sweetly brought you there.THE INFANT SAVIOR.CHILD.Mamma, ’tis strange that God most highCould come to earth to live and die;’Tis wonderful that he could beJust such a little child as me!That he should need a mother’s care,For food to eat and clothes to wear;—How did the Virgin Mary knowThat he was Lord of all below?MOTHER.His coming, Lillie, was foretoldBy many holy men of old,And angels had been sent to tellThat this dear child she loved so wellShould be her Savior, Christ the Lord,And she believed his precious Word;Mary oft pondered in her heartThose things the angels did impart.CHILD.How could they be so very poor,When Christ was Lord of all? I’m sure,I should have thought that he would comeTo live in some delightful home.He could have had the sweetest spotIn all the world,—why did he not?Why did the infant Savior lieIn a poor stable? Tell me whyHe did not have a home like ours,With a nice garden, full of flowersAnd trees, where lovely birds should sing,To cheer the infant Savior King?MOTHER.When Jesus came to save our race,He meant to show such wondrous grace,That rich and poor alike might seeHe condescends their Friend to be.The poorest child may never fearTo pour its wants into his ear,For Jesus, though a king above,Looks down with sympathy and love.He knows exactly what we need,And he will be our Friend indeed,Will kindly listen to our prayer,And all our little sorrows share.THE TWO COUSINS.Twowee-bit cousins went out to ride,Their carriages rolling side by side;The air was not damp, or chilly, or raw,But as bright a day as ever you saw.Two prettier babies one seldom sees;Nurse often was stopped with remarks like these:“What beautiful children! Whose can they be?Do stop those nurses and let us see!”The beauty of each the ladies compare:“This one is so lovely! do see how fairHer little round face, so plump and sweet!I must kiss the child though it is in the street.”“No,—her little cousin is prettier far;I like a brunette; she will be a bright star.”The nurses move on, well pleased, I fear,Such flattering remarks from the ladies to hear.Had they seen these children in Water street,In ragged garments and naked feet,They would not have stopped them on the way,And flattered them so, I think, to-day.What a sightThey descryWhen Trenton FallsMeet their eye!PRECIOUS BIBLE.Howmany nationsNe’er have heardThe precious truthsOf God’s own Word;That the dear SaviorCame to die,That we might dwellWith him on high.If you had neverHeard of God,Nor ever readHis Holy Word,How very thankfulYou would be,A copy of God’sBook to see!Then, save your pennies,Children dear,That all, these preciousTruths may hear.THE SACRIFICE.Howhard it was for AbrahamTo say, God’s will be done,When he was called to offer upHis dear,—his only son.“Take Isaac, now, thine only son,”(This was the Lord’s command,)“And offer him a sacrifice,To die by thine own hand.”But Abraham believed that God,His Father, always knewJust what was right, and could not tellHim a wrong thing to do.He did not stop to question God,But rose at early dawn,Saddled his ass, and called his son,To go that very mornA three days journey to a spotWhich God to them would show;And Isaac, with the two young men,At once prepared to go.At length the Mount appeared in sight,And Abraham told his men,“I yonder go to worship God,And will come back again.”Much Isaac wondered what it meant,But he obeyed his sire,And took the wood upon his arms,To build his funeral pyre.Upon the mountain now they stand,And Isaac meekly cries,“Behold the fire and wood! but where’sThe lamb for sacrifice?”When they had reached Moriah’s top,The father told his son,—And Isaac willingly was bound,That God’s will might be done.Upon the altar, then, the woodWas all in order laid,And Abraham took the knife in hand,—That knife with naked blade.Then quick an angel of the LordWas sent from heaven above,To gladden faithful Abraham’s heartWith these sweet words of love.“Lay not thy hand upon the lad,For now, indeed, I seeThou fearest God, nor hast withheldThine only son from me.“And now in blessing I will blessThee and thy numerous seed;All those who have thy simple faithShall be my friends[5]indeed.“When I shall give mine only SonTo die on Calvary,The Lamb of God for sinners slain,Thine offspring he shall be.”And has “Our Father” sent his Son,His only Son, from heavenTo die for us that we might liveAnd have our sins forgiven?Lord, help me, then, to read thy Word,Believing all it saith;For I may be a friend of God,If I have Abraham’s faith.“REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY, TO KEEP IT HOLY.”Ilove the Sabbath day,Of all the days the best;Thy sacred hours are sweet to me,Oh, day of holy rest!I love the Sabbath bell,It says, “Do not delay;Hasten, dear children, from your homes;Come, worship God to-day.I love the Sabbath School;Oft, as I take my seat,I pray that early I may learnTo sit at Jesus’ feet.Oh, blessed Sabbath day,Thou best of all the seven;Thy precious hours I would improve,To fit my soul for heaven!CHARLIE AND HIS YOUTHFUL TEACHER.“Come, now, my dear boy, confess what you’ve done,To your loving, kind Father on high;You cannot conceal from the All-seeing OneThe fact that you’re telling a lie.”So said the young teacher of Birmingham school,To Charlie, when no one was nigh;She grieved that her pupil had broken a rule,Still more that he’d told her a lie.His face, once so joyous, was then very sad,His heart was too full to reply,As Miss Mary pressed home on the dear little ladThe fact of his telling a lie.“Oh come, now in penitence tell me, dear boy,The whole truth, and then we will tryAnd ask the dear Savior his grace to employ,To guard you from telling a lie.”But, though the child wore a sad look of distress,No penitent tear dimm’d his eye;All arguments failed;—Charlie would not confessThat he had been telling a lie.The teacher stood there, with her heart raised in prayerTo One whom she felt ever nigh;Oh how could she bear that her pupil should dareTo grieve him by telling a lie.“Dear Father, I know not what course to pursue;Oh guide me,” she said, with a sigh;“I am young and too helpless to know what to doWith a child who is telling a lie.“Leave not this dear child to perish, I pray,Oh listen, and hear my sad cry!What more can I say? I must send him away,He will not repent of this lie.”A change soon was wrought, when Miss Mary was taughtBy God, her kind Father on high,That his Word must be brought, and thence must be soughtHis threatenings to those who will lie.Charlie reads of the joys of the ransomed above,And learns that this home in the skyForever is closed by our Father in love,From those who on earth learn to lie.To that Heavenly City, so good and so fair,The Lamb will a welcome deny,And no little child can e’er hope to go there,“Who loveth and maketh a lie.”[6]The Bible has conquered! The teacher with joySees that tears are now filling his eye,She kneels and implores for her penitent boyForgiveness for telling a lie.THE SAILOR AND THE MONKEYS.

