Part 7 (1/2)

”Keep watch of the pa.s.sengers,” thus I pray, ”For to me they are very dear, And special ward, O gracious Lord, O'er the gentle engineer.”

MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN.

Mother, Home, and Heaven, says a writer, are three of the most beautiful words in the English language. And truly I think that they may be well called so--what word strikes so forcibly upon the heart as mother? Coming from childhood's sunny lips, it has a peculiar charm; for it speaks of one to whom they look and trust for protection.

A mother is the truest friend we have; when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends, who rejoiced with us in our suns.h.i.+ne, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.

The kind voice of a mother has often been the means of reclaiming an erring one from the path of wickedness to a life of happiness and prosperity.

The lonely convict, immured in his dreary cell, thinks of the innocent days of his childhood, and feels that though other friends forsake him, he has still a guardian angel watching over him; and that, however dark his sins may have been, they have all been forgiven and forgotten by her.

Mother is indeed a sweet name, and her station is indeed a holy one; for in her hands are placed minds, to be moulded almost at her will; aye, fitted to s.h.i.+ne--not much, it is true, on earth, compared, if taught aright, with the dazzling splendor which awaits them in heaven.

Home! how often we hear persons speak of the home of their childhood. Their minds seem to delight in dwelling upon the recollections of joyous days spent beneath the parental roof, when their young and happy hearts were as light and free as the birds who made the woods resound with the melody of their cheerful voices. What a blessing it is, when weary with care, and burdened with sorrow, to have a home to which we can go, and there, in the midst of friends we love, forget our troubles and dwell in peace and quietness.

Heaven! that land of quiet rest--toward which those, who, worn down and tired with the toils of earth, direct their frail barks over the troubled waters of life, and after a long and dangerous pa.s.sage, find it--safe in the haven of eternal bliss. Heaven is the home that awaits us beyond the grave. There the friends.h.i.+ps formed on earth, and which cruel death has severed, are never more to be broken: and parted friends shall meet again, never more to be separated.

It is an inspiring hope that, when we separate here on earth at the summons of death's angel, and when a few more years have rolled over the heads of those remaining, if ”faithful unto death,” we shall meet again in Heaven, our eternal _home_, there to dwell in the presence of our Heavenly Father, and go no more out forever.

PRAYING FOR SHOES.

BY PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.

_A True Incident._

On a dark November morning, A lady walked slowly down The thronged, tumultuous thoroughfare Of an ancient seaport town.

Of a winning and gracious beauty, The peace of her pure young face Was soft as the gleam of an angel's dream In the calms of a heavenly place.

Her eyes were fountains of pity, And the sensitive mouth expressed A longing to set the kind thoughts free In music that filled her breast.

She met, by a bright shop window, An urchin timid and thin, Who, with limbs that shook and a yearning look, Was mistily glancing in At the rows and varied cl.u.s.ters Of slippers and shoes outspread, Some s.h.i.+mmering keen, but of sombre sheen, Some purple and green and red.

His pale lips moved and murmured; But of what, she could not hear.

And oft on his folded hands would fall The round of a bitter tear.

”What troubles you, child?” she asked him, In a voice like the May-wind sweet.

He turned, and while pointing dolefully To his naked and bleeding feet,

”I was praying for shoes,” he answered; ”Just look at the splendid show!

I was praying to G.o.d for a single pair, The sharp stones hurt me so!”

She led him, in museful silence, At once through the open door, And his hope grew bright, like a fairy light, That flickered and danced before!