now come, – he must bid his parents farewell. Clasping his arms around his mother’s neck, he said: “Oh, my Mother, my Mother, shall I ever see you again?” and with a kiss to each, bade his affectionate parents adieu, and, valise in hand, walked hastily to the dépôt.
Having procured his ticket, he seated himself in the cars, and in a few moments left the home of his childhood for the P – H – school, at B – . His heart was sad, as he thought of the many happy hours he had spent “at home” with his kind parents, and a tear stole silently down his cheek. These sad and melancholy thoughts, however, were soon banished from his mind by the magnificent scenery of the country through which he was passing.He thought “the country,” as it was called in town, was the loveliest place he had ever seen. Thomas’ mind became so much engaged with the picturesque scenery – mountains, lakes and valleys – that he reached his place of destination ere he supposed he had travelled half-way.
He thought “the country,” as it was called in town, was the loveliest place he had ever seen. Thomas’ mind became so much engaged with the picturesque scenery – mountains, lakes and valleys – that he reached his place of destination ere he supposed he had travelled half-way.
He met the principal at the dépôt, awaiting his arrival, and in a few moments they were on their way to the school. Nothing of interest occurred during the remainder of the day, with the exception of the boys’ laughing at Thomas, calling him “town boy,” etc.; “initiating” him, as they termed it. When the time for retiring to rest drew near, and one after another of the boys fell asleep, Thomas was surprised that not one of them offered a petition to God, asking Him to take care of them during the silent watches of the night. He knelt beside his bed, and attempted to offer a short prayer; but his companions were laughing and singing, and he arose from his knees, wishing that he was at home, where he could, in his quiet little chamber, offer up his evening devotions. Some of the boys were actually so rude as to call him “Parson Ward,” and ask him if he intended holding forth next Sabbath?
The next night Thomas felt so ashamed, that he determined not to pray, and laid his head on a prayerless pillow, – a thing he had not done since he was able to say, “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” The last words of his father, “Don’t be ashamed to pray” came to his mind; but thinking about them as little as possible, he soon fell asleep.
In a short time Thomas became the ringleader of the gang in all that was bad, and soon learned to curse and swear worse than any of his companions.
On a beautiful Sabbath morning, instead of going to church, he wandered off, and finding nothing to engage his thoughts, determined to take a bath. He had scarcely been in the water five minutes, when he was seized with cramp, and sunk to rise no more. The last words that lingered on the lips of the drowning boy were, “Oh, my mother!”
The awful death of Thomas speaks for itself. May it serve as a warning to those who violate God’s holy commandment, and are ashamed to pray. May it also teach us how quickly one sin leads to another. His first sin was neglecting to pray; his second, profanity; his third, Sabbath-breaking, which terminated in his death.
“Jesus, and shall it ever be,
A mortal man ashamed of Thee?
Ashamed of Thee, whom angels praise,
Whose glories shine through endless days!
“Ashamed of Jesus!– Sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star;
He sheds the beams of light divine
O’er this benighted soul of mine.
“Ashamed of Jesus!– Just as soon
Let midnight be ashamed of noon;
’Tis midnight with my soul, till He,
Bright Morning Star, bid darkness flee.
“Ashamed of Jesus! that dear friend
On whom my hopes of Heaven depend!
No, when I blush be this my shame,
That I no more revere His name.
“Ashamed of Jesus!– Yes, I may,
When I’ve no sins to wash away,
No tear to wipe, no good to crave,
No fears to quell, no soul to save.
“Till then – nor is my boasting vain —
Till then I boast a Saviour slain;
And oh, may this my glory be,
That Christ is not ashamed of me.”
THE ROSE
There are few lovelier things than the rose to be met with along the pathway of life.
There is something about it so meek and modest, that I love to look at it; and what is sweeter than the mellow fragrance of a beautiful rose? It always reminds me of that beautiful country where, we are told, never-fading flowers continue to bloom forever.
The Church of Christ is compared, in the Bible, to the Rose of Sharon; and it seems to me that the inspired penman could not have found, throughout the length and breadth of the world, anything better suited to convey the idea of gentle lowliness and meek humility, than the rose.
Its fragrance can be enjoyed by all. It is not sweeter to the king than to the peasant. So with religion. It is a fountain from which all can drink.
There is another thing about the rose which should teach us a lesson. As there is no rose without a thorn, so there is no enjoyment without some pain connected with it. There are many children who are always discontented; they are never pleased with any thing, but are always looking out for what is disagreeable, and not for what is pleasant. What is this, but forgetting the delightful fragrance of the rose, and piercing our fingers with the few thorns which are about it. Our blessings are much more numerous than our cares and troubles. Why not, then, clip off the thorns, and keep merely the fully opened rose?
As the leaves of the rose wither and die, so must we.
Let us always remember this, and also live in such a way, by shedding a sweet fragrance about our pathway, that all who know us will love us, and forget the few thorns of evil which may be found in our characters.
“How fair is the rose! what a beautiful flower,
The glory of April and May;
And the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.
“Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flowers of the field:
When its leaves are all dead and fine colors lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!
“So frail is the youth and the beauty of man,
Though they bloom and look gay like a rose:
But all our fond care to preserve them is vain, —
Time kills them as fast as he goes.
“Then I’ll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade,
But gain a good name by well doing my duty;
This will scent like a rose when I’m dead.”
“‘Flowers, sweet and lowly flowers,
Gems
