The Deaf Shoemaker

THE LANTERN

Gently, Lord, O gently lead usThrough this lonely vale of tears —Through the changes here decreed us,Till our last great change appears.When temptation’s darts assail us,When in devious paths we stray,Let Thy goodness never fail us —Lead us in Thy perfect way.Sp. Songs.

The sun had disappeared behind the western hills, and darkness was fast covering the face of nature, when a little girl, who had been to a distant city, commenced retracing her steps homeward. A kind friend handed her a lantern, and told her if she followed the road on which the lantern shone, it would certainly direct her home. She started with a light heart and joyous spirits, much delighted with her journey beside the still waters, and through the green pastures.

By and by she came to a certain place where two roads branched off. She did not know which one to take; but soon found that her lantern shone very plainly on the one beset with thorns and briers. She concluded to disregard the advice of her friend, and took the opposite road, as it seemed so much more pleasant than the one on which her lantern shone. At first her pathway was bordered with roses of the sweetest fragrance, and with everything calculated to make a young person happy. Finally she reached a point in her journey where she knew not what to do. She had no lamp to direct her; no kind friend to whom she might look for directions; all around her was dark and dismal. Wherever she trod, her steps seemed beset with troubles of every kind.At last a friendly voice whispered in her ear, and said: “Stop, my dear child – stop and think. You know not whither you are going. You are in the road to death. Stop, before you further go.”She determined to turn her course, and retraced her steps with a heavy heart, determined thereafter always to follow the road on which her lantern shone. She soon reached the place where she had left her lantern, and found its rays still brightly shining on the same road.She continued her journey onward, and found, though it was rough at first, the farther she proceeded, the better was she pleased. When she reached her home, she found her friends anxiously awaiting her arrival. They all greeted her with a kiss, and welcomed her back again.

At last a friendly voice whispered in her ear, and said: “Stop, my dear child – stop and think. You know not whither you are going. You are in the road to death. Stop, before you further go.”

She determined to turn her course, and retraced her steps with a heavy heart, determined thereafter always to follow the road on which her lantern shone. She soon reached the place where she had left her lantern, and found its rays still brightly shining on the same road.

She continued her journey onward, and found, though it was rough at first, the farther she proceeded, the better was she pleased. When she reached her home, she found her friends anxiously awaiting her arrival. They all greeted her with a kiss, and welcomed her back again.

Children, the little girl about whom I have been telling you is the young Christian, commencing her journey from the city of Destruction to the New Jerusalem. The journey is her Christian life; the two roads are the long and narrow road to Heaven, and the broad road to Hell; the kind friend is some fellow Christian, and the lantern is God’s Holy Word. The thorns in the one road are the trials of a Christian; while the roses in the other are the allurements placed there by the Wicked One, to ensnare the careless and inconsiderate. Her home is Heaven.

Young Christian, learn a lesson from the conduct of this little girl: Never pursue the course which seems most pleasant, but the one laid down in the Bible.

“Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

“‘Whither goest thou, pilgrim strangerWand’ring through this lonely vale?Know’st thou not ’tis full of danger,And will not thy courage fail?’“‘Pilgrim thou hast justly call’d me,Passing through a waste so wide;But no harm will e’er befall meWhile I’m blessed with such a guide.’“‘Such a guide! – no guide attends thee,Hence for thee my fears arise:If some guardian power befriends thee,’Tis unseen by mortal eyes.’“‘Yes, unseen, but still believe me,I have near me such a friend;He’ll in every strait relieve me,He will guide me to the end.’”HEAVEN IS MY HOME“I’m but a stranger here;Heaven is my home:Earth is a desert drear;Heaven is my home:Danger and sorrow standRound me on every handHeaven is my fatherland,Heaven is my home.“What though the tempests rage?Heaven is my home:Short is my pilgrimage;Heaven is my home:And time’s wild wintry blastSoon will be overpast;I shall reach home at last.Heaven is my home.“Therefore I murmur not;Heaven is my home:Whate’er my earthly lot,Heaven is my home:And I shall surely standThere at my Lord’s right hand:Heaven is my fatherland,Heaven is my home.”

