Part 79 (1/2)

Only sixteen, so the papers say, Yet there on the cold, stony ground he lay; 'Tis the same sad story we hear every day.

He came to his death in the public highway.

Full of promise, talent and pride, Yet the rum fiend conquered him--so he died.

Did not the angels weep o'er the scene?

For he died a drunkard and only sixteen.

Only sixteen.

Oh! it were sad he must die all alone, That of all his friends, not even one Was there to list to his last faint moan, Or point the suffering soul to the throne Of grace. If, perchance, G.o.d's only Son Would say, ”Whosoever will may come.”-- But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene, With his G.o.d we leave him--only sixteen.

Only sixteen.

Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought!

Witness the suffering and pain you have brought To the poor boy's friends; they loved him well, And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell That beclouded his brain, his reason dethroned, And left him to die out there all alone.

What if 't were your son instead of another?

What if your wife were that poor boy's mother?

And he only sixteen.

Ye freeholders who signed the pet.i.tion to grant The license to sell, do you think you will want That record to meet in the last great day When heaven and earth shall have pa.s.sed away, When the elements melting with fervent heat Shall proclaim the triumph of right complete?

Will you wish to have his blood on your hands When before the great throne you each shall stand?

And he only sixteen.

Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right, To action and duty; into the light.

Come with your banners inscribed: ”Death to rum.”

Let your conscience speak, listen, then come; Strike killing blows; hew to the line; Make it a felony even to sign A pet.i.tion to license; you would do it I ween If that were your son and he only sixteen, Only sixteen.

THE DRESS QUESTION.

One day, at Louisville, riding with Mrs. Wheaton to visit the sick prisoners, she said, ”Do you think it your duty to rebuke Christians who wear jewelry?” I saw her question was a kindly reproof to me, and said, ”If the Lord wants me to give up the jewelry I have, He will show me.” ”Yes, He will,” she answered; ”for I am praying for you.”

The next morning the friend who was entertaining me told me her little eleven-year-old daughter, Emma, just converted, said, ”Mamma, I wish you would read to me in the Bible where it says not to wear jewelry.”

The mother read the verses. Then the child said, ”Mamma, if the Lord does not want me to wear jewelry, I don't want to;” and she brought her little pin and ring to her mother. I took my Bible and read, ”Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of G.o.d of great price” (1 Peter ii, 3, 4); and, ”In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly array, but (which becometh women professing G.o.dliness) with good works.” (1 Tim.

ii, 9, 10.) Then I thought: ”The child is right. The Bible means just what it says.” Then I recalled that Mrs. Wheaton had told me how she went one day to visit a poor, sick girl, to whom she had talked of the love of Christ until she was almost won. She went again with a wealthy woman, who was decked with diamonds. As they entered the room, the girl pointed to the jewels, and said: ”O mother, mother! I have wanted them all my life!” The rich woman tried to hide her diamonds, and Mrs.

Wheaton tried to turn the girl's attention again to the Savior, but in vain. Her last thought was of the diamonds, and her last words, ”I have wanted them all my life!”

Sitting there, with this incident fresh in my mind, I quietly slipped off ring, watch, chain, cuff-b.u.t.tons, and collar-stud; and gold, as an adornment, was put away forever.--_Abbie C. Morrow, in Revival Advocate, March 7, 1901._

SONGS USED IN MY WORK.

ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER.

”Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight, Make me a child again just for tonight.

Mother, come back from that echoless sh.o.r.e, Take me again to your arms as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep, Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.”