One square foot of earth, though to us very small,To the ant is a kingdom. Each house has a hall,With chambers and passages lined;And thousands of homes in one square foot of ground,With swarms of these insects are frequently found,And such a one now we will find.

The ants’ mode of building we first will explain—The earth being moistened with dew or with rain,Large swarms of these insects will meet;Each one takes a grain that you scarcely could see,And kneads it and moulds it as nice as can be,Then pats it down smooth with its feet.

These diligent builders thus work at their trade,Till hundreds and thousands of houses are madeBeneath all these little mud balls;In these tiny ant-hills we see above groundSmall buildings of full twenty stories are found,Supported by pillars and walls.

What wonderful instinct these creatures displayIn the care of their young on a damp rainy day,As they run from one room to another!And up stairs and down stairs they hasten again,As each little ant, to be kept from the rain,Must be carried up stairs by its mother.

When the clouds are dispersed, again they must run,These delicate ants could not bear the hot sun;And their mothers immediately goTo move their dear children a few stories lower,And find them a room upon the ground floor,And give them their supper below.

Who teaches the ant her food to prepare,And store it in cells with such diligent care,That she all their wants may supply?’Tis God, my dear child; he provides for them all,And each little insect, though ever so small,Is still in the reach of his eye.

The same tender parent who watches o’er you,Has guided the ant the whole summer through,And taught her her food to prepare;And when wintry frosts have quite covered the ground,The ant with her family safely is found,Still guarded and kept by his care.

Theroving eye might vainly seekA fairer to behold,Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,When he was eight years old.And those who love a merry glance,No brighter eye had seen,Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,In meadow or in green.But Edward’s charms of better kind,With more delight I praise,For sweet and gentle was his mind,And pleasant all his ways.No angry passions, fierce and wild,No evil thought or plan,Had place in this beloved child,Throughout his little span.In health and strength he grew, till cameHis ninth revolving year,Then sickness seized his little frame,And suffering most severe.For many a month upon his bed,His feverish hands were laid,Nor could he raise his aching headWithout his mother’s aid.Yet patient lay the little boy,And no repining word,Or fretful wish for other’s joy,From Edward’s lip was heard.Though gentle summer came and strewedFresh beauties o’er the earth,He went not to the field or woodTo share his playmates’ mirth.Though winter, from the frozen north,Brought ice and snow along,Yet little Edward went not forthTo join the merry throng.The rose departed from his cheek,The brightness from his eye,And then his spirit fled to seekIts Father in the sky;Who, in his love, from pain and strifeSuch little ones doth take,And give them endless light and life,For our Redeemer’s sake.His body to the earth was given,And rests beneath the sod,But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,To join in praising God.Long will his many friends approveHis manners, sweet and mild,And tell his innocence and loveTo many a listening child.His mother’s heart the sad, the sweetRemembrance doth employ,And full her trust in heaven to meetHer blessed little boy.

Theroving eye might vainly seekA fairer to behold,Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,When he was eight years old.

And those who love a merry glance,No brighter eye had seen,Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,In meadow or in green.

But Edward’s charms of better kind,With more delight I praise,For sweet and gentle was his mind,And pleasant all his ways.

No angry passions, fierce and wild,No evil thought or plan,Had place in this beloved child,Throughout his little span.

In health and strength he grew, till cameHis ninth revolving year,Then sickness seized his little frame,And suffering most severe.

For many a month upon his bed,His feverish hands were laid,Nor could he raise his aching headWithout his mother’s aid.