THE DECISIVE MOMENT

“There is a time, we know not when, —A point, we know not where, —That marks the destiny of menTo glory or despair.”

Not many years ago, when the H – river was very much swollen by the spring rains, and the water had nearly reached its highest point, a lumberman was seen in the midst of the stream, attempting to secure a lot of timber which had broken loose from its fastening.

In his deep interest to secure the timber, he went too far out into the current. His little bark was caught by the rapid tide, and borne along with almost lightning rapidity.

There he sat, motionless as a pillar, not knowing at what moment he should be swallowed up by the roaring and foaming stream. A friend on shore sees his critical situation, mounts his horse, and rides, courier-like, to a neighboring bridge which spans the river. On and on he speeds; now the rider and the boat are side by side; anon the boat passes him, but he spurs his noble animal onward, reaches the bridge in time, seizes a rope and throws it over the arch, awaiting with breathless suspense the approach of the pale and fear-stricken lumberman.

The boat passes immediately under the arch, the boatman grasps the rope with death-like earnestness, and is saved.

One moment’s delay of the rider, or his failure to grasp the rope, would have sealed his doom forever, and the noble H – been his grave.

My dear young friends, how often do we see persons, in their mad attempts to procure the filthy lucre of this world, go too far into the current of Sin, and are swept wildly over the cataract of Destruction, not knowing, or not desiring to see, that the rope of Salvation is within their grasp! Children, Christ bids you come, now. If you delay another moment, your destiny for despair may be sealed.

How bitter will the thought be, when you come to die, – “I might have been saved, but I neglected the golden offering of mercy, and therefore must be consigned to a never-ending eternity of misery and suffering!”

THE VALUE OF TIMEIf idly spent, no art or careTime’s blessing can restore;And God requires a strict accountFor every misspent hour.Short is our longest day of life,And soon the prospect ends;Yet on that day’s uncertain dateEternity depends.Poems for the Young.

THE ALARM WATCH

But if we should disregardWhile this friendly voice doth call,Conscience soon will grow so hard,That it will not speak at all.Jane Taylor.

A young lady, who was very much given to the habit of sleeping late in the morning, purchased a small alarm watch, hoping that it would be the means of breaking her of a practice not only troublesome to those around her, but really a sinful waste of time. At night, on retiring to rest, she so adjusted the watch that it would awaken her at five o’clock the next morning. The watch, with a punctuality worthy to be imitated by all of us, not only at the appointed hour, but at the very minute itself, commenced such a whirring noise, that the sleeper was immediately awakened, arose at once, and prepared herself for the duties of the day.

The day passed away very pleasantly. She was at prayers and breakfast at the appointed hour, and everything moved quietly and pleasantly on throughout the entire day; and when the shadows of evening darkened the face of nature, she felt that it was the most pleasant day she had ever spent.

She retired to rest, the next night, with the same resolutions; but when the morning came and her watch commenced its rattling noise, she thought it was not worth while to get up then, but would lie in bed only fifteen minutes longer. The expiration of the fifteen minutes found her sleeping soundly, and she did not awake till the sun had risen far above the tree-tops, and the laborers were busy at their work.

The next morning she heard her watch at its accustomed noise, but came to the conclusion that getting up ahead of the sun was all a humbug.

The next morning she slept so soundly that she scarcely heard the watch at all; and that night concluded not to wind it up, as she had no idea of having her morning’s nap disturbed by such a disagreeable noise as that. Thus did she return to her former bad habit, and “her last state was worse than the first.”

Each of you, my dear young friends, has an alarm watch in your breast. The moment you disobey your parents, utter an untruth, use a profane expression, or break God’s Holy Day, you hear the busy fluttering of that watch whispering in your ear, “you have done wrong, YOU HAVE DONE WRONG.” The first time you did wrong how loudly did that little watch whir and buzz! You turned pale, and your heart throbbed so violently that you could almost hear it.

The next time its noise was fainter and fainter; and at last it grew so feeble that you could not hear it all.

