M 'I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH.' CANT. V. 2. ETHOUGHT I saw that all the vast assemblage of human beings were admitted through one narrow avenue into a cavern-like area; and that, as soon as admitted, they began to struggle and elbow their way up the incline immediately before them. To where, or for what purpose, did not seem to them to be definitely ascertained. Some, however, who were pressing more anxiously and eagerly than the rest of the crowd, by whom they were surrounded, had heard that something definitely to their advantage could be obtained farther on in the road they were now pursuing, viz. riches, honours, pleasures, etc.; hence their haste. From the top of the cavern hung some splendid stalactitic formations, whilst the floor was covered with a calcareous crust, which largely impeded the progress, as well as sometimes maimed, by its sharpness, the exposed feet of the eager travellers. Few heeded the unevenness of the ground; and some, indeed, seemed stimulated, by the very dangers and difficulties of the way, to press forward with the greater determination. A strange light, or rather twilight, pervaded the whole, striking on some of the stalactite formations with peculiar grandeur, revealing also very dark cavern-like recesses, where no light seemed to enter, and into which many fell headlong, breaking all their bones. It was only when you placed yourself at a given angle, in a stream of light which flowed through an opening in the rock to the right, that you could properly discern the circumstances by which you were surrounded. So dim was the twilight, that you could scarce, unless at the angle spoken of, discern 'men from trees walking;' and, indeed, some of the more near-sighted did actually run against, and embrace with so much ardour, the rocky formations rising from the ground, that they were impaled thereby, leaving their bones as a beacon to all who after came that way. Far above, and over the opening in the rock from which the continuous stream of light issued, and illuminated by the same light, were the following characters: 'ROCK OF AGES.' 'WHOSOEVER WILL MAY COME.' The light streamed through the opening at right angles with the mass of the people, so that few, if any, could pass it without discovering from whence it proceeded, as well as discern the inscription over the entrance. Few, however, seemed at all to heed the matter, as a passing glance was all, for the most part, bestowed as they hurried onward. I saw as I stood, that the opening emitting the light was in the form of a cross, and that close to its entrance stood One whose form was like unto the Son of man;' and ever and anon He cried to the footsore wayfarer, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.' But they made light of it; and I could hear the echo of the words, 'riches, honours, pleasures,' as they struck upon some rocky prominence, and were reflected back to the spot where I stood. 6 I saw also that a band of young men, in the prime of life and strength of manhood, came pressing up the hill, and their jocund laugh and pointed wit seemed to set all the ordinary difficulties of the way at defiance, as each vied with each to outstrip his fellow. But the face of Him who stood at the entrance of the way' grew troubled, and as they passed I heard Him soliloquizing, How often would I! but ye would not;' and then, with a voice that seemed to make not only the young men, but the whole, far and near, to tremble, and the very rock to vibrate, He cried aloud, Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and sight of thine eyes; but know thou that for all these things God shall bring thee into judgment.' At the sound of which, all turned to behold the face of Him that cried. Some glanced so hastily, that they mistook the one who cried; others mistook not, but there was neither form, nor comeliness, nor beauty, that they could desire in Him; whilst a few stood lingering, hesitating until their companions, pointing them forward, reproachfully repeated the talisman of all their hopes, Riches, honours, pleasures!' at the sound of which, all, with one exception, rejoined their companions, and, with a hearty cheer, were soon lost in the crowd; whilst the one came straight up to the cross-like opening, stood for an instant only, and then with a bound passed through. I observed this peculiarity, that as he passed through, he seemed to fit the opening; his arms were extended in the openings or arms of the cross, whilst his head just fitted in the opening above the arms. (This also was the case with all that passed that way). I further observed that the way' was without shadow of a turning,' so that a right line could have been drawn from the cross-like entrance, which would terminate at the other extremity; and withal the way was narrow' throughout, yet such as presented a convenient walking space. In the case of the young man, he was soon lost to view, as he seemed to press on with supernatural vigour, as I could see by the company who pressed hard after him, endeavouring to keep pace with him. I stood wondering, when lo! I was startled by the sound of voices in the distance, which I soon found proceeded from a great company, pressing on far in the narrow defile. It was the voice of praise, for I heard them sing: 'Jerusalem, my happy home! [May 1, 1867.] THE CHRISTIAN TREASURY. I saw that many in the narrow way occasionally stooped down, and that, as they arose, they held in their hands a peculiar phosphorescent light, which were rare gems, found only in the