Yet patient lay the little boy,And no repining word,Or fretful wish for other’s joy,From Edward’s lip was heard.

Though gentle summer came and strewedFresh beauties o’er the earth,He went not to the field or woodTo share his playmates’ mirth.

Though winter, from the frozen north,Brought ice and snow along,Yet little Edward went not forthTo join the merry throng.

The rose departed from his cheek,The brightness from his eye,And then his spirit fled to seekIts Father in the sky;

Who, in his love, from pain and strifeSuch little ones doth take,And give them endless light and life,For our Redeemer’s sake.

His body to the earth was given,And rests beneath the sod,But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,To join in praising God.

Long will his many friends approveHis manners, sweet and mild,And tell his innocence and loveTo many a listening child.

His mother’s heart the sad, the sweetRemembrance doth employ,And full her trust in heaven to meetHer blessed little boy.

Anemblem of faithfulnessHere you behold,As Fido is carefullyGuarding the gold.How eager he watchesFor danger around;So, true to your trust,May you ever be found!

Anemblem of faithfulnessHere you behold,As Fido is carefullyGuarding the gold.

How eager he watchesFor danger around;So, true to your trust,May you ever be found!

“Whatshall I do? What shall I do?” the wicked father said,As in agony of spirit he rose up from his bed,And earnestly entreated his wife to kneel and pray;Alas! dear Mary’s mother had ne’er been taught the way.“I cannot pray, dear husband,” the trembling wife replied.“Oh, then, what can I do?” in bitterness he cried.“Perhaps,” she said, “our Mary has learned to say her prayers,She seems so good and holy.” He hastened up the stairsWhere slept that young disciple, a child of seven years;Her father gently woke her, then, bursting into tears,He said, “O, can you pray, my child; has Jesus taught you how?And will you try to pray for your poor father, now?”She knelt, put up her little hands, “Our Father up in heaven,”She sweetly said, “for Jesus’ sake, let father be forgiven;Have mercy, blessed Savior, wash all his sins away,And send thy Holy Spirit to teach him how to pray.”That father rose in penitence, sweet thoughts within him stirred,A yearning, warm desire to hear from God’s own WordThose precious truths she thus had lisped in accents sweet and mild;He placed the Bible in her hand; “Take this and read my child.”She read the holy Book, and, at that midnight hour,God sent his blessed Spirit to seal it home with power;Those sweet words of the loving John, that “all who look may live,”[4]He heard, and said, “Dear Mary, can Jesus now forgive?”“Oh listen, father! ‘Godsoloved,’ he sent his only Son,And all who now believe on that dear, blessed One,The Lamb of God, shall never die, shall have their sins forgiven,And he will take them home at last, to dwell with him in heaven.”“That is for me!” he cried; “for sinners just like me;I will look up to Jesus now,—Savior, I come to thee;I hear those blessed words, ‘Come unto me and live;’I can believe,—I do believe! Dear Jesus now forgive.”Yes, look to Christ, believing one, he whispers now you may.He heard, and went, from that glad hour, rejoicing on his way.

“I cannot pray, dear husband,” the trembling wife replied.“Oh, then, what can I do?” in bitterness he cried.“Perhaps,” she said, “our Mary has learned to say her prayers,She seems so good and holy.” He hastened up the stairs

Where slept that young disciple, a child of seven years;Her father gently woke her, then, bursting into tears,He said, “O, can you pray, my child; has Jesus taught you how?And will you try to pray for your poor father, now?”

She knelt, put up her little hands, “Our Father up in heaven,”She sweetly said, “for Jesus’ sake, let father be forgiven;Have mercy, blessed Savior, wash all his sins away,And send thy Holy Spirit to teach him how to pray.”

That father rose in penitence, sweet thoughts within him stirred,A yearning, warm desire to hear from God’s own WordThose precious truths she thus had lisped in accents sweet and mild;He placed the Bible in her hand; “Take this and read my child.”

She read the holy Book, and, at that midnight hour,God sent his blessed Spirit to seal it home with power;Those sweet words of the loving John, that “all who look may live,”[4]He heard, and said, “Dear Mary, can Jesus now forgive?”

“Oh listen, father! ‘Godsoloved,’ he sent his only Son,And all who now believe on that dear, blessed One,The Lamb of God, shall never die, shall have their sins forgiven,And he will take them home at last, to dwell with him in heaven.”

“That is for me!” he cried; “for sinners just like me;I will look up to Jesus now,—Savior, I come to thee;I hear those blessed words, ‘Come unto me and live;’I can believe,—I do believe! Dear Jesus now forgive.”

Yes, look to Christ, believing one, he whispers now you may.He heard, and went, from that glad hour, rejoicing on his way.

