I'll intently. The moment the class May was not very fond of study, and her father had promised her, if she would get to the head of her class and keep there a week, he would give her a handsome present. This was, as she said, the last day. What could Bob do? Miss Willis was hearing a class, and she never allowed questions asked during a recitation, or he could ask to speak to May. Poor, poor Rob, it was a dreadful trial for him. A second bit of paper was put on his book, and May turned away from him. "I shall never speak to you again, Bob Turner. I thought you was my friend." That was what the second bit said. He was almost frantic. If Miss Willis would only turn around from the board, he believed he would try to ask her permission to speak. May not be his friend any more! Oh, how dreadful that seemed he almost yielded. Then there came a thought of the poor cripple boy. No matter how happy May's smile would make him, and how dreadful it would be to lose her friendship-yes, let it cost what it would, he would help this poor cripple. And he never lifted his eyes. Then came a happy thought to our young hero as he sorrowfully kept his eyes down, and he listened 66 "Please don't call the class for just a minute, I want to speak to May." Miss Willis hesitated, there was only just time to get through, but Bob's wistful face carried the day. "There's your mistake, May, right up there. This is the way it ought to be." In a moment more the vexatious sum was right, and Bob in his seat again with such a happy heart. He had conquered, and saved May her place too. 66 Rob, I want to speak with you," said Miss Willis, as he was passing out. 66 Rob, you have done nobly. I thank you more than I can tell, and so will my brother Jamie." Then Bob hurried after May with such a joyful heart. And May forgave him, of course, and promised never to tempt him again. "The Lord did help me," whispered Bob to his mother that night. "I'm always going to ask him after this." A good many years after Bob found out that it was himself, not his teacher, that was in danger of expulsion. And very heartily did he bless her who, in setting him to work for some one else, did himself such good service. For Bob was a different boy from that day. THOUGHTS OF HOME. THE longer we live in this world the less like home it seems. Once it bounded our horizon and engaged our thoughts. All our friends and all joys were here. We had nothing beyond, nothing outside of this world. But as years roll on changes come. Friends pass away, loved ones leave us, and every year this world has less to detain us, and the world to come attracts us more and more. It is related that when Napoleon Bonaparte bore his Austrian bride from her childhood's home to his imperial palace, after she had started "" on the journey he caused every article contained in the rooms where she had been accustomed to dwell to be conveyed in advance of her, and placed in the palace to which she was going; that on her arrival the things which she should see might have the familiar look of home, and make her less regretful of the scenes which she had left behind. So, sometimes, it seems to me, the heavenly Bridegroom, in taking us from this world of toil, and conflict, and desolation prepares our final resting-place by carrying on before us those things which we most love and delight in, and bidding us to seek them beyond this scene of conflict in the bowers of heavenly peace. And so, day by day, our hold on this world is loosened, the ties that bind us here are sundered, and stronger bands are carried forward to anchor us within the veil and link us in fellowships that are sweet and joyous and eternal. Hence the longer we sojourn here the less we seem at home, until at last with the Psalmist we can say, I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were." The things which once turned our gaze backward, now turn our eyes forward to the blissful future. The dear ones whose presence was our joy, and whose smiles brought sunshine to our hearts, are with us now no more; we shall meet them again, but not amid the scenes that knew them here: we must go forward until we reach the home of the redeemed to find them. Once we went on pilgrimage to the old homestead, where father and mother and kindred dear were dwelling. We met with gladness and we parted with grief. We look to meet those dear ones again, but not here. The home is desolate, the dwelling vacant, the voices dumb, and now our minds turn forward to the city of our God, to the mansions where the ransomed shall dwell. We can remember those with whom we took sweet counsel as we walked to the house of God in company; we loved the place of prayer, and we love to meet them at the mercy seat; we look to meet them again, not in the humble temple built with hands, but in that general assembly and church of the firstborn, "Where congregations ne'er break up, Once we heard with delight, "thanksgiving and the voice of melody from joyous voices and devout and gracious souls; but now we listen in vain for those well-remembered tones, we wait in vain to hear those hallowed songs. We shall hear those voices again, but not here; we must go forward until we stand with the redeemed beyond the river and hear them join in the anthem of salvation before the throne of God, and chant the song of Moses and the Lamb in the presence of the King. We are pilgrims here; the way seems weary and the night seems long. One by one the companions of our toils and tears and conflicts have passed away. The warriors who stood side by side with us in the fight of faith have fallen upon the field. We shall meet them again in the day of grand review, when the Captain of our salvation shall be victorious over death and hell; and all the soldiers who have suffered with Him here shall share His eternal triumph. We look forward to that day. The appointment for that meeting has long ago gone forth; the summons has been issued, and has encircled the world. It is blessed even to be "called to the marriage supper of the Lamb,"what must it be to answer to the call, and stand blameless and faultless before the throne of glory then! Towards that