POETRY. God. To gain this, she omitted nothing which she deemed a duty, she deferred nothing to a future hour. To gain this was all her desire, and no discouragement could make her falter, or turn her aside. "Go thou and do likewise," if thou wouldst die like Mary Ann.* That a person who dies in a state of despair, where there is physical disease, as in the case of the poet Cowper, may be saved, there can be no question; but it is a somewhat hazardous position to affirm that a person of sound mind can be saved in despair. For is it not saying that a person can be saved without faith? Will conviction of sin, however deep,-distress, however pungent, save without faith? Till we believe that God will have mercy upon us if we trust in him, do we not make God a liar? Perhaps the author judged rightly as well as charitably in this case; but we should be cautious how we connect, in other cases, safety with despair. Poetry. THE LAST RESOLVE. DID Jesus die, but not for me? Proclaim'd through Jesus' precious blood? Who then shall drive my trembling soul Who has survey'd the sacred roll, And found my name not written there? Presumptuous thought! to fix the bound, I own my guilt, my sins confess: Can men or devils make them more? Of crimes, already numberless, Vain the attempt to swell the score. Were the black list before my sight, Lord, at thy feet I'll cast me down, To thee reveal my guilt and fear; ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS. Anecdotes and Selections. THE HAPPY MAN was born in the city of Regeneration, in the parish of Repentance unto Life; he was educated in the School of Obedience; he now lives in the plains of Perseverance, and works at his trade of Diligence; notwithstanding which he has a large estate in the county of Christian Contentment; he many times does jobs of Self-denial; he wears a plain garment of Humility, and has a better suit to put on called the robe of Christ's righteousness; he often walks in the valley of Self-abasement, and sometimes climbs the hill of Spiritual-mindedness; he breakfasts every morning on Prayer, and sups every evening on the same; he has meat to eat that the world knows not of, and his drink is the sincere milk of the Word. Thus, happy he lives and happy he dies. Happy is he who has gospel submission in his will, due order in his affections, sound peace in his conscience, sanctifying grace in his heart, a Redeemer's yoke on his neck, a crown of glory on his head, and a vain world under his feet. Happy is the life, and glorious is the death, of such a man; and the way to obtain such happiness is, to pray fervently, believe firmly, wait patiently, live holy, die daily, love Christ, and long for glory. FORGIVING OTHERS OUT OF LOVE TO CHRIST.-I met yesterday with A. You know how much and how grievously he has offended me. I was just about to pass him coldly when I thought on the Lord Jesus. For a moment the struggle was dubious. I held out my hand and spoke to him; my heart burned within me, and I could hardly refrain from tears. How perfectly different it is to perform or omit an action on a thousand other grounds, or out of love to a forgiving Saviour! I know not whether I am already regenerated; but this I do know, that it must be an inexpressibly blessed thing to be a true christian. It often appears to me as if, through the knowledge of my own misery and corruption, together with the knowledge of the love of God in Jesus Christ my Lord, that I had been permitted to lift up for a moment the veil of a great sanctuary; and the glimpse thus obtained has so filled my soul with a reverential joy, that I would patiently wait for whole years before that veil if it might be once more withdrawn, fully assured as I am of the resplendent glories which lie behind it. THE SUPPORT OF RELIGION.-On its being remarked to the late Mr. John Thorowgood, of Bocking, when on his death-bed, that nothing but the truths of religion could support a person in such a situation, he answered, "Ah! sir, nothing but these things ought to satisfy a person before he comes into this situation." ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS. PIOUS RESIGNATION.- "The most remarkable instance of resignation I ever remember to have met with," says Toplady, "is to be found in Fenelon, archbishop of Cambrey. When his illustrious pupil (the Duke of Burgundy, if I mistake not) lay dead in his coffin, and the nobles of his court, in all the pomp of silent sadness, stood weeping around, the archbishop came into the apartments, and having fixed his eyes for some time on the corpse, broke out at length in terms to this effect: 'Here lies my beloved prince, for whom my affection was equal to the tenderest regard of the tenderest parent. Nor was my affection lost; he loved me in return with the ardour of a son. Here he lies and all my worldly happiness lies dead with him. But if the turning of a straw would call him back to life, I would not, for ten thousand worlds, be the turner of that straw in opposition to the will of God." A POOR MAN'S WISH.-I asked a student what three things he most wished. He said, "Give me books, health, and quiet, and I care for nothing more." I asked a miser, and he cried, "Money, money, money!" I asked a pauper, and he faintly said, "Bread, bread, bread!" I asked a drunkard, and he loudly called for strong drink. I asked the multitude around me, and they lifted up a confused cry, in which I heard the words, "Wealth, fame, and pleasure." I asked a poor man, who had long borne the character of an experienced christian. He replied that all his wishes could be met in Christ. He spoke seriously; and I asked him to explain. He said, "I greatly desire these three things: first that I may be found in Christ; secondly, that I may be like Christ; thirdly, that I may be with Christ." I have thought much of his answer, and the more I think of it the wiser it seems. "GOD OF MY MOTHER."