way of truth and righteousness, such as Faith, Hope, Charity; and as to the pearls that were therein discovered, they were pre-eminently pearls of great price. I saw that it was only when the entrance end was reached that the travellers could rest secure. He who stood at the entrance was pleased to instruct the ignorant, and cheer those who arrived sick and faint. And for the encourage- 'THE SABBATH BELLS.' OW pleasant it is to hear the church bells pealing forth so joyously and sweetly on a Sabbath morn! and it is still more so to see rich and poor, old and young, obeying this call to go to the house of God. But if it be so pleasant to see this, how sad it is to find so many idling about within hearing of the bells, and yet paying no attention, having no desire to attend their summons, to hear the word of God, praise Him for his past mercy, confess their sins, pray for pardon, and for health and strength to walk in the narrow way, and do what is pleasing in his sight! How many thoughts, both sad and pleasant, may the sound of the Sabbath bells bring to our minds! To what a variety of places is their music borne on the wind! Could they speak, what interesting accounts they would give us of the various ways their sweet music was received! How some listened with evident pleasure, yet did not seem to think the call was for them, but merely listened as they would to any other sound agreeable to the ear. Then they would tell of some who, laid upon beds of sickness, listened to them as to some loved familiar strain, and that their sad looks told how gladly they would obey their call were they able to do so; and perhaps they would add, that the sufferers comforted themselves under the loss of their prized hours in the sanctuary, by thinking of the Saviour's words: 'Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world,' and other verses of consolation from the book of life; and those who attended them with anxious loving care, were reminded by them that their dear ones were in the hands of Him who doeth all things well, and that, after their sweet tones had ceased, strength, help, and comfort would be implored at the throne of grace for all who were sick or in trouble in many a sacred edifice. Then they would speak of some who set out gladly, and who seemed to go in the spirit of King David, when he said, 'I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go up into the house of the Lord;' and again, of some who went by mere habit, or for credit's sake. Yet, though the bells cannot thus speak to us, they may bring many thoughts of the past and present to our minds, When we think which be of benefit to us. may of the dark sad times of bygone ages, when few possessed the Bible, and many who did, and worshipped the one true God, were hunted from place to place, and, if captured, most cruelly treated to make them give up their religion, their Bible taken from them, and often they were put to death; the places where they assembled together to worship God were often amongst the mountains, or some lone hut, and often the service broken up by the approach of enemies to the cause of truth;-when we think of all this, and then turn to the present age, what a contrast presents itself! In our favoured land no one need be without a Bible, which they may read without fear of persecution. I have read of some poor people in Belgium in the time just mentioned, who, having given a sum of money for a Bible, used to hide it during the day, and go into the woods, and there, by the light of their lantern, read the book which they felt was able to make them wise unto salvation; but it was soon taken from them, and they said they would rather have had their houses burned than have lost their precious book. Should not such accounts make us ask ourselves if we prize the Bible as they did, and also cause us to value it more and more when we think of what others suffer in its cause? Then what a contrast Sabbaths are now, to what they once were! Now we hear the bells pealing forth from various places of worship, numbers of rich young, children going from Sabbath schools to their respective churches or chapels. Old and and poor, may also be seen hastening on their way to the house of prayer. What a difference is there, in this bright picture, to the Sabbath of past times! No sweet Sabbath bells, no children returning from the schools, and few sacred buildings open to receive those who wished to serve God, and hear his holy word. Ought we not to be very grateful for the privileges we enjoy, and our peaceful Sabbath-days? But if we do not love the Giver of these blessings, they will be of little value or use to us; for if we have no desire to serve God, Sabbath will be no holy happy day for us, but wearisome and dull. Yet we must remember we shall have to account for the precious Sabbath hours we have had given to us; and also, that if they are dull and uninteresting to us, heaven (even could we enter it with such a distaste for holy things) would be still more so, for there all is holy, the service and praise of God the constant and everlasting occupation of its blest inhabitants. Reader, can you say with truth, in the words of the hymn: 'I love the soothing Sabbath bell, If you can, be thankful that you have learned, at least in some measure, the value and importance T of religion and of the Sabbath hours; then may you increase in the knowledge of their value, and the consolation they can give, till you reach that land, 'Where congregations ne'er break up, Readings for the Young. LITTLE FOXES. AKE us