lonely must their condition be. No father to counsel, no mother to love, no home beneath whose shelter they may rest, but dependent upon the cold charities of a colder world.He who would treat unkindly, or wound the feelings of an orphan, is worse than the brute of the field.My young orphan friends, there is but one source to which I can direct you; there is but one friend who will never desert you; there is but one house whose door will never be closed against you.That source is God; that friend is Christ; that house is one not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. God will counsel you; upon the bosom of Christ you may “lean for repose;” and the angels of heaven will ever welcome you to their blest abode.The kind father and the loving mother, from whom you have been separated by death, you shall meet again, if you are Christians.And to you, dear little readers, who know not the length and breadth and depth of a Saviour’s love, let me say one word: There is no orphanage like that of the soul which leans not upon Christ as its Saviour and Redeemer.
He who would treat unkindly, or wound the feelings of an orphan, is worse than the brute of the field.
My young orphan friends, there is but one source to which I can direct you; there is but one friend who will never desert you; there is but one house whose door will never be closed against you.
That source is God; that friend is Christ; that house is one not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. God will counsel you; upon the bosom of Christ you may “lean for repose;” and the angels of heaven will ever welcome you to their blest abode.
The kind father and the loving mother, from whom you have been separated by death, you shall meet again, if you are Christians.
And to you, dear little readers, who know not the length and breadth and depth of a Saviour’s love, let me say one word: There is no orphanage like that of the soul which leans not upon Christ as its Saviour and Redeemer.
“Homeless, friendless, for many years
I’ve wandered far and wide,
With none to wipe away my tears,
And none to be my guide.
“No gentle word to soothe my grief,
Words so harshly spoken;
No tender hand to give relief,
And now my heart is broken.
“I sigh to think in former days,
When by my mother’s side
I watched the sun’s last golden rays
As they sank at eventide.
“Oft I’ve played beside the brook,
My brother’s hand in hand,
As each did seek his favor’d nook,
Then we’re a merry band.
“I have no friends – my mother’s gone,
She is far, far away;
I sit beside her lowly stone,
And sing my plaintive lay.
“I pray that God will take me home
To that bright world above;
There we shall meet to part no more,
In that heaven of love.
“Death has marked me for its own,
And I no more shall rove;
God has called the orphan child
To praise with Him above.
“Can you hear my prayer, Mother,
In yonder region bright?
I’m coming to you now, Mother,
Earth’s but a dismal night.”
THE RECORDING ANGEL
“Among the deepest shades of night
Can there be one who sees my way?
Yes, God is as a shining light
That turns the darkness into day.”
We are told, that during the trial of Bishop Cranmer, in England, he heard, as he was making his defence before the judges, the scratching of a pen behind a screen. The thought at once arose in his mind that they were taking down every word he uttered. “I should be very careful,” thought he to himself, “what I say; for the whole of this will be handed down to posterity, and exert an untold influence for good or for evil.”
Do you know, my young friends, that there is a Recording Angel in heaven that takes down not only every wicked word you utter, but the very thoughts of your minds and desires of your hearts?
Remember, that though your actions are not all seen by men, nor your thoughts known to your companions, yet every action, thought and word is carefully recorded in the Book of God’s Remembrance.
How chaste, then, should be your conversation, how guarded your conduct, how pure your every wish!
At the day of judgment, how full will the pages of that book be of your unkind treatment of some poor, forsaken little wanderer; of your revengeful feelings towards your schoolmate for his little acts of childish thoughtlessness!
But is there not some way to blot out these dark sins from the Book of God’s Remembrance? Yes, there is. Christ has died, that you might live. He assures you that though your sins are “as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”
“In all my vast concerns with Thee,
In vain my soul would try
To shun Thy presence, Lord, or flee
The notice of Thine eye.
“Thy all-surrounding sight surveys
My rising and my rest,
My public walks, my private ways,
And secrets of my breast.
“My thoughts lie open to the Lord
Before they’re formed within;
And ere my lips pronounce the word,
He knows the sense I mean.”
THOMAS WARD; OR, THE BOY WHO WAS ASHAMED TO PRAY
“Come, my soul, thy suit prepare,
Jesus loves to answer prayer;
He Himself has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.”
Early one morning, in the month of September, 184–, Mr. Ward’s family were assembled around the family altar for prayer, to implore the blessing and protection of our Heavenly Father in behalf of their only boy, who was about leaving his home for a distant school.
Thomas, a boy of about twelve summers, was deeply affected by the solemn services, and as he arose from his knees his eyes were filled with tears, thinking, perhaps, that he might never be permitted to enjoy that delightful privilege again. His father prayed particularly that God would take care of his boy during his absence from his parents; that He would preserve him from all dangers; that He would be near him in all his temptations; and, if they should not meet again on earth, that they might all – father, mother and son – meet where the “wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” He endeavored to impress upon his mind the necessity of prayer, and that he should never neglect it, under any circumstances. Don’t be ashamed to pray, my son, said his father.
The
