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."
LIFE"S RAILWAY TO HEAVEN.
Life is like a mountain railroad, With an engineer that"s brave; We must make the run successful, From the cradle to the grave; Watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels; Never falter, never quail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, And your eye upon the rail.
CHORUS:
Blessed Savior, Thou wilt guide us Till we reach that blissful sh.o.r.e; Where the angels wait to join us In Thy praise forevermore.
You will roll up grades of trials; You will cross the bridge of strife; See that Christ is your conductor On this lightning train of life; Always mindful of obstructions; Do your duty, never fail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, And your eye upon the rail.
You will often find obstructions; Look for storms of wind and rain; On a fill, or curve, or trestle, They will almost ditch your train; Put your trust alone in Jesus; Never falter, never fail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, And your eye upon the rail.
As you roll across the trestle, Spanning Jordan"s swelling tide, You behold the Union Depot Into which your train will glide; There you"ll meet the Superintendent, G.o.d the Father, G.o.d the Son With the hearty, joyous plaudit, Weary pilgrim, welcome home.
_By permission of Charlie D Tillman, owner of copyright._
MEET ME THERE.
1. On the happy golden sh.o.r.e, Where the faithful part no more, When the storms of life are o"er, Meet me there.
Where the night dissolves away, Into pure and perfect day, I am going home to stay, Meet me there.
CHORUS:
Meet me there, Meet me there, Where the tree of life is blooming Meet me there.
When the storms of life are o"er, On the happy golden sh.o.r.e, Where the faithful part no more, Meet me there.
2. Here our fondest hopes are vain, Dearest links are rent in twain, But in heav"n no throbs of pain, Meet me there.
By the river sparkling bright, In the city of delight Where our faith is lost in sight, Meet me there.
3. Where the harps of angels ring, And the blest forever sing, In the palace of the king, Meet me there.
Where in sweet communion blend, Heart with heart and friend with friend; In a world that ne"er shall end, Meet me there.
_Words and music copyrighted by W. J. Kirkpatrick, Philadelphia._
G.o.d BLESS MY BOY
1. When shining stars their vigils keep, And all the world is hushed in sleep, "Tis then I breathe this pray"r so deep-- G.o.d bless my boy tonight.
CHORUS:
G.o.d bless my boy, my wandering boy, And keep his honor bright; May he come home--no longer roam-- G.o.d save my boy tonight.
2. I know not where his head may lie, Perchance beneath the open sky; But this I ween, G.o.d"s watchful eye Can see my boy tonight.
3. As pa.s.s the days, the months and years, With all the change, the hopes and fears, G.o.d make each step of duty clear, And keep his honor bright.
4. And when at last his work is o"er, And earthly toil shall be no more, May angels guide him to the sh.o.r.e Where there shall be no night.
THE GREAT JUDGMENT MORNING.
Tune--"Kathleen Mavourneen."
One cold Winter eve when the snow was fast falling In a small, humble cottage a poor mother laid; Although racked with pain she lay there contented With Christ as her Friend and her peace with Him made.