Iknew a lass, but quite too longWas her whole name to weave in song,But, lest a change she should condemn,We’ll only call her Sarah M——.Now, from her youth, this damsel’s mindWas most industriously inclined;No little girl could sew, or hem,Or stitch, or mend, like Sarah M——.Her father had not wealth to spare,And many children claimed his care,So little Sarah early learned,That her own living must be earned.Yet no complaining Sallie made,That she must work while others played,But set about with right good will,The task her fingers should fulfil.Though aching head and weary sightWere sometimes hers, her heart was light,And equal was her well-earned store,For clothes to wear, and even more.Thus, while from day to day she drewHer ready needle through and through,She gained far more than worldly pelf,She learned to commune with herself.And this communion, deep and still,Soon led her heart to know its ill,And ask her Maker to impart,For Jesus’ sake, a holy heart.Now, had she spent in early days,Her time in idleness and plays,At work repining, sought her joysWith careless girls and idle boys—Her after years had never knownThe independence now her own;Perhaps those wasted hours had evenDispelled the thoughts which turned to heaven.But care and industry are found,With, heaven and earth’s best blessing crown’dAnd those who truly value them,Should early do like Sarah M——.

Iknew a lass, but quite too longWas her whole name to weave in song,But, lest a change she should condemn,We’ll only call her Sarah M——.

Now, from her youth, this damsel’s mindWas most industriously inclined;No little girl could sew, or hem,Or stitch, or mend, like Sarah M——.

Her father had not wealth to spare,And many children claimed his care,So little Sarah early learned,That her own living must be earned.

Yet no complaining Sallie made,That she must work while others played,But set about with right good will,The task her fingers should fulfil.

Though aching head and weary sightWere sometimes hers, her heart was light,And equal was her well-earned store,For clothes to wear, and even more.

Thus, while from day to day she drewHer ready needle through and through,She gained far more than worldly pelf,She learned to commune with herself.

And this communion, deep and still,Soon led her heart to know its ill,And ask her Maker to impart,For Jesus’ sake, a holy heart.

Now, had she spent in early days,Her time in idleness and plays,At work repining, sought her joysWith careless girls and idle boys—

Her after years had never knownThe independence now her own;Perhaps those wasted hours had evenDispelled the thoughts which turned to heaven.

But care and industry are found,With, heaven and earth’s best blessing crown’dAnd those who truly value them,Should early do like Sarah M——.

JANE.

Whatmakes you wear that muslin dress,And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?See here! my shoes are real kid;Just look at them—see how they shine;My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,And only see the straw, how fine!Why, I should fret myself to death,If I were dressed as mean as you;I always cry and tease mammaFor everything I see that’s new.

Whatmakes you wear that muslin dress,And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?

See here! my shoes are real kid;Just look at them—see how they shine;My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,And only see the straw, how fine!

Why, I should fret myself to death,If I were dressed as mean as you;I always cry and tease mammaFor everything I see that’s new.

MARY.

What! cry and tease your dear mammaFor finery? That would not I;I would not grieve her for the world,And she would grieve to see me cry.She gives me everything she can,And that is everything I want;And I should be a wicked child,To ask for more than she could grant.But, Jane, from what you say yourself,You’re never happy, and your prideIs such, that, with this finery,You never are quite satisfied.

What! cry and tease your dear mammaFor finery? That would not I;I would not grieve her for the world,And she would grieve to see me cry.

She gives me everything she can,And that is everything I want;And I should be a wicked child,To ask for more than she could grant.

But, Jane, from what you say yourself,You’re never happy, and your prideIs such, that, with this finery,You never are quite satisfied.

JANE.

But what if there should be a ball,And you should have a chance to go,Where every one is richly dressed,Would you appear among them so?

MARY.

A ball! I never went to one;I do not care for scenes so gay;But with the birds and trees and flowers,I can be happy any day.When dear papa comes home at night,I’m joyous as a little bird,For, after tea, he always tellsSomething amusing he has heard.

A ball! I never went to one;I do not care for scenes so gay;But with the birds and trees and flowers,I can be happy any day.

When dear papa comes home at night,I’m joyous as a little bird,For, after tea, he always tellsSomething amusing he has heard.

You ought to see our pleasant home,Dear Jennie, then you would not say,That I, from this dear, happy group,Could often wish to be away.Sometimes, he brings us home a book,Then, after supper, down we sit,He reads to us, while dear mammaTakes out her work to sew or knit.Then he will read some wondrous tale,How mighty nations rose and fell,And sometimes lay aside the book,And some amusing story tell.How some have climbed the highest hill,And yet have murmur’d all the way,While others walk along the vale,As pleasant as a summer’s day.“My children,” he will often say,“You know I cannot give you wealth;But you have riches dearer far,And these are innocence and health.“While thus you live in peace and love,Contented with the blessings given,And grateful to your God, I trustHe’ll fit you for the joys of heaven.”Then, ere we go to bed at night,We kneel together while he praysThat God would fill our hearts with love,And help us serve him all our days.But see! while I stand talking here,The cars are in—papa has come!Now you may go and dance at balls,But I’ll enjoy myself at home.

You ought to see our pleasant home,Dear Jennie, then you would not say,That I, from this dear, happy group,Could often wish to be away.

Sometimes, he brings us home a book,Then, after supper, down we sit,He reads to us, while dear mammaTakes out her work to sew or knit.