centre of attraction, that cynosure of glory, the paths of all God's saints converge. Walking in the shadows, they are looking for the light; wandering in desert lands and far-off climes, their place of destination is one; they go on from strength to strength, until every one of them shall appear in Zion before the Lord. Their feet, worn with travel and wearied with the way, shall "stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem;" and then, when tears are ended, and joys are begun, when farewells are past and greetings and welcomes are heard on every hand; when the scattered members of God's family are united, and the living stones are builded together for the divine habitation; when all the ransomed church of God are saved, to sin and sorrow, and suffer no more; we shall find our rest, our joy, our home in the kingdom of our God! Oh! what welcomes await us then, what holy fellowships shall be renewed, what weary separations shall end in restful union, what lonely pilgrimages shall bring us to the friends we love. "Soon may that home unclose to me, IMPORTUNATE PRAYER. run over to one of the neighbours, and get some bread." He goes. It is midnight, and all is silent; but he knocks and calls until a voice inquires, "Who is it? What is OUR Saviour, whose example and whose precepts ever encourage us to present our requests to God, teaches us the lesson of persistent earnestness in prayer by various examples, drawn from common wanted?" The answer comes,life. "Friend, lend me three loaves, for a friend of mine has come out of his way to my house, and I have nothing to set before him." It is night, and a man is awakened from his sleep by a friend, who, turning out of his course upon his journey, comes to his house and "Trouble me not," is the answer; seeks shelter there. With true "the door is now shut, and my chilOriental hospitality he opens his dren are with me in bed. I cannot door, and makes him welcome; but rise and give thee. A pretty time he has nothing for him to eat. In of night this is to come for bread. difficulty he says: "I will just Friend, indeed! it is too late to talk about friendship at twelve o'clock at night," and so I fancy he settled himself down for a nap. But presently, knock! knock! knock is heard at the door. "Well, what is it now?" "Why, bread. I want you to lend me three loaves. I have a friend who has come to my house, and I have nothing to set before him." And as often as the man settled himself for a nap he heard that knock and that call for bread, until at length he reasoned, "There will not be another wink of sleep in this house to-night until he has his bread." And so he arose, and, perhaps a little ungraciously, gave not merely "three loaves," but as many as he chose : "Here, take all you want." It was not merely because he was his friend, nor yet because the man had no bread; but it was because of his persistent entreaty. "I say unto you, though he will not rise and give him because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will rise and give him as many as he needeth." Not his friendship, nor his merit, nor his need won the bread, it was his importunity, literally, his shamelessness, or his impudence (anaideain), that secured the bread. He would not accept a refusal. It was because of his shamelessness; because he had no manners at all; because he would not take No for an answer, and go away; because he could have no peace till he had done it that the man rose and gave him as much as he desired. We should not dare to teach men such irreverence as this in their approaches to their Creator; but this is Christ's own answer to the request, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples.' "I And what is the lesson that Jesus draws from that determined but ill-bred man, standing at midnight and rapping at the door of his neighbour until he fairly compels him to leave his comfortable couch and give him what he wants? say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he thatseeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened" (Luke xi. 9, 10). Could anything teach more forcibly than this, the propriety of earnest, persistent, importunate prayer? It was not merit, friendship, nor necessity, that won from the hands of the drowsy neighbour more than his utmost desire, but it was his determination, his utter shamelessness, his refusal to accept any denial, that secured the boon he sought. By such homely illustrations as this does our Saviour invite us and encourage us to ask. By such words He calls us to come boldly to the throne of grace. By such examples He gives us the promise that we shall receive! THE HOMELESS ONE. "The Son of man hath not where to lay his head."-Luke ix. 58. BIRDS have their quiet nest, Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed; All creatures have their rest, But Jesus had not where to lay His head. And yet He came to give The weary and the heavy-laden rest; To bid the sinner live, And soothe my griefs to slumber on His breast. I-who once made Him grieve, For His meek brow the cruel crown of thorn : Oh, why should I have peace? Why! but for that unchanging, undying love Yes! but for pardoning grace, That once was pale and agonised for me. Let the birds seek their nest, Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed; Deign to repose Thine oft-rejected head. On earth Thou lovest best To dwell in humble souls that mourn for sin; This broken, bleeding, contrite heart within. THAT LAND! THERE is a land where beauty will not fade, Where true hearts will not shrink, nor be dismayed, -I fain would go, Tell me For I am burdened with a heavy woe; The beautiful have left me all alone; The true, the tender, from my path have gone, And I am weak, and fainting with despair;- Friend, thou must trust in Him, who trod before Must bear in meekness, as He meekly bore, Sorrow, and toil, and strife. Think how the Son of God These thorny paths hath trod; Think how He longed to go, Yet tarried out for thee th' appointed woe; Think of His loneliness in places dim, Where no man comforted or cared for Him; Christ in His heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer! |