-An American minister, in giving an account of a religious revival, says: "An infidel of talent and respectability, under the power of truth, bowed upon his knees, and cried in agony, 'God of my mother, have mercy on me!' His mother is a devoted christian woman. "God of my mother!' How much is revealed in that single exclamation! How conclusively it proves that this man had a mother whose faithfulness left its impressions on his soul too deep to be obliterated by time or transgression!" THE OX KNOWETH HIS OWNER.-A traveller in Syria says that at the close of the day the roads are filled with wandering herds and flocks, and droves of donkeys, with one attendant herdsman, all returning home for the night, after pasture on the neighbouring hill-tops. As soon as they get to the outskirts of the village each separates from the other, and, unattended, pursues its way to its master's door. "The ox knoweth its owner, and the ass his master's crib." THE FIRESIDE. A TOUCHING SCENE.-A drunkard, who had run through his property, returned one night to his unfurnished home. He entered its empty hall; anguish was gnawing at his heartstrings; and language is inadequate to express his agony as he entered his wife's apartment, and there beheld the victims of his depraved appetite, his lovely wife and darling child. Morose and sullen, he seated himself without a word; he could not speak, he could not look upon them. The mother said to the little child by her side, "Come, my dear, it is time to go to bed." And that little one, as was her wont, knelt by her mother's lap, and gazing wistfully into the face of her suffering parent, slowly repeated her nightly prayer; and when she had finished, said, "Mother, may I not offer up one more prayer ?" "Yes, my dear; what is it?" And she lifted up her tiny hands, closed her eyes, and prayed, "O God! spare, oh spare my dear father." That prayer was wafted to the throne of God. It was heard on high—it was heard on earth. "Amen!" burst from that father's lips; and his heart of stone became a heart of flesh. Wife and child were both clasped to his bosom, and in penitence he said, "My child, you have saved your father from the grave of a drunkard." WE ARE BORN TO TROUBLE; and we may depend upon it whilst we live in this world we shall have it, though with intermissionsthat is, in whatever state we are, we shall find a mixture of good and evil; and therefore the true way to contentment is to know how to receive these certain vicissitudes of life-the returns of good and evil-so as neither to be exalted by the one, or overthrown by the other, but to bear ourselves towards everything which happens with such resignation of mind to the will of God as becomes a believer in his wise and merciful providence. The Fireside. MY MOTHER'S DYING BLESSING. 'Twas in October, in the year 1846, when the winds blew keenly, when all nature began to succumb to the approach of winter, when the leaves on the trees were withering, and the flowers had resigned their loveliness and sweetness, and the dying or dead stem seemed to mourn for the loss of the beauties which had adorned it; on that memorable morning which witnessed the last sigh of her whose maternal tenderness was so soon to cease its manifestations of love, I remember well, how, with willing feet, though sad heart, I ran, in accordance to her request, to desire the immediate attendance of THE FIRESIDE. her only sister, that she might bid her a last farewell. I had run all the way there and back again, a distance of two and a half miles, when, upon going up stairs, she feebly faltered, "Is that my son come back?" I answered, "Yes, mother, it is I. Aunt will be here directly"-but she arrived too late. She slowly raised her dying head, and while from her eyes beamed a look of tenderness which reached my inmost heart, she exclaimed, "God bless thee, Tom! God bless thee!" Her head fell back; her eyes had looked upon me for the last time. Before the sound of her voice seemed to have passed away, her soul had fled-so gently did the hand of death steal over her feeble frame. I could not believe it-my mother dead! I breathed not; but there, with my eyes riveted upon her, I stood intensely gazing upon her lips, which seemed to move, yet spoke not. I thought her eyes were open again; but a tear hastily brushed by the sleeve of my jacket from my own, convinced me that her's were shut. That pause, that awful agonizing suspense having passed away, I exclaimed, just able to speak, "she's dead." Never shall I forget the passionate grief of my sister and brother. Though I was but a boy, the reality of the scene, as it opened to my mind with all its power, seemed for the time to petrify me. The fount of tears, by the intensity of my feelings, was closed. I could rest nowhere. If I left my dead mother I thought I heard her calling for me. Oh! what agony I endured. To my mind the loneliness of our situation was clearly depicted; the past of happiness, the present of misery, the future I knew not what, alternately rushed across my mind, till I was almost in despair. Then the dying invocation of my mother would ring in my ears, soothing and allaying my misery, till, from its influence, I could feel almost calm again; and then again would the sad reality rush across my mind, and make me more wretched than before. A few days passed, and from the door was carried the dust of her whom, more than all the world besides, I loved, to be laid in the sad silent graveyard. Weeks and months rolled on, till our hearts became in a measure resigned to our lot. Years have passed since then; and though the lapse of time, and intercourse with other friends of warm hearts and pure affections, have partially obliterated the details of that sad scene from my remembrance, there still is around me the dying benison of my mother-the protection of God. That dying prayer was registered in heaven, hallowed by her last breath, endorsed by the mercy of God, and sealed with the blood of Christ. Talk to me of riches, or honour, or fame, of all that the world panders to or flatters; of the silver of Peru, the gold of Mexico, or the jewels of Golconda, I would not, for all these, barter the holy gushing delight which the remembrance of my mother's dying blessing affords me in hours of worldly anxiety and care. T. M. W. |