Then he will read some wondrous tale,How mighty nations rose and fell,And sometimes lay aside the book,And some amusing story tell.

How some have climbed the highest hill,And yet have murmur’d all the way,While others walk along the vale,As pleasant as a summer’s day.

“My children,” he will often say,“You know I cannot give you wealth;But you have riches dearer far,And these are innocence and health.

“While thus you live in peace and love,Contented with the blessings given,And grateful to your God, I trustHe’ll fit you for the joys of heaven.”

Then, ere we go to bed at night,We kneel together while he praysThat God would fill our hearts with love,And help us serve him all our days.

But see! while I stand talking here,The cars are in—papa has come!Now you may go and dance at balls,But I’ll enjoy myself at home.

PART I.

Williewas nicely tucked in bedOne cold December night,When he began to scream “Mamma,Come quick, and bring a light!“Oh, I’m so frightened, dear mamma;What is that noise? Do hark!Please do not take the candle offAnd leave me in the dark.”“I hear no noise,” his mother said;“What makes my boy so silly?And what good can the candle do,My darling little Willie?“Who did you ask to care for you,When you knelt down to pray,Before I put you into bed,And took the light away?“Remember, love, you prayed to God,And all the long night through,He will keep watch around your bed,And take good care of you.“What could it be, my little son,That gave you such a fright?When you are safe in bed, you know,I always take the light.”“I know you do, but Biddie toldA story yesterdayThat frightened me; please, dear mammaDon’t take the light away.”“I’ll leave the light with you to-night;Since Biddie was so silly;Now think, my dear, your Father’s near,To guard his little Willie.”

Williewas nicely tucked in bedOne cold December night,When he began to scream “Mamma,Come quick, and bring a light!

“Oh, I’m so frightened, dear mamma;What is that noise? Do hark!Please do not take the candle offAnd leave me in the dark.”

“I hear no noise,” his mother said;“What makes my boy so silly?And what good can the candle do,My darling little Willie?

“Who did you ask to care for you,When you knelt down to pray,Before I put you into bed,And took the light away?

“Remember, love, you prayed to God,And all the long night through,He will keep watch around your bed,And take good care of you.

“What could it be, my little son,That gave you such a fright?When you are safe in bed, you know,I always take the light.”

“I know you do, but Biddie toldA story yesterdayThat frightened me; please, dear mammaDon’t take the light away.”

“I’ll leave the light with you to-night;Since Biddie was so silly;Now think, my dear, your Father’s near,To guard his little Willie.”

PART II.

MOTHER.

Come, Willie, and tell me, my dear,What made you so foolish, last night;I am waiting this morning to hearThe cause of your terrible fright.

WILLIE.

Biddie said that a wolf would come outAnd catch me if I was not good;That is what I was thinking aboutWhen I screamed just as loud as I could.

MOTHER.

And where would a wolf come from, pray;Biddy could not find one, should she try.’T was a wicked thing for her to say,—She knew she was telling a lie.Examine your chamber, my dear;Look carefully round before night,And if you can find a wolf here,I will certainly leave you a light.

And where would a wolf come from, pray;Biddy could not find one, should she try.’T was a wicked thing for her to say,—She knew she was telling a lie.

Examine your chamber, my dear;Look carefully round before night,And if you can find a wolf here,I will certainly leave you a light.

WILLIE.

Mamma, you are laughing at me,There’s no wolf anywhere to be found;I know there is nothing to seeIf I take all the day to look round.

MOTHER.

Then I hope you will not be afraid;Now tell me, my son, if you’re able,Of what mamma’s candles are made,You see one stand there on the table.

WILLIE.

Of tallow and cotton, mamma;The candles are run in a mould.I went up one day with papaTo the factory where they are sold.

MOTHER.

Can tallow and cotton, my son,Protect you from harm thro’ the night,When into a mould it is run,And made in a candle to light?

WILLIE.

The candle could not see or hear,And I’ll try to remember to-night,That God my kind Father is near,Then, mamma, I’ll not ask for a light.

Savior, keep me near thy side,Take my hand within thine own,I would be thy little child,Leave me not to walk alone.“Suffer little ones to come,”Thou didst say, when here on earth;Let my feet no longer roam,I would know thy heavenly birth.Take my wicked heart away,Make me holy like thy Son;Leave me not from thee to stray,Leave me not to walk alone.

Savior, keep me near thy side,Take my hand within thine own,I would be thy little child,Leave me not to walk alone.

“Suffer little ones to come,”Thou didst say, when here on earth;Let my feet no longer roam,I would know thy heavenly birth.

Take my wicked heart away,Make me holy like thy Son;Leave me not from thee to stray,Leave me not to walk alone.

Withsails all setTo catch the breeze,This noble shipNow ploughs the seas.May God in safetyKindly keepOur loved ones whileUpon the deep!

Withsails all setTo catch the breeze,This noble shipNow ploughs the seas.

May God in safetyKindly keepOur loved ones whileUpon the deep!