Then it was that you could swear so boldly, utter an untruth without your cheek coloring, and break the Sabbath without one painful thought.

My young reader, you know too well what that alarm watch is, whose ticking you so frequently hear in your breast. It is your Conscience. And oh, how I tremble when I think of what an awful thing it is to endeavor to drown the voice of that conscience!

Day after day, since your early infancy, your conscience has been begging, entreating you to come to Christ and be saved. Its voice has been unheeded. Beware, O young man or young woman, how you trifle with your conscience! Its voice, once stifled, will be hushed forever.

Like the young lady about whom I have been telling you, if you do not obey its summons at once, but keep on putting it off and off, it will leave you in the awful embrace of that sleep “which knows no waking” in this world, and you will only be aroused by the piercing notes of the Archangel’s trump, – “Come to judgment.”

Conscience, my young friends, is “the fire that is not quenched,” and “the worm that dieth not,” which shall continue to burn, yet not consume, to gnaw and not diminish your immortal soul, if you do not obey its whisperings by coming to your Saviour, now, in the morning of life.

How awful! oh, how awful will it be, to hear the voice of your disregarded conscience ringing throughout the dark, deep caverns of hell: —

“Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded: I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as a desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you.”

CONSCIENCEWhen a foolish thought withinTries to take us in a snare,Conscience tells us “It is sin,”And entreats us to beware.If in something we transgress,And are tempted to deny,Conscience says, “Your faults confess;Do not dare to tell a lie.”In the morning, when we rise,And would fain omit to pray,“Child, consider,” Conscience cries;“Should not God be sought to-day?”When within His holy walls,Far abroad our thoughts we send,Conscience often loudly calls,And entreats us to attend.When our angry passions rise,Tempting to revenge an ill,“Now subdue it,” Conscience cries;“Do command your temper still.”Thus, without our will or choice,This good monitor within,With a secret, gentle voice,Warns us to beware of sin.But if we should disregardWhile this friendly voice doth call,Conscience soon will grow so hardThat it will not speak at all.Jane Taylor.

“CONDEMNED.”

“Now, despisers, look and wonder;Hope and sinners here must part:Louder than a peal of thunder,Hear the dreadful sound – ‘Depart!’Lost forever!Hear the dreadful sound – ‘Depart!’”

I saw, not long since, a man busily engaged in branding, with a red-hot iron, the word

“CONDEMNED,”

on a large number of barrels of flour.

On asking him what it meant, he informed me that the flour was not sound, and he was instructed to brand all such “Condemned.”

How forcibly, my dear young friends, did it remind me of the situation of sinful persons – those who have no part nor lot in Christ’s kingdom! What a melancholy spectacle would your Sabbath-school present, if your Superintendent were instructed by a Divine command to brand all the bad boys, and girls too – for we often find little girls as bad as boys – “Condemned!” What would be their feelings while undergoing such a painful and disgraceful operation? Yet God says those who believe not on Christ are condemned already, and you know “His Word is truth.” There is one, and only one, way by which this word can be effaced from your guilty and sin-defiled hearts; and that is by the purifying and sin-cleansing blood of Christ.

Then pray that He will “Create in you clean hearts, and renew right spirits within you;” so that you may love Him better and serve Him more faithfully in the future than you have done in the past.

THE SPIRIT QUENCHEDThere is a line, by us unseen,That crosses every path;The hidden boundary betweenGod’s patience and his wrath.To pass that limit is to die,To die as if by stealth;It does not quench the beaming eye,Or pale the glow of health.The conscience may be still at ease,The spirits light and gay;That which is pleasing still may please,And care be thrust away.But on that forehead God has setIndelibly a mark,Unseen by man, for man as yetIs blind and in the dark.And yet the doomed man’s path belowMay bloom, as Eden bloomed;He did not, does not, will not know,Or feel that he is doomed.He knows, he feels that all is well,And every fear is calmed;He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell,Not only doomed, but damned.O where is this mysterious bourne,By which our path is crossed?Beyond which God Himself hath sworn,That he who goes is lost!How far may we go on in sin?How long will God forbear?Where does hope end, and where beginThe confines of despair?An answer from the skies is sent:“Ye that from God depart,While it is called TO-DAY, repent,And harden not your heart.”DR. J. ADDISON ALEXANDER.