the foxes, the little foxes which destroy our vine; for our vine hath tender grapes.' Softly, yet in solemn tones, the words fell on the ear of that little band of worshippers, as the good pastor closed the services of the day. It was the communion Sabbath at Ruthven, and a motley group knelt around the table of the Lord, commemorating that one great sacrifice offered so long ago, when our redemption song rung out in the 'It is finished' of Calvary. Many there for the first time: young disciples standing on life's shadowy threshold in their bright gladsomeness, hearts glowing in fresh and holy love-they saw no cloud in the summer sky, no dark horizon in the dreamy distance; not yet entered on life's battle, they thought not of the coming struggles, only the victory which must follow. Others, aged saints, feeble and dim-eyed, worn with long years' conflict, as they waited on the very brink of Jordan till the Lord should call them hence, to be partakers of a heavenly banquet and a holier fellowship. Many there, too, weary souls, bearing the heat and burden of the day,' but seeking rest and refreshment by the green pastures and 'still waters' their Shepherd had provided for his often-times tired flock. In truth, a motley group, each having his own heart experience and feelings unexpressed, save to Him who knoweth the hearts of all, and lends a willing ear to our feeblest cry; but to every one came the solemnly repeated warning, 'Take us the foxes, the little foxes.' They had heard that day of Jesus, the 'Bread of Life,' who, in his vicarious love, had given himself a 'living sacrifice' for his people, and now as our great High Priest, yet Brother man, intercedes in our behalf before his Father's throne. They had heard words of gentle encouragement and faithful exhortations. Be ye not conformed to the world,' but 'set your affections on things above.' 'Watch ye, and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.' Such had been the subjects of that day's thought,-words which glowed in fervid eloquence,-words from an earnest heart, pleading his Master's love and mission,-words sinking very deep in many a heart, afterwards, may we trust, to be as good seed springing up, and bearing fruit 'yet more abundantly.' One among that assembly listened with thoughtful earnestness and mingled feelings. Nellie Raymond, as for the first time she came to the communion table, felt she was entering upon some new life, a holier, heavenlier atmosphere, even that straight path leading to eternal life. Very solemn were the vows she had taken upon herself that day covenanting with the Lord was no light thing, and this was a covenant for life and for death. Nellie thought of the future, and almost trembled. Her Saviour, indeed, was 'the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever;' but-and Nellie tried to probe her own heart yet more deeply; poor child, she little knew its fathomless depthswould she ever forget?-forget Jesus in his wondrous love, her Father's watchful care and pity, the home 'afar off,' which made her now as a pilgrim journeying in a 'strange land?' Would she ever forget those communion vows of a holy life, separation from the world, a heart consecrated to the Lord, weaned from earth in its fixed affections heavenward? Would she ever disregard his precepts, or stray from the path she had chosen? My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed,' was the answer which came in the full assurance of self-confidence; but, Nellie, remember it is only when the Lord is at thy 'right hand' thou 'shalt not be moved.' Blessed are they who trust in Him. It was but a short time since the Holy Spirit had quickened her lifeless soul, since she had sought Jesus; and having found Him, He was in very truth as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land,' even that Rock of Ages upon which she rested in 'quietness and assurance.' Now she thought any sacrifice must be easy, any burden light, that He could impose. There could be nothing to fear when Jesus was nigh: temptations would be overcome, trials borne without murmur, affections made holy when it was his will. Why all these warnings? 'Little foxes' could surely do no great harm to the vineyard of the Lord when the Great Keeper himself was near? Ah, Nellie! you have not yet learned the deceitfulness of your own heart, the weakness of self-confident resolutions, or the terrible power of sin. It is easy now, in the light of this hallowed communion, to resolve nothing will impede your onward course, nothing damp your love, or dim your faith and joy. Wait a little. Return to the world, mingle in its busy throng, bear its taunting sneer or bitter reproach; wait till the hidden evil of your own heart, which now seems quenched so surely, rises rampant as before, when there are 'fears within, and fightings without, when crafty temptations assail, or heavy trial burdens you,-then you will learn the very nothingness of self; but, blessed be God, you may also learn the all-sufficiency of Christ. The last soft light' of an April afternoon was shedding its quiet radiance, gilding the long dark ridge of hills with the farewell beams of the sinking sun, softening their rugged outline in the mellow light, and flickering golden darts on the thick-leaved forest, as the congregation dispersed to return to their own homes. Wrapt in thought, Nellie walked home through the sweet green fields and shady lanes, now budding into summer beauty. She gazed on those golden bars spanning the broad blue vaults above, and their glorious vistas