Howmuch God’s holy Book was prizedBy King Josiah in his youth!At eight years old his reign began,When no one served the Lord in truth.His ancestors were wicked men,And walked not in God’s holy ways,But filled Jerusalem with sin,And worshipped idols all their days.The youthful king desired to knowHow to avoid the ways of sin;He wished to live as David did,And have his heart made pure within.Go to the Book of Kings, and learnWhat joy he felt when Shaphan broughtFrom God’s high priest his holy law,And how he had his people taughtThat precious Book to understand,And take it for their daily guide;To love the Lord with all their hearts,And serve no other gods beside.Make thou that precious Book, O Lord,A light to guidemeall the way;May it direct my steps at night,And safely lead me through the day.I love to read those precious words,Sweet truths I meet on every page;Oh, may they be my hope in youth,And my support in hoary age.

Howmuch God’s holy Book was prizedBy King Josiah in his youth!At eight years old his reign began,When no one served the Lord in truth.

His ancestors were wicked men,And walked not in God’s holy ways,But filled Jerusalem with sin,And worshipped idols all their days.

The youthful king desired to knowHow to avoid the ways of sin;He wished to live as David did,And have his heart made pure within.

Go to the Book of Kings, and learnWhat joy he felt when Shaphan broughtFrom God’s high priest his holy law,And how he had his people taught

That precious Book to understand,And take it for their daily guide;To love the Lord with all their hearts,And serve no other gods beside.

Make thou that precious Book, O Lord,A light to guidemeall the way;May it direct my steps at night,And safely lead me through the day.

I love to read those precious words,Sweet truths I meet on every page;Oh, may they be my hope in youth,And my support in hoary age.

Sent to the Fulton Street Prayer Meeting in the summer of 1858.

Iam a little boy of twelve, and always tell the truth;O pray for me, that I may love the Savior in my youth.Thus from the sunny South that precious message cameTo those who meet in Fulton street to pray in Jesus’ name.Dear little boy in Georgia, oh write once more, and sayThat you “stand up for Jesus,” that you have found the way,—The narrow way that leads to Heaven; then we once more in prayerWill thank our heavenly Father, who hath sweetly brought you there.

Dear little boy in Georgia, oh write once more, and sayThat you “stand up for Jesus,” that you have found the way,—The narrow way that leads to Heaven; then we once more in prayerWill thank our heavenly Father, who hath sweetly brought you there.

CHILD.

Mamma, ’tis strange that God most highCould come to earth to live and die;’Tis wonderful that he could beJust such a little child as me!That he should need a mother’s care,For food to eat and clothes to wear;—How did the Virgin Mary knowThat he was Lord of all below?

Mamma, ’tis strange that God most highCould come to earth to live and die;’Tis wonderful that he could beJust such a little child as me!

That he should need a mother’s care,For food to eat and clothes to wear;—How did the Virgin Mary knowThat he was Lord of all below?

MOTHER.

His coming, Lillie, was foretoldBy many holy men of old,And angels had been sent to tellThat this dear child she loved so wellShould be her Savior, Christ the Lord,And she believed his precious Word;Mary oft pondered in her heartThose things the angels did impart.

His coming, Lillie, was foretoldBy many holy men of old,And angels had been sent to tellThat this dear child she loved so well

Should be her Savior, Christ the Lord,And she believed his precious Word;Mary oft pondered in her heartThose things the angels did impart.

CHILD.

How could they be so very poor,When Christ was Lord of all? I’m sure,I should have thought that he would comeTo live in some delightful home.He could have had the sweetest spotIn all the world,—why did he not?Why did the infant Savior lieIn a poor stable? Tell me whyHe did not have a home like ours,With a nice garden, full of flowersAnd trees, where lovely birds should sing,To cheer the infant Savior King?

How could they be so very poor,When Christ was Lord of all? I’m sure,I should have thought that he would comeTo live in some delightful home.

He could have had the sweetest spotIn all the world,—why did he not?Why did the infant Savior lieIn a poor stable? Tell me why

He did not have a home like ours,With a nice garden, full of flowersAnd trees, where lovely birds should sing,To cheer the infant Savior King?

MOTHER.

When Jesus came to save our race,He meant to show such wondrous grace,That rich and poor alike might seeHe condescends their Friend to be.The poorest child may never fearTo pour its wants into his ear,For Jesus, though a king above,Looks down with sympathy and love.He knows exactly what we need,And he will be our Friend indeed,Will kindly listen to our prayer,And all our little sorrows share.

When Jesus came to save our race,He meant to show such wondrous grace,That rich and poor alike might seeHe condescends their Friend to be.

The poorest child may never fearTo pour its wants into his ear,For Jesus, though a king above,Looks down with sympathy and love.

He knows exactly what we need,And he will be our Friend indeed,Will kindly listen to our prayer,And all our little sorrows share.

