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HOW? WHEN? WHERE? AND WHY?
You ask me how I gave my heart to Christ.
1 do not know.
There came a yearning for him
in my soul long ago.
I found earth's flowerets
Would fade and die?
I wept for something
That could satisfy;
And then and there?somehow
I seemed to dare
To lift my broken heart
To him in prayer.
1 do not know,
1 can not tell you how;
1 only know
He is my Saviour now.
nob T. <U nk.U?
* vu ?oa iuc nucu x fca> c xxij ucai L iU v^uiidl
I can not tell
The day and Just the hour,
I do not now remember well.
It must have been when
1 was all alone.
The light of his forgiving spirit
Shone into my heart,
So clouded o'er with sin;
1 think 'twas then 1 let him in.
1 do not know.
I can not tell you when,
I only know
He is so dear since then.
You ask me where I gave my heart to Christ.
I can not &ay;
That sacred place has faded
iPmm mv ni na voatorrlav
Perhaps he thought it better
1 should not remember where.
iHow I should love that spot!
1 think I could not
Tear myself away,
For I should want forever
There to stay.
I do not know,
I can not tell you where,
I only know
(He came and blessed me there.
You ask me why I gave my heart to Christ.
I can reply;
Listen, while I tell you why
My heart was drawn at length
To seek his face.
I was alone,
I had no resting place.
I heard of how he loved me
wun a love, 01 aeptn bo grear,
Of height bo far above
All human ken,
I longed such love to share,
And Bought it there
Upon my knees in prayer.
You ask me why I thought this loving ChriBt
Would hear my prayer.
I knew he died upen the cross
iFor me. I nailed him there;
I heard his dying cry:
"Father, forgive!"
I saw him drink death's cup.
That I may live.
My head was bowed
Upon my breast in shame.
He called me,
And In penitence I came.
He heard my prayer,
I can not tall you how,
Nor when, nor where,
Why, I have told you now.?Selected.
Thank God every morning when you get up
that you have something to do that day which
must be#done whether you like it or not. Be
ing forced to work, and forced to do your best
will breed in you a hundred virtues which the
idle never know.?Charles Kingsley.
1
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SO
ft
headings
I ?
THE COURAGE OF A LITTLE CIVILIAN. ,
BY BELLE MANIATES.
Oil one of the mother mountains of the far
west, in a dry, brown-grassed cove, a little hunting
party, composed of officers of the Cavalry, a
cook, a scout and young Malcolm Scott, son of
the captain of Troop A, were gathered. Though
born and bred in a fort, the military environments,
strange to say, had failed to imbue the
lad with the desire so common to youth, to become
a soldier. He was a student, and, to his
father's bitter disappointment, displayed great
aptitude in the subject of archaeology.
"To think that my only son will be a civ
ilian!" was the father's wail.
"There's the making of a soldier in the lad,"
comforted the mother. '' His military ardor has
not awakened yet. I'll venture he'll 'be the first
to respond to his country's call should occasion
arise.''
But the father was not convinced, and it
was of the boy's lack of patriotism he was brooding
over as they sat encircling the smouldering
embers of a dying wood fire, the other officers
waxing enthusiastic over their successful pursuit
of big game. Suddenly the pounding of a
horse's feet was heard, and the scout rode at
headlong pace into their midst.
"The Indians!" he exclaimed. "They're at
the next settlement below McSorter's."
After a hurried consultation the scout was
sent back to the fort for reinforcements. The
officers mounted and rode down into the valley,
ominously discussing the Indian uprising.
Young Scott alone maintained absolute silence.
"Scared, Mai?" asked Lieutenant Carton
with a slight sneer.
The boy looked at him steadily with medi
tative eyes.
"Not yet!" he replied, gravely.
The colonel of the regiment had onee insinuated
that the boy was timid. The thrust had
made Scott senior wince, and he now recalled
the suggestion and wondered if his son would
show the white feather in this hour of need. But
the lad's silence was not due to fright. There
was another way over the mountains to the
fort?a way far shorter than that now being
traversed by the scout. It was called Lone
Gully, and was a most perilous pass with
smooth, beguiling slopes which had often proved
a treacherous series of death-traps to the traveler.
