Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

20 TK The Family SONG OF THE MYSTIC. 1 walk down the valley of Silence? Down the dim, voiceless valley?y.lone. And 1 hear not the fall of a footstep Around me save God's and my own; And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels have flown. Long ago was I weary of voices Whose music my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din: . Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human?and sin. \ I walked in the world with the worldly; . I craved what the world never gave; And I said: "In the world each ideal * That shines like a star on life's wave Is wrecked on the shores of the Real And sleeps like a dream in a grave." And still did I pine for the Perfect And still found the false with the True; 1 sought 'mid the Human for Heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of its blue: And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that glimpse -from my view. And I toiled on heart-tired of the Human And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And I heard a voice call me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond Mortal ken. '/ Do you ask what I found in the Valley? ?rnu Din Aft nrUU 1* TVX trlnft i la mv ii) aiiu^'x iatu nuu inu i_/i v inc. And I fell at t?e feet, of the Holy And above me a voice said: "Be mine." And there arose from the depths of my Spirit An echo?"My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep?and I dream?and I pray, But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May; And my prayer like a perfume from censers Ascendeth to God night and day. And I have seen thoughts in the Valley? Ah me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; i ney puss mruugu me vaney line virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word. Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care? It lieth afar between mountains And Cod and His angels are there: And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow, And one ihe bright Mountain of Prayer. ?Father Ryan. ? ' T IE PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOUT SEARCH THE SCRIPTURES. The Youth's Companion prints the following story, which a good many people, young and old, might read with profit. Lillian felt a glow of pride and pleasure in her success at the guessing-game in which some of the older guests in the siinimpr hotel had invited her to loin. "We can't expect to match our wits with a girl just out of high school," said one of the party, with a kind smile at Lillian. "We might have known that she would recognize Boswell as the Englishman whose claim to fame rested upon a biography." "And she knew that it was Pepys who chronicles small beer and great historical events in the same cryptic pages," added a gray-haired gentleman. "But if you will leave the room again, Miss Lillian, we'll try to find a character that won't be so easy for you." When Lillian was recalled she was told that the person she was to guess was a leader, a lawmaker, and a wonder-worker, and celebrated for his mdekness. After a few moments' thought she owned herself mystified. "He had stone tables," a lady sugested. "Was it Hadrian?" Lillian asked. "He had lots of marble furniture." "Ours is an Old Testament character," remarked the gray-haired gentleman, oiuiuii5i anu 11c jjaaocu iui ua > D UU C* mount." Even this hint did not enlighten Lillian. "I'll have to give up," she said. "Moses!" merily chorused all the players. "Moses!" repeated Lillian. "Why, did Moses preach the Sermon on the Mount?" The merriment died out of most of the elderly faces, and was replaced by a grave expression that made Lillian uncomfortable. "Have I said something wrong?" she whispered to Mrs. Dorsey, her chaperon. "I think, dear, we are all pained to find you don't know who nreached the Ser inon on the Mount," was the gentle reply. A few minutes later Lillian answered a tap at the door of her own room and ' Mrs. Dorsey entered. "I thought when I missed you that maybe you were here alone," she said, and then, noticing Lillian's% tear-stained face, "Why, my child, you musn't be unhappy." "I can't help it. I know every one in the parlor was shocked at my ignorance about the Bible." "Perhaps your ignorance is not altogether your fault. The Bible isn't taught as it used to be. In my early days it was considered an important part of education, and I think the present almost total neglect of it in the home and school is a sad mistake. Aside from the great religious and ethical value of a knowledge of it, a familiarity with the Bible is necessary for good understanding of literature. Do you know why Mrs. Wharton named her novel 'The House Of Mirth'?" ' "No," answered Lillian. "Then search the Book of Ecclesia* {es. Do you know why Mrs. Deland called a story 'Many Waters'?" '1 H. July 21, 1909. "No: 1 read it, and couldn't see any sense to the title." "That was because you didn't read 'Solomon's' Song.' These two names happened to occur to me now, and as you become better acquainted with the Bible, you will see what fulness and richness it has given to nearly all our literature." "Well, I intend to become acquainted with it," said Lillian. And she wrote home that night and asked her father to sena uer mouivrs diuic. A TRUE STORY. \ Some years ago a young man came from the West to Pittsburg as a student. He did not know a solitary human being in either of the "Twin Cities." At his boarding house he was asked where he thought of going to church. He mentioned the place he had chosen, not because he knew anybody there, but because it was near at hand. "Well," the questioner replied, 'they will soon freeze you out from that congregation." "I'll give them a chance to welcome me, anyway," was the rejoinder. "I don't believe they are as cold as you think." The next Sunday morning found the student waiting in the vestibule for an usher to show him a seat. All of them were busy at the time, and the young man waited?did not run out of the door ?Just waited until some one had had a 1 ** K<*vt A n ttfKIla lair tuaucc lu hvii^c uuu. a ?uuc he felt a little squeeze of his arm from * somebody behind. He turned and was confronted by a rather stout gentleman of strong but kindly features. There was but one word of inquiry?"Stranger?" "Yes, sir," the young man replied. "Come with me to my seat." "Stranger" obeyed. Shortly after two ladies entered the same pew. Not a word was spoken until after the benediction. Then the stout gentleman uttered another interrogatory word, "Student?" "Yes, sir," was .the reply. "Come and take dinner with me." (Aside: "What's your name?") "This lady is my mother, and this, my sister. Here, let me introduce you to one of our elders, and here comes the pastor, Dr. Cox. Say, Mr. Shelly (a deacon) come over here; here's a new friend I have just found; we want him to get acquainted. Now let's start for home." (On the way): "Sing?" "A little?not very much?just enough, I guess." Come up ( to our mission Sunday-school after dinner and help us. will you? I am superintendent." "Sure." ( That day was the beginning of three years of happy acquaintance and helpful social intercourse with as cordial a congregatic f as ever assembled in any church.' Tip vnuni? man fminrl that th*? host pls.'ce of all to extend bis acquaintance was the .mid-week prayer-meeting, which? Invariably ended up in a "chattery" after dismission. The young man might have shot out of the door the Instant the benediction was pronounced, but it seemed to him to be only fair treatment of the church people to give them a chance to approach him. Some of the membefs were a little backward, of -course, and