Twowee-bit cousins went out to ride,Their carriages rolling side by side;The air was not damp, or chilly, or raw,But as bright a day as ever you saw.Two prettier babies one seldom sees;Nurse often was stopped with remarks like these:“What beautiful children! Whose can they be?Do stop those nurses and let us see!”The beauty of each the ladies compare:“This one is so lovely! do see how fairHer little round face, so plump and sweet!I must kiss the child though it is in the street.”“No,—her little cousin is prettier far;I like a brunette; she will be a bright star.”The nurses move on, well pleased, I fear,Such flattering remarks from the ladies to hear.Had they seen these children in Water street,In ragged garments and naked feet,They would not have stopped them on the way,And flattered them so, I think, to-day.

Twowee-bit cousins went out to ride,Their carriages rolling side by side;The air was not damp, or chilly, or raw,But as bright a day as ever you saw.

Two prettier babies one seldom sees;Nurse often was stopped with remarks like these:“What beautiful children! Whose can they be?Do stop those nurses and let us see!”

The beauty of each the ladies compare:“This one is so lovely! do see how fairHer little round face, so plump and sweet!I must kiss the child though it is in the street.”

“No,—her little cousin is prettier far;I like a brunette; she will be a bright star.”The nurses move on, well pleased, I fear,Such flattering remarks from the ladies to hear.

Had they seen these children in Water street,In ragged garments and naked feet,They would not have stopped them on the way,And flattered them so, I think, to-day.

What a sightThey descryWhen Trenton FallsMeet their eye!

Howmany nationsNe’er have heardThe precious truthsOf God’s own Word;That the dear SaviorCame to die,That we might dwellWith him on high.If you had neverHeard of God,Nor ever readHis Holy Word,How very thankfulYou would be,A copy of God’sBook to see!Then, save your pennies,Children dear,That all, these preciousTruths may hear.

Howmany nationsNe’er have heardThe precious truthsOf God’s own Word;

That the dear SaviorCame to die,That we might dwellWith him on high.

If you had neverHeard of God,Nor ever readHis Holy Word,

How very thankfulYou would be,A copy of God’sBook to see!

Then, save your pennies,Children dear,That all, these preciousTruths may hear.

Howhard it was for AbrahamTo say, God’s will be done,When he was called to offer upHis dear,—his only son.“Take Isaac, now, thine only son,”(This was the Lord’s command,)“And offer him a sacrifice,To die by thine own hand.”But Abraham believed that God,His Father, always knewJust what was right, and could not tellHim a wrong thing to do.He did not stop to question God,But rose at early dawn,Saddled his ass, and called his son,To go that very mornA three days journey to a spotWhich God to them would show;And Isaac, with the two young men,At once prepared to go.At length the Mount appeared in sight,And Abraham told his men,“I yonder go to worship God,And will come back again.”Much Isaac wondered what it meant,But he obeyed his sire,And took the wood upon his arms,To build his funeral pyre.Upon the mountain now they stand,And Isaac meekly cries,“Behold the fire and wood! but where’sThe lamb for sacrifice?”When they had reached Moriah’s top,The father told his son,—And Isaac willingly was bound,That God’s will might be done.Upon the altar, then, the woodWas all in order laid,And Abraham took the knife in hand,—That knife with naked blade.Then quick an angel of the LordWas sent from heaven above,To gladden faithful Abraham’s heartWith these sweet words of love.“Lay not thy hand upon the lad,For now, indeed, I seeThou fearest God, nor hast withheldThine only son from me.“And now in blessing I will blessThee and thy numerous seed;All those who have thy simple faithShall be my friends[5]indeed.“When I shall give mine only SonTo die on Calvary,The Lamb of God for sinners slain,Thine offspring he shall be.”And has “Our Father” sent his Son,His only Son, from heavenTo die for us that we might liveAnd have our sins forgiven?Lord, help me, then, to read thy Word,Believing all it saith;For I may be a friend of God,If I have Abraham’s faith.

Howhard it was for AbrahamTo say, God’s will be done,When he was called to offer upHis dear,—his only son.

“Take Isaac, now, thine only son,”(This was the Lord’s command,)“And offer him a sacrifice,To die by thine own hand.”

But Abraham believed that God,His Father, always knewJust what was right, and could not tellHim a wrong thing to do.

He did not stop to question God,But rose at early dawn,Saddled his ass, and called his son,To go that very morn

A three days journey to a spotWhich God to them would show;And Isaac, with the two young men,At once prepared to go.

At length the Mount appeared in sight,And Abraham told his men,“I yonder go to worship God,And will come back again.”

Much Isaac wondered what it meant,But he obeyed his sire,And took the wood upon his arms,To build his funeral pyre.

Upon the mountain now they stand,And Isaac meekly cries,“Behold the fire and wood! but where’sThe lamb for sacrifice?”

When they had reached Moriah’s top,The father told his son,—And Isaac willingly was bound,That God’s will might be done.

Upon the altar, then, the woodWas all in order laid,And Abraham took the knife in hand,—That knife with naked blade.

Then quick an angel of the LordWas sent from heaven above,To gladden faithful Abraham’s heartWith these sweet words of love.