Malcom was now straining his memory to recall
the exact words of Pierre, the redoutable,
who had once told him how to recognize the one
sure trail, which he, alone, of all the guidis, had
traverse 1.
The sight of the officers acted like magic upon
the hearts and hopes of the little knot of
frightened settlers. In the general absorption of
the work of looking to barricades and defenses,
the absence of the lad passed unnoticed for a
time.
In the shadows of the sombre pines, Malcolm
mounted his horse, whose tread was muffled by
the roar of the noisy, little mountain stream. He
rode at a gallop through the Valley, and then
> slackened his pace. Through gulch and gorge,
i along a steep shelving by a thread-like path, he
guided his horse. Now and then a stone gavp
, ay and rattled angrily down to limitless
> depths, the sound bringing no disquietude to the
sure-footed steed and his confident young rider.
1
U T H [June 26, 1912
Now came the crucial test?the labryinth of
death-Jlurking slopes. For a moment the heart
of the boy beat in an agony of doubt. Then, unerringly
and instinctively, the rider and horse
chose the one sure course. Carefully and wear
ily watchful, young Scott followed the unseen
trail into the valley and from thence out on the
long stretch of hard, yellow* road leading straight
to the fort.
He leaned forward dn his saddle with urging
call, and for the first time pressed tht spur.
The horse responded with a mighty leap, and
swept through the air, his light feet scarcely
skimming the ground.
A boy, pale with excitement, stood before the
colonel.
"The Indians have attacked the first settle
ment from here. The hunting party are at McSorter's!"
In a trice the fort was astir. Uniforms were
donned, arms seized, ranks formed, snorting
horses turned out and orders shouted by commanding
voices. In ten minutes from the time
of the alarm the squadron were urging their
horses to the utmost through the old pass, while
young Scott gazed longingly and anxiously after
them. He had begged to go with them, but the
colonel ordered otherwise.
"You have done enough, my lad!"
It was hard for a boy with a man's strength
and daring to be left behind, his young nostrils
quivering for the siren scent of powder.
Near McSorter's the troopers overtook the Indians,
overpowered them and continued their
way to the settlement where the little knot of
officers were drawn up with Captain Scott,
staunch and stout-hearted at their head. When
he had finally noted the prolonged and entire
absence of his son, and he was forced to the belief
that the boy was in hiding from fear, a little
quiver of anguish had shot through his heart and
showed in his eyes. His fellow officers, noting
the expression and divining the cause, forbore to
comment upon young Malcom's disappearance.
"How did you learn of the attack? Jean
eon id not have reached there so soon!" exclaimed
the captain when the colonel rode up to him.
' four son, Halcom, made Lone Gully Pass
and warned us It was an act and a ride the
or*vest of us would shrink from. I had to use
force to prevent his returning with us. I have
utterly misjudged the lad. He's both brave and
wise, and I wish, Captain, I had such a son to be
proud of 1"
In the captain's eves shone something never
ttu ie Lefore.?Presbyterian Banner.
THE OX AND HIS OWNER.
Long ago a man owned a very strong ox. The
owner was so proud of his ox that he boasted to
every man that he met about how strong his ox
was.
One day the owner went into a village anu
said to the men there: "I will pay a forfeit
of a thousand pieces of silver if my strong ox
cannot draw a line of one hundred wagons."
The men laughed and said: "Very wellj
bring your ox, and we will tic a hundred wagon*
.u a line and see your ox draw ihcra along."
So the man brought his* ox into the village.
A crowd gathered to see the sight. The hundred
carts were in line, and the strong ox was
yoked to the first wagon.
Then the owner whipped his ox, and said:
.. r. . . , . ^ . 11"
wet up, you wretcn! liet along, you rasiw
But the ox had never been talked to in that
way, and he stood still. Neither the blows nor
the hard names could make hiim move.
At last the poor man paid his forfeit, and
went sadly home. There he threw himself on
his bed and cried: "Why did that strong o*
act so f Many a time he has movjd heavier loadp
?