seemed a fitting entrance to the still more glorious mansions beyond. Nature seemed in such close unison with the spiritual, Nellie could have lingered long enough in those twilight musings. It was hard thus to descend from the mount of communion, to meet again the world's ceaseless strife and cares, and the impulsive heart longed for the 'wings of a dove," to fly away and be at rest. But the race must be run ere the prize is gained, the battle fought ere the heavenly crown is won. Onward and upward we must go, till the goal is reached and the victory ours, till we enter the 'desired haven,' the land of eternal rest, where sorrow and sighing have fled away. Ah!' says one, speaking of the transfiguration, 'visions of heaven are not for every day. Duties await us all at the mountain foot; but Jesus in his meek humanity is with us still.' Yes, and a sweet sense of his presence cheered and strengthened the lonely girl. Trusting for Him, living for Him, life could not be aimless, death could not be terrible. And as the earnest prayer of Nellie's heart was, 'Draw me, O Lord, and I will run after Thee,' the song arose triumphant, My Beloved is mine, and I am his.' It was a quiet summer night, only the soft moaning sound of the faint breeze, as it rustled through the thick shrubs and fanned the closing flowers, broke the hushed stillness, except, indeed, some last note of the bird's good-night song, as it rose sweet and clear to the dim sky above. Nellie Raymond sat by the open casement, as if unwilling to leave the fair scene, and forgetful of the fast falling night. Yet the troubled brow and dreamy eyes told of thoughts far distant. Unheeded, the wind tossed the heavy curls, and the gathered flowers, now almost withering, fell carelessly on the floor. Ah, Nellie! those dreams of yours play mischief with quick flying time; but was she solving some question of right or wrong, as the unconscious murmur fell? 'No! no! I cannot,-not even to please Harry.' Her reverie was interrupted by a hand laid on her shoulder. 'Well, Nellie! wrapt in a brown study?' She started and smiled. 'I believe I was.' 'Discussing by yourself all the pros and cons of this grand ball, eh?' 'I am not going, Harry.' 'Nonsense, little sister,' said her brother gaily. 'Why, what's the harm?' 'Dear Harry, I said so before. I cannot think it consistent to reconcile it with other principles. Indeed, I should not be happy,' yet she wavered as she spoke. 'If you won't go, Nellie, neither shall I. Come now, just yield this once to please me.' After all, the temptation was very strong, and again she hesitated. Quick as thought a thousand excuses presented themselves, linked not quite coherently with each other. Was it really wrong? Many good people went to balls. Even those she knew to be professing Christians countenanced such-like amusements. Might not she too? And then it would disappoint Harry! Perhaps she ought to go, when it was not to please self, but gratify her brother. (Ah! such unselfishness is very easy.) Yes, she thought, just this once she might yield the point. To Harry it might seem as if religion brought only gloominess and self-will. So Nellie reasoned, forgetting the one light, the one joy which rejoiceth the heart, the great 'mark' for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Skilful sophistries, they were 'little foxes' in disguise. 'Why, Nellie,' exclaimed her brother, wondering at the continued silence, what are you looking so grave about? Do you always give such very solemn consideration to mere trifles? Surely this is a very little thing?' Three Little things! little foxes! Oh! what a tide of recollections these words recalled! short months ago since those holy vows were spoken, that covenant ratified by the table of the Lord, those resolutions so firm and stedfast determined upon; and now, almost drifted already on the strand of temptation; the warning then thought so needless, now almost forgotten. Where now all her resolutions?-broken, marred, nearly cast aside! Nellie bowed her head in meek contrition, and as the bitter tears of selfreproach sprang to the dark eyes, her decision was made. 'It is just those little things, dear Harry,' she said very gently, that we must watch against. It may seem to you but a trifle. You think a little conformity to the world but a small point to yield, yet our Saviour's command is, "Come ye out and be separate," and I dared not disobey.' Harry Raymond's face clouded darkly. 'Once, Nellie, it was different; once you had, at least, some regard for my wishes,' and coldly turning away, he left the room. Poor Nellie! those quick words left a stinging sorrow behind, and the reproach seemed almost cruel. What if she had judged harshly, wrongly? Surely she could never be called upon to sacrifice Harry's love?