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WOMAN'S WORK
Conducted bj Miaa Otrrle Lee Campbell.
PRAYER.
The Lord's answers to prayer
are infinitely perfect, and eternity
will show that often when we were
asking for a stone that looked like
bread, He was giving us bread
that, to our shortsightedness,
looked like stone. ? J. Southey.
HOLDING THK ROPES.
Down beneath the mighty ocean.
Divers plunge for treasures rare,
But men hold the ropes above them,
So they breathe the upper air;
Seeking pearls of richest value,
Braver hearts have dared to go;
Eut our hands must every moment
Hold the ropes that reach below.
So amid the heathen darkness
There are heroes true and brave,
Shrinking not from death or danger,
Bearing all to help and save.
But they cry, "Oh, do not leave us
'Mid these dreadful depths to
drown.
Let us feel your prayers around us;
Hold the ropes as we go down."
Who can understand the darkness
Of those realms of sin and death;
E'en the very air is tainted
With the dragon's scorching breath.
But across the wildest billows,
Love can reach to distant lands,
Underneath the darkest surges
Prayer can hold a brother's hands.
Was it only/ for your brother
Jesus spake His last commands,
Is there naught for you to sufTer
For these lost and Christless lands?
If you cannot go to save them,
There are those whom you can send;
And, with loving hearts to help them,
Hold the ropes while they descend.
Hold the ropes with hands more loyal;
Pray with faith and hope more strong;
Love that never fails upholds them
Through their night of dark so long,
Lay your treasure on the altar,
Let us give our children, too;
There's a part for every helper
And the Lord has ?ieed of you.
Hold the ropes. 'Tis a brother crying,
He has plunged beneath the wave;
He has gone, 'mid lost and dying;
He has gone to help and save."
? Anon.
DOKH HK Ii!KK IT?
When someone asked a missionary
if he liked his work in Africa, he
replied. "Do I like this work? No;
my wife and I do not like dirt. We
have reasonably refined sensibilities.
We do not like crawling into vile huts
through goat refuse. We do not like
assoc<ation with ignorant, filthy, brut
ish people. But is man to do noth
ing for Christ he does not like? God
pity him, if not. Liking or disliking
a thing has nothing to do with it. We
have orders to 'go' and we go. Love
constrains us." Sucn a love begets
the strength to do the "all things." ?
Missionary Review.
FORKIGN MISSION NOTRS.
Amazing Growth.
The following figures should excite
our gratitude to God:
Year 1902 ? Missionaries, 166; na
tive workers, 132; schools, 21; stu
dents, 1,078; hospitals, 1; receipts.
1164,883.
Year 1922 ? Missionaries, 46?; na
tive workers. 3.406; schools, 1,082;
students, 36,644; hospitals, 17; re
ceipts, $1,148,005.
During these twenty years our na
tive communicants, gathered in the
face of every difficulty and from many
of the darkest places in the earth
have grown from 5,191 to 44,834,
while thousands of others, the fruits
of our work, have joined national
churches of their own and are no lon
ger reported by us, and a yet larger
number have gone to be with Christ.
Tl?o Present- Situation.
The payment of the $1,498,500 as
signed by the Assembly to foreign
Missions in the Progressive i rogram
will liquidate all indebtedness and fur.
nish funds for needed expansion.
In the last twenty-seven months the
Committee has sent out no less than
102 new missionaries and hopes that
the Church by Its gift will authorize
a yet further increase. Will it? The
Committee and our overworked mis
sionaries are anxiously waiting to see.
Pray ye therefore
"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to
do?"
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
The Marbles in the Pocketn.
The Committee was packing a box
to go to war refugees. At Christmas
the children had brought garments as
their gifts. Some brought clothes
they had outgrown. Others who had
two coats had decided they would give
one to some boy or girl who had none.
As a member of the Committee
folded a boy's coat she felt something
hard in the pocket.
"Better turn these pockets inside
out, I suppose," she said. "They may
be full of chewing gum or even oread
and jam."
She thrust her hand in the pocket
and brought out a torn handkerchief
In which were wrapped five marbles.
A note scrawled in a boy's hand was
in the pocket. She read:
"Dear boy who gets this coat.
I have eight marbles. First I put In
four for you. Then I put in another
one. I hope you will like the coat ?
and the marbles.
From your little friend.
John."
I looked at those four maroles and
at the fifth one that had .been added
after a struggle to be generous and I
thought of the marble-less pockets in
the presents that we give.
Any one can give away an out
grown coat. It's the marbles in the
pockets, the personal thought, the
sharing of our treasures, the addition
of something that Isn't really neces
sary that makes the coat most pre
cious. I fancied I saw some dear little
chap who was hungry and cold getting
that coat. He had suffered much and
his eyes were tired and listless. I
?aw him put on the coat and suddenly
qs his hand went into the pocket I
hbw his eyes brighten. If you have a
coat to give put marbles in the pocket.
HOW THF, COTTON DID MISSION
ARY WORK.
When I burst my bonds, a beautiful
blossom, I first saw the light in the
runny South. In this form I existed
but a day. Again, after days of con
finement and solitude t found my way
Into the sunlight, a mass or snowy
cotton. With many others of my fam
ily I was picked and then pressed into
a bale, carried in * ship-hold to the
North, carded and spun, woven and
sold, cut into clothing, made up on
a sewing machine, and worn and
thrown aside as worthless rags.
In a dingy mill I was picked over
by weary hands, and cast into a ter
rible pool, where writhing and foam
ing 1 was cut with knives, pushed over
sieves, bleached and torn to pulp.
