THE WIDOW AND ORPHAN.

EDITORIAL.

"WHAT strange contrasts this world of ours presents ! The hut of the starving stands in the shadow of the palace, and the carriage of Dives every day throws the dust of its glittering wheels over the tattered garments of Lazarus. Health and sickness lie down in the same apartment; joy and sorrow look out of the same window; hope and despair dwell under the same roof. The funeral procession treads close on the heels of the bridal party, and the tones of the lute have scarcely died away before the requiem for the dead comes swelling after."

No persons experience more largely the vicissitudes pertaining to this ever-changeful state, than do widows and orphans. The above glowing language, though generally true, is emphatically descriptive of their lot. The bride of Mahlon, the exile of Moab, the forlorn gleaner of the barley field, the ancestor of him who constitutes the hope of a sinking world, form a wonderful diversity, all meeting in the person of Ruth. Esther rises into notice on the sacred page, first, an orphan child, and then shines forth a more resplendent object than the jewelled diadem of Ahasuerus.

Thousands are now dwelling along our extended sea-coast, whose departed husbands and fathers sleep in the caverns of the deep; and every storm which sweeps the ocean augments their number. In the retired hamlet, the factory village and the thronged city, these mourners go about the streets. Among the pioneers of the western prairie, the log cabin is witness to their bitter lamentations. Could California gold restore those who have perished in its search, many a desolate heart and home would be filled with gladness. The halo of glory which encircles the battle-fields of Mexico, stands off in painful contrast with the sable weeds of widows and orphans at home.

These are the persons we now propose to address. Wher

ever you may be located, and whatever constitutes the peculiarities of your case, to the extent of our power, we shall utter for you words of heavenly consolation.

Already we seem to hear the exclamation, "Our grief is too deep to be assuaged by words of human sympathy. We experience a sense of loneliness almost insupportable. The widow is a tree, riven by the thunderbolt, and her children are like torn-off branches. The feelings of no heart meet and mingle with our own as formerly, in the warm tide of sympathetic love." This we acknowledge to be true as to all human hearts, however they may be disposed to "weep with those who weep." The benevolent Jehovah, however, can and does compassionate your case. As you are called to experience peculiar grief, so to you the promises glow with peculiar effulgence. "It is your privilege to taste the sweetest streams which flow from Zion's hill." Not only are the great and precious promises emphatically yours, but many of them are entirely yours. How expressive of the divine tenderness is the declaration of the Psalmist, "A Father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation."

But you say truly, and perhaps from experience, "We live in a selfish world, where the rights of the defenceless are often infringed." Here also the everlasting God has surrounded you with a munition of rocks. How strongly is this point guarded in the divine oracles: "Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry, and my wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword, and your wives shall be widows, and your children orphans." The man who dares break over this prohibition will be himself the greatest sufferer.

But you sigh for those days of peace, prosperity, and happiness, when the husband and father lived to provide the morning repast and the evening luxury, the glittering toy and the replenished wardrobe. Alas," you say, "the hand which has been accustomed to minister to our daily wants, is

palsied in death.

Whence are to come our food and raiment?" He who heeds the ravens' cry will not be deaf to thine He who said to his covenant people, "When thou cuttest down thy harvest, and hast forgotten a sheaf in the field, thou shalt not go again to fetch it, but it shall be for the widow and orphan." The Lord will provide for the destitute.

Said a distinguished judge, "I have often viewed with feelings of deep commiseration the poor widow surrounded with a large family of helpless children, for I saw no way in which their wants could be supplied. After the lapse of years, I have looked again, and have been constrained to admire the goodness and faithfulness of God in the fulfilment of his gracious promises.' Often does He provide for such in a most unexpected manner. The following incident will illustrate this position.