“I WANT TO BE A MINISTER.”

Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime;And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of Time.Longfellow.

More than a century ago there lived in England an orphan boy of no ordinary promise. From his early childhood, “I want to be a minister,” was his chief desire. Being deprived not only of the counsel of a father and the affection of a mother, but also of the necessary amount of money to carry out his cherished desire, his youthful spirit was bowed to the earth, and his noble heart throbbed only with feelings of bitter disappointment and despair.

But a brighter day dawns. There is a prospect for his ardent desire to be gratified. A wealthy lady kindly volunteers to pay all of his expenses at the University of Oxford, if he will become a minister of the Church of England.

But he is a Dissenter, and his noble spirit refuses to sell the religion of his father and mother for the perishable riches of this world, and he most respectfully declines the proffered kindness. God bless thee, noble youth! Wait patiently – don’t despair —never give up. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” The path of Duty is always the path of Right.

Not long after this occurrence, a poor boy, dressed in the garb of poverty, presented himself at the door of a celebrated minister, and asked to have a private interview with him relative to studying for the ministry. The minister listened patiently to the recital of his many difficulties and numerous trials, but told him that he thought it entirely unheard of, for a youth like himself to think about entering upon so high and responsible a calling. He advised him to think no more of preaching, but to choose some other calling.

Disheartened at himself, discouraged by his friends, poor, penniless and forsaken, he knew not whither to go. No smile of encouragement met his eye; no voice of approval sanctioned his noble endeavor. There was one Friend, however, who had never forsaken him; who had never turned a deaf ear even to his smallest desire; who had ever loved him with fatherly affection and motherly tenderness. To that friend he then betook himself, and when engaged in fervent prayer, a postman knocked at the door, and handed him a letter from an old friend of his father, informing him of his willingness to take him under his care and assist him in his studies, if he was still intent upon studying for the ministry. “This,” he exclaimed, “I look upon almost as an answer from Heaven, and while I live I shall always adore so seasonable an opening of divine Providence.”

The wishes of the poor orphan boy were thus gratified; and before many years had passed away, under the guidance and instruction of his friend, he became a bright and shining light on the walls of Zion.

Youthful reader, this orphan boy was Philip Doddridge – the pious and devoted minister of Christ, the beautiful writer, the faithful pastor, the brilliant Christian.

If there be any one into whose hands this little article may fall, who, like Doddridge, “wants to be a minister,” and is prevented from accomplishing his desire on account of want of means, let me say one word —never despair! If God wants you to be a minister, He will provide the means. Wait patiently, and pray earnestly.

“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;The clouds ye so much dread,Are big with mercy, and shall breakIn blessings on your head.”TRUST IN PROVIDENCE“On a bridge I was standing one morning,And watching the current roll by,When suddenly into the waterThere fell an unfortunate fly.“The fishes that swam to the surfaceWere looking for something to eat,And I thought that the hapless young insectWould surely afford them a treat.“‘Poor thing!’ I exclaimed with compassion,‘Thy trials and dangers abound,For if thou escap’st being eaten,Thou canst not escape being drowned.“No sooner the sentence was spoken,Than lo! like an angel of love,I saw to the waters beneath meA leaflet descend from above.“It glided serene on the streamlet,’Twas an ark to the poor little fly;Which soon, to the land reäscending,Spread its wings in the breezes to dry.“Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered,That mortals should never despair;For He who takes care of an insect,Much more for His children will care.“And though to our short-sighted visionNo way of escape may appear,Let us trust, for when least we expect it,The help of ‘our Father’ is near.”

RUFUS TAYLOR

Children, obey your parents in all things; for this is well-pleasing unto the Lord. – Bible.

On an evening in July, 18–, as several youths, from twelve to eighteen years of age, were standing at the corner of a street in the little village of B – , Rufus Taylor, one of their companions, came up to them and said, “Come, boys, let’s go and take a cool bath – ’tis terribly warm.”