-that thought was unbearable. After long years of absence, her only brother had returned to his early home; and though the visit promised to be but a brief one, Nellie's heart was very full of joy. Cherished hopes and sweet dreams now realized; for in the presence of this much-loved and loving brother, Nellie had her deepest earthly gladness. Since childhood, when left lonely orphans, Harry had watched over and guarded his little sister with such brave honour and generous love as suited a mature age; and very reluctantly had he placed the tender flower in other, though kindly hands, to seek a home so far distant. Very amply was his affection repaid; absence could not chill the loving sister-heart; but now, though dear as ever, ay, dearer, Nellie had found a higher, holier Friend, He who, 'sticking closer than a brother,' claims our first obedience and purest love. This she knew, indeed; but the blighting shadow of disappointment fell heavily on the bright young life, and those first unkind words from a brother's lips caused a flood of unrestrainable tears. Stay, Nellie! little sister, remember, 'Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love Him.' A little longer, and Harry had again left, on his return to India. The parting had a keener pang to Nellie, for as yet there was no evidence that her brother was a child of God. True, the sneer was not so frequent when she spoke of the gospel's blessed truth, and endeavoured to persuade him to seek the Saviour he so proudly rejected. He at least respected her conscientious scruples, as he called them; and though no heart change was apparent, Nellie could only hope and pray. 'Perhaps it is for the best after all,' she thought. 'I was relying too much on my own efforts for his conversion, independent of the Holy Spirit's aid, and the Lord is just teaching me that He alone has power to change the heart.' Ah, Nellie, take courage! In that humble self-distrustful spirit, in that meek submission to thy heavenly Father's will, believing He doeth all things well,' a great victory is gained. The 'little foxes' are taken 'captive,' and the 'tender' vine is yet upright. 'Letters from India! Here, dear Nellie, is your portion,' and Cousin Kate joyfully throws a great bundle into Nellie's waiting hands. Oh, how eagerly it is received, and how impatiently the seal is broken! 'Letters from India!' is echoed everywhere, and the whole household brightens under the glad tidings, for Harry Raymond is beloved by all, and they have not heard from him for many long months. But has sorrowful news only come? Nellie's tears flow thick and fast, blotting the delicate Indian paper, as again and again she pressed it to her quivering lips. No, they are not tears of sorrow, but of joy,-such intense, holy, unspeakable joy, as moves the angels of heaven over one sinner who repenteth. Here is an extract which tells its own tale : 'And now I must say what I know will give my own dear sister great joy, Nellie, your prayers (for I know you prayed) have been answered. Now, in all humility, yet surest confidence, I can say, "I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." What this great dawning of light has been I cannot describe,- the Sun of Righteousness arising with healing on his wings;" but in his wondrous love and mercy, God had indeed led me by paths I knew not of, that in the end He might bring me unto himself. You will probably ask, Whence this change? Well, first of all, Nellie, I trace it, under God's blessing, to the influence of your own life. When I saw my little sister denying herself, overcoming temptation, pleasing Christ rather than others, seeking in all things to glorify God,-in truth, striving to live a holy, consistent, Christian life,-I knew religion could be no vague, weak sentiment, or covert hypocrisy, as I supposed it. But there was a heart struggle, not easily overcome; for long I was too proud to yield, too much wrapt up in my own code of self-righteousness, till Jesus brought me to the foot of the cross, sore stricken and self-abased, that He might say to my sin-stained soul, "Arise, thy sins are forgiven thee." And now, pray for me, dear Nellie, "that He which begun a good work" in me so unworthy, may "perform it until the day of Jesus Christ." Little wonder Nellie wept as she knelt in the lonely darkening twilight; and a great cry went up to her Father in heaven, a cry of deep and holy gratitude, a prayer breathed from an overflowing heart, yet in all meekness she murmured, Not unto me, O Father, not unto me, but unto thyself be all the glory.' And her joy was not unshared. Tears rose to the old minister's eyes, as, letter in hand, Nellie told the joyous tidings, and the story of the 'little foxes.' 66 'Give God the glory, my child,' he said gently, as he laid his trembling hand on her girlish head, and go on thy way, striving in his strength to overcome. Seek, sinner-like, distrust in self, and childlike trust in Jesus." This is the victory which overcometh the world, and taketh captive the "little foxes."' M. S. WHAT DO YOUR CHILDREN READ? A LAD of sixteen lay upon his deathbed. A wasting consumption was slowly but surely doing its fatal work. He was a former pupil of mine. I approached his bedside, took him by the hand, and gazed a moment on his thin, emaciated form, pale, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes-all telling me that his sojourn on earth must be brief. How are you to-day, Arthur?' I asked. 'About as usual,' he replied. 'Do you suffer much lying here?' 'Sometimes I suffer a good deal, especially from difficulty in breathing." Do you think you will get well?' 'Would you like to get well?' 'It makes but little difference with me whether I do or not.' 'Does the thought of approaching death give you any anxiety or alarm? 'I have no fears nor care about it.' Do you feel willing to die?' 'I have wished I were dead a hundred times since I have been sick, to get rid of my sufferings.' 'What is your hope for the future?' 'I do not concern myself at all about the future.' Afterwards I asked him if I should pray. I do not care, if you want to pray,' he replied. In two or three days he died. His father made this remark in my hearing: 'My son lies in yonder cemetery-an INFIDEL-from the effects of novel reading!' Parents, what do your children read? |