"It was a cold and bleak evening in a most severe winter. The snow, driven by the furious wind, was piled into broad and deep banks along the streets of a New England village. Few dared venture abroad. In a most miserable and shattered tenement, remote from any other habitation, lived an aged widow all alone, and yet not alone. During the day, in her excessive weakness, she had been unable to step beyond her door stone. Her last morsel of bread had been long since consumed, and none heeded her destitution. She sat shivering by her small fire during the evening, half famished from hunger, unable to sleep from exhaustion, preparing to meet the dreadful fate that threatened. She had prayed in the morning as she thought in faith, Give me this day my daily bread; but the shadows of evening had descended upon her, and no answer had been vouchsafed. While fearful thoughts were passing in her mind, she heard the door open suddenly, and as suddenly shut, upon which she found deposited in her entry, by an unknown hand, a basket crowded with articles of food, which had all the sweetness of manna to her. Many days elapsed before the poor widow learned through whom God had sent her that timely aid. It was at the impulse of

a little girl, who, on that dismal night, seated at the cheerful fireside, was led to express the generous wish, that the poor widow, whom she had sometimes visited, might share in her numerous comforts and good cheer. The parents carried out the benevolent suggestion, and a person was sent to the mean abode with a plentiful supply. What a beautiful glimpse of the chain of causes, all fastened to the throne of God! An angel, with noiseless wing, we may suppose, came down and stirred the breast of a tender-hearted child, and with no pomp or circumstance of the outward miracle, the widow's prayer was answered."

If you are still disposed to despond, call to mind the dealings of God with others in like circumstances. If poverty drives you from the place of your residence, think of Naomi and Ruth as they turn their back on a spot where they had been very happy in the land of Moab, and set their face toward Bethlehem-Judah. Unbefriended save by an unseen hand, they commence a tedious journey of more than a hundred miles over a range of mountains, and across the Arnon and Jordan. These wanderers are on foot, and exposed to insult, violence and hunger. I see them on their lonely way, looking forward to the approaching night, the terrors of darkness and the uncertainty of shelter. Their case affords not an alleviating circumstance. Their safe arrival and subsequent prosperity, are, however, matters of history, and are designed for the encouragement of others.

If it is your bitter lot to see the little which has been left you continually consuming, without being able to conjecture. whence your stores are to be replenished, think of the widow of Zarephath. Elijah having been preserved by ravens for a whole year, requested her to supply him a morsel of bread. Her affecting reply was, "As the Lord thy God liveth, I have but a handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse, and behold I am gathering two sticks that I may dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it and die." Here the widow's extremity proved to be God's opportunity. "For, thus saith the Lord God of Israel, the barrel of meal

shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail," all o which was verified in the sequel. Through your own perse

vering exertions, attended by the blessing of God, your empty barrel is to be replenished. If by industry and the strictest economy you contrive to live within your means, you will enjoy a dignified independence, which will prevent your spirit from being crushed.

If you have been afflicted by the loss of children, so that you are broken-hearted, as well as disconsolate, then think of the widow of Nain. It is a short but touching narrative, which the historian gives of this matter. As the Saviour drew near the city, "Behold there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." Her sorrows touched his heart, and He said to her, "Woman, weep not." Then turning to the bier, said, "Young man, I say unto you, arise. And he that was dead came forth." Now, although the day of miracles has passed, yet Christ is the resurrection and the life. Weeping mother, thy child will rise again, and you will behold him clothed with immortality.

Such is the lot of the widow and orphan, sad, afflictive, in some cases heart-rending, and yet not altogether cheerless. Though often slighted, forgotten and wronged by man, they share largely in the sympathies of the Eternal. When the salvation of a world was at stake, Christ would not die, till he had made provision for his widowed mother. From the cross he committed her to the care of the beloved disciple. Who can doubt but the heart of infinite benevolence does now beat and bleed for the unprotected and the friendless?

THE INFANT IN HEAVEN.

OH! when a mother meets on high

The babe she lost in infancy,

Hath she not then, for pains and fears,

The day of wo, the watchful night,

For all her sorrow, all her tears,

An overpayment of delight?