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“ Remember now thy Creator.
Remember thy Creator
While the pulse of youth beats high;
While the evil days come not,
Nor the weary years draw nigh;
When man can find no pleasure
In the hollow things of earth,
And the heart turns sick and sad
From the jarring sound of mirth.
Ere the light of stars is darkened,
Ere the glorious sun grows dim,
And the bitter cup of sorrow
Is filling to the brim ;
When the grinder’s song is low,
And the Wailing mourners come,
Marching in the death-procession,
As man goeth to his home.
Ere the golden bowl be broken,
Or the silver cord unwound,
The pitcher shattered, at the well
The broken wheel be found.
In the day when keepers tremble,
And the strong men bow the knee,
Then shall dust to dust return,
And to God the spirit flee.
—
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
THE LITTLE JEWESS.
BY MRS. JANE T. H. CROSS.
Part mason was sit
ranging the wild flowers
that she had gathered
among the rains. Her
father and mother stood at a little
fSjj distance, among beautiful marble
columns, some fallen to the ground
* i and broken, and others standing,
but looking sorry, as sorry as a stone
could look. They looked, in fact, as if
they were thinking of the glad old times,
glad for them, when they formed parts
of splendid temples, where the gay Ro
mans came to worship their gods, made
with their own hands.
You know what sort of gods you and I
could make. Well, the Romans could not
make any better. Their gods were stone,
like the stone pillars which have fallen
down, and their gods have fallen, too, and
cannot help themselves up. The universe
is the temple of our God. We shall never
see that in ruins, and our God crumbling
into dust. He will live always, live to
take care of us, and to love us, and when
we are put into our graves, away under
the earth, and everybody else has forgot
ten us, He can show any one exactly
where we are lying. He looks down
through the dark earth into our coffins,
and do you think that He is frightened
when He sees the work of His hands fall
ing to pieces? Not He! He looks on,
and on, until at last the love from His
fatherly eye will enter our dead hearts
and set them to beating again, and will
draw us out of our graves, up into the
company of angels.
The platform where Mary sat was the
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
place where the great men of Rome used
to stand and make their grand speeches
to the people. The men have passed
away, and in their place sits a little child
weaving flowers. The people are gone,
and in their places stand only two Mr.
and Mrs. Mason —puzzling out the history
of the ruins around them, and they can
not exactly tell what they all were, nor
for what they were intended. Their very
history is going to nothing. Yes, there
is one other person. At the corner of the
lonely street sits an Italian woman with
chestnuts on a stand for sale. She knits,
and, at the same time, rocks with her foot
the cradle that holds her baby. She is
not puzzling over the past, but over the
future. She is thinking how she shall
feed the baby as it grows bigger ; she is
wondering if any one will buy her chest
nuts.
Someone comes to buy her chestnuts.
It is an old gentleman leading a little
girl, apparently his grand-daughter. The
eyes <>f both are dark. The eyes of the
child are flashing, like the Italian sky un
der which she was born. As she tosses
her head, the black ringlets fall into new
forms of beauty about the olive face. The
nose is a little aquiline, but more delicate
than the Roman.
The old man filled a small basket that
the child held with the nuts, and paid the
money to the glad woman.
Just then Mary lifted her large grey
eyes from the flower wreath on hei lap,
and saw the little girl. She beckoned to
her, for Mary’s heart went forth to greet
everything that God has made, and she
always met other children as one may im
agine an angel in heaven meets the other
angels. The child did not answer the
summons, except, indeed, rather to shrink
behind the old man. Again Mary beck
oned more earnestly, and the dark eyes
of the stranger-child flashed through her
dark curls, as she shook her head in reply.
Mary gazed on her with a perplexed
air, and said to herself: “ I wonder why
she will not come to play with me ? She
does not look ill-natured. I will go to
her. Perhaps she will come with me and
see my pretty flowers.”
As soon as the loving thought had come
into her mind, she arose and clambered
up until she had reached the street, and
the child. She spoke to her in Italian,
for Mary had learned the language since
she came to Italy :
“Will you not come down and play
with me? she said. “I have some beau
tiful flowers, and I will give you some to
make a wreath like mine.”
The child looked up to the old man, and
said, inquiringly :
“ Grandfather?”
“Go, my child,” the old man said; and
then, as the two children ran off together
hand in hand, lie added in a low voice fer
vently, “The God of Jacob direct the
child, for my days, which have been few
and evil, are coming to a close, and I
know not where she will find friends.
Perhaps the Almighty has sent the child
to conduct her.”
He then slowly followed down amom?
the ruins. Mr. and Mrs. Mason approach
ed him, and, surprised to find him so full
of information and learning, they were
soon engaged in an interesting conversa
tion with him. The Jew and the Chris
tian stood together in the Roman forum.
The Jew remembered that the holy city
of Jerusalem had been sacked and des
troyed by the Roman people ; that not
one stone of the temple was left upon an
other ; that his people had been led in
chains through those streets ; “ had been
peeled and scattered;” had “ been sold,
and no one would buy them.” The Chris
tian thought of the time when the disci
ples of the Nazarene Lad been burned as
torches to illuminate the wicked city.—
Both looked upon the desolation that had
come over the Destroyer, and both look
ed up with reverent hearts to the same
God, to the God who punishes sin, and
brings to the dust those that despise His
law.
Meantime, the children sat on the ros
trum, and talked of their flowers, and of
the sky-lark that was soaring above them,
singing out of sight.
At last, Mary said :
“But we do not know each other’s
names, and that is funny, isn’t it, for two
friends—especially for such friends as we
are, or as we are going to be, for I am
sure I shall have you for a friend as long
as I live—that is, if you will be my friend
—will you ?”
“Ah, signorina, you laugh at me.”
“ No, I am serious. Wby should I laugh
at you ?”
For an instant the child threw off her
shyness and raised her head with pride
and dignity as she replied:
“ Because I am a Jewess.”
Mary looked at her awe-stricken, and
said in a hushed voice:
“A Jewess! O! I am sorry for that,
because the Jews put our blessed Savioui
to death in a cruel manner —too cruel.
After a moment she added, “ But 1 do not
think you would have done it, if}' 011
been there. You would not have cruci
fied the Saviour, would you?”
“I do not know of what you speak,
would hurt no one. We do not injure ;it