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The haar from off the German Sea,
Oh! it was cold and keen, And scarce a single loiterer
On all the street was seen.
For such as called some home their own
Were thither hurrying fast,
Sought shelter from the blast..
Only one little waif stood still
Upon the wintry street,
Amid the snow and sleet.
“ Only a penny, matches, sir,
Lights, matches, please to buy ; Only a penny, lights, sir, lights : "
Such was the poor child's cry.
I saw him as I hurried past,
There shiv'ring in the cold;
Was prematurely old.
“Give me a box," I said, “ of those
Wax matches that you sell. Not change a shilling? Bring the changa
Around to my hotel.”
The hours passed by, no boy returned
To bring me back the change; Temptation had o'ermastered him,
I thought, nor thought it strange,
Not strange that such a waif as he
Should clutch dishonest gain,
My hope, it seemed, was vain.
“ Poor child! he knows no better ; born
And bred in some thieves' den, You cannot judge of such a child
As you would judge of men.”
Late in the evening came a knock
At my room door. “Come in." 'Twas a poor little shivering child,
His dress was worn and thin.
He spoke; his voice was very sad,
And yet the tones were sweet. “Are you the gentleman that bought
The matches in the street ?
There's fourpence of your shilling, sir,
My brither has lost some ; That's a' that's left, I've brocht it you,
For Sandie canna come.
He would hae come himsel' to you,
It's no for want o' will,
But Sandie's very ill.
A cart ran o'er him, and he lost
Your pennies in the sna';
The doctor says. That's a'.
And there's your pennies, a'that's left."
He laid them on the tray,
He turned to go away.
"Stay, little man. What is your name?
You're hungry, that I know, And very cold your little feet
With trudging through the snow.
O, Reubie, is it? That's your name."
I placed him by the fire, And set before him everything
I thought he could desire.
He tried to eat, but scarce the child
From sobbing could refrain, Then started up-"I maun gang hame,
For Sandie's a' his lane."
A bright example for us all
Did Sandie manifest,
A pattern for the best.
With sorrows many, many a care,
And privileges few,
A manly heart was in the child,
A spirit true and brave;
Strew lilies on his grave.
And tell the young in happy homes
To be like him in youth,
Of honesty and truth.
And seek the Spirit of the Lord
To help them in the strife; 'Tis He alone can give them grace
To lead a noble life.
For God hath sent His Spirit down
To dwell with men below,
To wash them white as snow.
He cometh with the grace of Christ
Unto the burdened soul;
And makes the wounded whole,
All for the sake of that dear Lord
On Calvary who died ;
Condemned, and crucified,
That all the sins that we have done
By God may be forgiven,
Find entrance into heaven.
By the Author of 'Little Will,'' The Blind Man on the Bridge,' &c.
of Protestant Deaconesses. O ME years ago, when staying at Jerusalem, the writer
had the pleasure of an introduction to the widow of Pastor Fliedner, who was then residing at the
Deaconesses' Home in the outskirts of the city. The name of her revered husband had long been familiar as the originator of that work, which, commencing in 1833 in a room ten feet square with an attic above, in a summerhouse at Kaiserwerth, has sent out fruit-bearing branches not only into more than a hundred towns or villages in Germany, but also into Italy, Egypt, Turkey, Palestine, and North America. When we consider that the work was of a very multifarious kind, ultimately embracing schools, hospitals, orphanages, care of prisoners, &c., we may well ask how so small a seed could produce so great a harvest. The answer is to be found in the words which its founder took for his life-motto, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” The Master whom he delighted to serve, abundantly blessed his labours, and bestowed upon him the “ Well done,” even here.
Theodore Fliedner was born at Epstein in Germany, January 21st, 1800, and died at Kaiserwerth, October 4th, 1864. Within the comparatively short space of thirty years, the sapling he had planted at Kaiserwerth had become a great tree, and its offshoots were flourishing in four continents! The son of a poor pastor he was early thrown upon his own resources, and manfully, while yet a child, battled with the trials and difficulties of life. Reading was his only luxury, and schemes of future usefulness formed his fairyland. At twenty years of age he became tutor in a gentleman's family at Cologne, and afterwards was ordained pastor of Idstein, an obscure village on the Rhine, where he had only £27 a year, the parsonage to be shared with the aged widow of a previous pastor ! Still, nothing daunted, he threw his whole energy into the work, visited the schools, and opened