“Lay not thy hand upon the lad,For now, indeed, I seeThou fearest God, nor hast withheldThine only son from me.

“And now in blessing I will blessThee and thy numerous seed;All those who have thy simple faithShall be my friends[5]indeed.

“When I shall give mine only SonTo die on Calvary,The Lamb of God for sinners slain,Thine offspring he shall be.”

And has “Our Father” sent his Son,His only Son, from heavenTo die for us that we might liveAnd have our sins forgiven?

Lord, help me, then, to read thy Word,Believing all it saith;For I may be a friend of God,If I have Abraham’s faith.

Ilove the Sabbath day,Of all the days the best;Thy sacred hours are sweet to me,Oh, day of holy rest!I love the Sabbath bell,It says, “Do not delay;Hasten, dear children, from your homes;Come, worship God to-day.I love the Sabbath School;Oft, as I take my seat,I pray that early I may learnTo sit at Jesus’ feet.Oh, blessed Sabbath day,Thou best of all the seven;Thy precious hours I would improve,To fit my soul for heaven!

Ilove the Sabbath day,Of all the days the best;Thy sacred hours are sweet to me,Oh, day of holy rest!

I love the Sabbath bell,It says, “Do not delay;Hasten, dear children, from your homes;Come, worship God to-day.

I love the Sabbath School;Oft, as I take my seat,I pray that early I may learnTo sit at Jesus’ feet.

Oh, blessed Sabbath day,Thou best of all the seven;Thy precious hours I would improve,To fit my soul for heaven!

“Come, now, my dear boy, confess what you’ve done,To your loving, kind Father on high;You cannot conceal from the All-seeing OneThe fact that you’re telling a lie.”So said the young teacher of Birmingham school,To Charlie, when no one was nigh;She grieved that her pupil had broken a rule,Still more that he’d told her a lie.His face, once so joyous, was then very sad,His heart was too full to reply,As Miss Mary pressed home on the dear little ladThe fact of his telling a lie.“Oh come, now in penitence tell me, dear boy,The whole truth, and then we will tryAnd ask the dear Savior his grace to employ,To guard you from telling a lie.”But, though the child wore a sad look of distress,No penitent tear dimm’d his eye;All arguments failed;—Charlie would not confessThat he had been telling a lie.The teacher stood there, with her heart raised in prayerTo One whom she felt ever nigh;Oh how could she bear that her pupil should dareTo grieve him by telling a lie.“Dear Father, I know not what course to pursue;Oh guide me,” she said, with a sigh;“I am young and too helpless to know what to doWith a child who is telling a lie.“Leave not this dear child to perish, I pray,Oh listen, and hear my sad cry!What more can I say? I must send him away,He will not repent of this lie.”A change soon was wrought, when Miss Mary was taughtBy God, her kind Father on high,That his Word must be brought, and thence must be soughtHis threatenings to those who will lie.Charlie reads of the joys of the ransomed above,And learns that this home in the skyForever is closed by our Father in love,From those who on earth learn to lie.To that Heavenly City, so good and so fair,The Lamb will a welcome deny,And no little child can e’er hope to go there,“Who loveth and maketh a lie.”[6]The Bible has conquered! The teacher with joySees that tears are now filling his eye,She kneels and implores for her penitent boyForgiveness for telling a lie.

“Come, now, my dear boy, confess what you’ve done,To your loving, kind Father on high;You cannot conceal from the All-seeing OneThe fact that you’re telling a lie.”

So said the young teacher of Birmingham school,To Charlie, when no one was nigh;She grieved that her pupil had broken a rule,Still more that he’d told her a lie.

His face, once so joyous, was then very sad,His heart was too full to reply,As Miss Mary pressed home on the dear little ladThe fact of his telling a lie.

“Oh come, now in penitence tell me, dear boy,The whole truth, and then we will tryAnd ask the dear Savior his grace to employ,To guard you from telling a lie.”

But, though the child wore a sad look of distress,No penitent tear dimm’d his eye;All arguments failed;—Charlie would not confessThat he had been telling a lie.

The teacher stood there, with her heart raised in prayerTo One whom she felt ever nigh;Oh how could she bear that her pupil should dareTo grieve him by telling a lie.

“Dear Father, I know not what course to pursue;Oh guide me,” she said, with a sigh;“I am young and too helpless to know what to doWith a child who is telling a lie.

“Leave not this dear child to perish, I pray,Oh listen, and hear my sad cry!What more can I say? I must send him away,He will not repent of this lie.”

A change soon was wrought, when Miss Mary was taughtBy God, her kind Father on high,That his Word must be brought, and thence must be soughtHis threatenings to those who will lie.

Charlie reads of the joys of the ransomed above,And learns that this home in the skyForever is closed by our Father in love,From those who on earth learn to lie.

To that Heavenly City, so good and so fair,The Lamb will a welcome deny,And no little child can e’er hope to go there,“Who loveth and maketh a lie.”[6]

The Bible has conquered! The teacher with joySees that tears are now filling his eye,She kneels and implores for her penitent boyForgiveness for telling a lie.

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