Rufus had been positively forbidden by his parents to go bathing without their consent; but, thinking they would never know anything about it, he came up to the group of boys and made the preceding proposition.

They all, with one consent, agreed to it, and soon were on their way to the bay.

Arriving at their famous bathing spot, and undressing in a few moments, they soon plunged into the cooling water, and swam to an island, a few hundred yards distant.

Rufus alone remained on the shore.

He was afraid to attempt swimming such a long distance, as he had but recently learned to swim. But, collecting all his courage, he followed his comrades, and cried out that he would overtake them or be damned! What an awful word to proceed from the lips of a boy twelve years old! He had not swum more than fifty yards, when his strength failed, and he sank beneath the blue waves of the roaring ocean. Every effort was made by his friends to save him, but they were all in vain.

Let his untimely end be a solemn warning to boys who are in the habit of disobeying their parents.

May it teach a lesson, also, to those who indulge in the use of profane language. Rufus did not think that his damnation was so near at hand, when he uttered that awful curse.

He was hurried into the presence of his Maker without one moment’s warning, and with the profane expression still lingering on his lips.

Who can tell the unutterable anguish of his parents when the intelligence of the death of their only son – their disobedient boy – reached their ears? His father, on being told that his son was drowned, exclaimed, “Oh, my disobedient son! I told him not to go bathing without my consent. Would to God I had died for him!”

OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS“Let children that would fear the Lord,Hear what their teachers say;With reverence mark their parents’ word,And with delight obey.“Have you not heard what dreadful plaguesAre threaten’d by the LordTo him that breaks his father’s laws,Or mocks his mother’s word?“What heavy guilt upon him lies!How cursed is his name!The ravens shall pick out his eyes,And eagles eat the same.“But those that worship God, and giveTheir parents honor due,Here on this earth they long shall live,And live hereafter too.”

JAMES JONES;

OR, THE LITTLE GAMBLER

“Make us unguarded youthThe objects of Thy care;Help us to choose the way of truth,And fly from every snare.”

“What can be meant by ‘the little gambler?’ I never heard of a boy’s gambling in my life!” my little reader will, no doubt, exclaim. Though it may seem very strange, yet such things often occur. I will relate to you an incident that occurred in my school-boy days, which, perhaps, may bring to your recollection the fact that you have indulged in it yourself. Boys as well as men are frequently found to be gamblers, though, of course, on a much smaller scale.

At the corner of a street in the city of – was a gaming house, kept by a boy not more than twelve years old. It was one of the most beautiful and pleasant places I ever saw, well calculated to entice within its polluted walls the heedless and inconsiderate youth. Here, after school hours, quite a number of boys were accustomed to assemble and spend their evenings.

Passing near the above place one pleasant evening in May, I saw a youth, whom I shall call James Jones, who seemed to be intently engaged in the issue of a game. He was successful; and when he gathered up the “stakes,” a smile of exulting joy passed over his face. I saw nothing more of James till some eight years after the above occurrence. I was standing in the court-room one morning, when I heard the clerk read out a charge against James Jones for forcibly breaking into the trunk of a certain gentleman, and stealing therefrom the sum of $500.

On examining the appearance of the young man more closely, I found him to be the same youth whom I had seen in the “little gambling house.” A widowed mother sat by his side, weeping most bitterly. His appearance had altered very much. Long confinement had turned the healthy, robust man into a mere skeleton. His countenance was haggard, his cheek sunken, his eye dim, his step tremulous.

He was found guilty, and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment in the State Penitentiary. When he arose to receive the sentence the most perfect indifference was manifested by him, while his poor mother seemed as though she would die beneath the weight of such heavy affliction.

She informed me that James, at a very early age, became fond of bad company, and would often steal away at night, and spend the time allotted to rest in the most dissipated assemblies. He finally became involved in debt, and determined to get out at all hazards. He was thus almost forced to commit a deed which brought the grey hairs of his mother in sorrow to the grave, and ruined him for life.