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20 TH]
The Family
THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN.
"Let us go forth therefore unto him without
the camp, bearing his reproach."?Heb.
13:13.
By Margaret Mauro.
1 can not give it up.
The little world I know,
The innocent delightB of youth.
The things I cherish so!
'Tls true, I love my Lord,
And want to do his will;
And, oh, I may enjoy the world
And be a Christian still!
I love the hour of prayer,
I love the hymns of praise;
I love the blessed Word that tells
Of God's redeeming grace.
But I am human still!
And while I dwell on earth
God surely will not grudge the hours
I spend in harmless mirth!
These things belong to youth
And are its natural right?
My dress, my pastimes and my friends,
The merry ^nd the bright.
My Father's heart is kind!
He will ijot count it ill
That my small corner of the world
Should please and hold me still.
And yet?"outside the camp"?
'Twas there my Saviour died!
1 * It was the world that cast him forth
And saw him crucified.
Can I take part with those
Who nailed him to the tree?
And where his name is never praised
Is there the place for me?
Nay, world! I turn away.
Though thou seem fair and good;
That friendly outstretched hand of thine
Is stained with Jesus' blood.
If in thy least device
I stoop to take a part,
All unaware, thine influence steals
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1 miss my Saviour's smile
Whene'er I walk thy ways;
Thy laughter drowns the Spirit's voice
And chokes the springs of praise.
If e'er I turn aside
To join thee for an hour,
The face of Christ grows blurred and dim.
And prayer has lost its power.
Farewell! Henceforth my place
Is with the Lamb who died,
My Sovereign, while I have thy love,
What can I want beside?
Thyself, dear Lord, art now
My free and loving choice,
"In whom, though now I see thee not,
ceueviug, 1 rejoice.
Shame on me that I sought
Another Joy than this.
Or dreamt a heart at rert with theo
.Could crave for earthly bliss!
These vain and worthless things,
I put them all aside;
E PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOUT
r
His goodness fills my longing soul,
And I am satisfied.
Lord Jesus,'let me dwell
"Outside the camp" with thee!
Since thou art there, then there alone
1b peace and home for me.
Thy dear reproach to bear
I'll count mv highest gain.
Till thou return, my banished King,
To take thy power and reign.
?New York Observer.
THE PECULIAR CHOICE OF PERSIS.
By Harriet Lummia Smith.
Mrs. Armitage reached a well-shaped
hand across the back of the pew. "I'm
glad to see you," she exclaimed. "I felt
sure that Grace Church would claim you
as scon as I heard that you had moved to
Twentieth street. Not that it is so very
near," she added, "but the street cars
make it very convenient."
i ue morning Bervice was just over.
The rich tone of the crgan rose jubilant
and compelling above the voices of the
congregation, decorously exchanging
greetings. -Persia looked about her with
frank appreciation of the charm of the
scene, the harmonious tints of the frescoes,
the kaleidoscopic beauty of the
well-dressed people, moving leisurely
Sown the aisles. It was a bright Sunday,
and the pews were full. The atmosphere
of the piece was that of peace and prosperity.
Persia fell into step witH Mrs. Armitage
and made answer to the lady's cordial
greeting. "Oh, I don't mind being at a
little distance from the church I attend.
I'd rather have a bracing walk than only
be a block or two away. But I haven't
quite made up my mind yet where I shall
take my letter. You see that the First
Church is at about the same distance
from us as Grace."
"My dear child!" The expression of
Mrs. Armitage's face indicated amuse
mem. aca conBieraauon in anout equal
parts. "Have you attended service there
yet?" she queried.
"Not yet," said Persls, wondering.
"Then, I won't expostulate," the lady
laughed. "One visit will decide the question.
You see, my dear," she went on,
apparently unable in spite of her assurance
to leave the matter lo Persls herself,
"the days of usefulness for the First
Church are over. It is situated in that
boarding holise section where people
come and go, and nobody stays long
enough to get a real Interest in anything.
I'm sorry for the pastor, poor man, but
it is only a question of tim6 when they
will have to give up. Our church is very
fortunately situated, and we have a
splendid class of people. You'll enjoy
them."
"I'm sure I should be happy here," Persis
answered warmly. Her family had
just moved into the city from the suburbs,
and this was her &rst Sunday. Her
new home was midway between two
churches of the denomination to which
she belonged, and she had made up her
mind to visit both at least once before
?
H. July 14, 1909.
deciding with which one she would cast
her lot. It was characteristic of Persis
that she adhered to this determination,
even after Mrs. Armitage had revealed to
her the true conditions of things at the
First Church.
That the picture Bhe had drawn was
not an exaggerated one was plain to
Persis as she sat the following Sunday
in the congregation of the old down-town
church whi?h was striving so valiantly
to live up to its past reputation. The
absence of the "family pew," the occupants
rangine: from the substantial html.
ness man at one end down to the juvenile
member of the household but recently
promoted to. the dignity of
church-going, was noticeable. Ninetenths
of the congregation were young
people, clerks, students, stenographers,
the majority of them with that air of
restless alertness characteristic of the
semi-homeless element of the great
cities.
The sermon was an earnest one, simple
and straightforward, of the sort to
appeal to the shifting, changing audience
which met at the First Church Sunday
after Sunday. Yet the attention of PerBis
wandered more than .once. Mrs. Armltage's
words came back to her, "The.
First Church has outlived its usefulness."
She looked about at the rows of uplifted
youthful faces, the faces of young people,
many of them without the restraint
oT home influence, far from the helD of a
father's counsel or a mother's care, and
she caught herself wondering what
greater responsibility rested cn the
church th?n that of ministering to needs
such as these. The First Church still
had a work to do. But, though the
harvest was plentiful, the laborers were
few.
Two girls in the pew in front of her
spoke to each other hurriedly as the
benediction was finished. "Mamie, do
try to speak to that girl in the red
jacket before she gets out. I've Invited
her here twenty times, and she ne.ver
came before. Ask her to the young
people's meeting to-night."
"All right, Maggie." Mamie hurried
away in pursuit of the girl in the red
jacket, who was making for the door
with as much directness as if she had
been an evil-doer bent on escape. The
other greeted Persia cordially and invited
her to come again, evidently assuming
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of the neighborhood.
But the minister knew better. He
stood by the door when she went out,
shaking hands, recognizing with extraordinary
quickness faces he had seen before,
throwing into his brief question the
cordiality and warmth which he hoped
might help to make his church something
of a home for these hurrying hundreds
of young people, with only the influence
of a cheap boarding house to stand between
them and the world's temptations.
But when Persis's turn came he looked
at her hard as he held her hand, recognizing
at ence that she was a representative
of a different environment.
"You are a stranger here, are you not?"
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