Then iron rollers, some cold, some
hot, were passed ove. me, and I came
forth at last a sheer of thin, pink
pasteboard, smooth and clean.
My trials were noi yet over. A
sharp instrument divided me from my
family, and another machine printed
words upon me. On my four sides
were: "In His name." "apeak to the
children that they bring me an offer
ing," "Our gifts for Jesus," and "Of
fered willingly to the Lord." Upon
my face was a picture of two children,
one of them holding a lighted torch!
Behold! I was a Mission Mite Box.
At last, purified from all uncleaness,
I had found my special duty. Foolish
creature and blind, had I been to mur
mur and repine at all these pains and
sorrows. I might have known that
they were preparing me for some new
service.
I remained some time uncalled for,
and began to grow weary of idleness,
.feeling that inactivity would be harder
to bear than suffering.
At last I was taken on a Journey,
brought out and folded up for use.
How well I remembered that cozy par
lor. Through the open window the
summer breeze stole softly in. Sweet
birds twittered in the branches of an
old pear tree just outside, and be
yond, as far as eye could reach, green
fields and grand old mountains were
spread out before my eyes. Every
one seemed happy. A young father
and mother were there, and a sweet,
bright baby, with laughing eyes and
dimpled chin was in the mother's
arms.
I was placed In the baby's hands,
and a penny was given her. It was
beautiful to see her earnest look as
she was taught to find the narrow
opening in my side, and with her soft
fingers to slip the penny in. How
glad' I was that it had fallen to my
lot to be the companion of this lovely
child, for just then I heard some one
say, "Every Sabbath morning give her
a penny to put in the mite-box. Why
should not Christian parents put gifts
into baby hands to help bring the
world to Jesus."
And so it came to pass that I had
a place on the parlor table, and baby
and I were friends. She soon learned,
though she was only a year old, what
was to be done with me, and would
turnc me around, her sweet breath
upon my face, while she found the
place in my side to put the penny.
Three happy months passed. Sum
mer was ended. Bright leaves began
to fall. Song-birds took flight, and
insect voices ceased as the nights grew
chill. Then I missed my sweet little
friend. One day they folded the dim
pled hands, and placed pale rosebuds
in "the baby fingers that had clasped
me so lovingly, and i?iey carried her
away. ?
I saw her no more, but I heard them
say, "The Master came and called her.
She has gone to be with Him in the
heavenly city. He has given her a
crown and a harp, and she always be
holds His face ? tnat glorious face
which we of earth see only as in a
glass darkly." And one, smiling
through tears, opened me gently, as
though I were some precious thing
of gold and diamoncrs rare, and
counted from heart its treasure, 17
pennies, the dear baby's life work for
Missions.
My story is ended; my work is done.
My sides are bent and spoiled by baby
hands. I shall never again gather
treasures for this glorious cause. My
last message is to the little children.
Love Jesus, your Saviour, and give
your whole life to His service; bring
Him an offering; bring warm hearts
and willing hands; bring prayers and
gifts, that the old, old story of Jesus'
love may gladden the hearts of thou
sands of other children who have
never heard His name. ? Selected.
SPELLING CHRISTMAS.
(Each child holds up the appropri
ate letter.)
C for the Christ child, who long ago,
l^ay in a manger, rude and low,
H for Heaven wTience He came,
With Angels His advent to pro
claim.
R for His reign on earth alway,
For His reign in loyal hearts today.
I for the Inn which no room could
make
For Him who gave that we all
might take.
S for the shepherds* *nd angels' song.
Strains that to all the years be
long;
"Glory to God in the highest" and
then
"Peace upon earth and good-will to
men."
T for the tender watch we keep
While the Christmas snows are
drifted deep.
M for the magi, the wise men, who
Brought gold, frankincense and rue.
A for the Angels who sang of Him
To the shepherds there in the mid
night dim.
S for ttfie service of true, kind deeds,
Day by day as the Christ dhild
leads;
S for the Saviour, every the same;
All honor we give to His dear name.
? Selected.
PRAYKR CAIjKNDAR CAMPAIGN.
By Mrs. W. C. WiRsborough.
The New Year will soon be here
and as we consider the responsibilities
it brings to Christian America, I am
sure we pause and wonder, "who Is
sufficient for these thmgs?" Our Ex
ecutive Committees are burdened with
heavy debt. The fields at home and
abroad are calling loudly and vainly
for reinforcements. Two-thirds of the
women of our Church are indifferent
to missions.
How are we to overcome such ap
palling conditions? More work? Yes.
More study? Yes. More money?
Yes. All these are good and neces
sary but they are not che fundamental
need of the church today. Christ said,
"Pray ye the Lord of the harvest."
S. D. Gordon says, "you can do more
through prayer after you have prayed
but you cannot do more through
prayer until you have prayed."
Oh, my friends, if the women of
the Church were praying about these
things fervently, dally and definitely,
what a mighty power we might be in
changing these discouraging condl
t'ons! More prayer is the great need
of the Church today. Work ? study ?
giving are all necessary after we have
prayed, but prayer must come first!
Let us make the coming year pre
eminently a year of Prayer. Let the
first step toward this be the placing
of a Prayer Calendar in every home
in the Church to be used every day.
Place it beside the Bible and at family
prayer read the names for that* day
before the prayer is offered.
At the December meeting of the
Auxiliary secretaries of literature
should have the announcement of the
Calendar on the Literature table. We
will send you as many of the an
lymncements as you desire. Urge
every woman to order a Calendar and
hand the Secretary fifteen cents to
pay for It. Order them at once so they