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‘From the Christian Observer.
MORAL DISCIPLINE.
Some saints are smitten seven time3,
And them God loveth most, —
They’re singled out,
For larger service to the Master here,
And ’round the emerald throne to stand more
near.
’Twas beaten oil for ancient altar use,
Sweet incense beaten too, —
From mplten brass thetemp’e pillar shone,
And roughly hewn apart each coitly stone.
The treasures of our earth lie deep,
The riven rocks yield gold,
And there is dross, —
But with the furnace heated seven-'o’d.
One sitteth by and doth refine the go and.
Unsightly shells we break for gems,
, The healing leaves are bruised,
And wine grapes pressed,—
The husbandman must cut, then thresh his
wheat,
And thresh it long ere itfsfor the garner meet.
’Tis not the gilded clouds give rain,
But those that black’ning frown,
And lowest hang,—
’Tis not smooth waters bear the barque most
safe and soon,
But rough sea-waves that bring the traveller
home.
E’en thus the discipline of lie,
The saints mu9t suffer here, —
But AFTER HERE,
"When they have ceased to want and wander
o’er,
They’ll need the Father's smiling hand no
more.
Jfamilg lUahing.
THE FALSE CHRIST.
▲ TALE OF TIIE SECOND FALL OF JERUSALEM.
CHAPTER VI.
Lucia had little idea, scarcely more than
her babe, in what a world of fierce strife
and storms her little home circle was set.
Rome in its height of power, like a wave at its
fullest swell: who could tell that the very
soaring crest ol its pride was the sign of its
breaking? Trajan’s"conquests had indeed
been a little narrowed by Adrian—a wise
act of consolidation, perhaps only the recoil
before the spring. On some of the fron
tiers walls had been built, on others bridg
es had been destroyed, to prevent the in
cursions of the barbarians; but what was
theje to indicate that these preparations
were other than the wise repose of a satis
fied conqueror, —that in the East the em
pire was rapidly becoming a besieged city,
that the barbarians in the North were
different from those who had been kept
within their own limits on tlic East and
South ? The terrible meaning of the name
of Goth had yet to be learned, and the
might of a race which defeat could only
teach to conquer.
With the power of action, the Greeks
seem to have lost energy of thought. Intel
lect divorced from those active duties which
are at once its spur aud rein, wandered aim
lessly hither and thither,—lost in transcen
dental speculation, or intently employed
spinning cobwebs to entangle itself. With
the hills and the sea around them, the skies
and the green flowery earth, human life and
] ove they only ventured to see as others
had seen, and admire what others had point
ed out. Placing the glory of their old lit
erature between them and nature, instead
of facing it,— inserting the mirror into the
window-frame, they lost the view outside,
and saw in the mirror only an image of
themselves. Thus, to restore mankind to
genuine thought, it became necessary to
cast aside the races, and bury the art and
science of the ancient world, that the na
tions might pass through the rough discip
line of a second boyhood, and come at length
to the old long-lost fountain with a genuine
thirst.
The weight of the glory of the ancient
Greeks lay °on their enfeebled successors
like a burden. Their strength was exhaust
ed in girding on the old armour ; still im*
doming themselves the wisest and most
gifted of men, the only critics of beauty
and of truth, their eyes were losing clear
ness, and their ears discrimination; and
whilst they hung on the last new subtlety
of the last new sophist as on the breath of
eternal wisdom, the Apostle of the nations,
preaching to them Jesus and the resurrec
tion, seemed to them a “babbler.’’
The Jewish nation still struggled to
raise its head and regain its old sceptre,
not knowing that a curse hung around it,
and that the fable of the “Wandering Jew’’
pictured but too truly its immortality of
restless exile; and in the midst of these
falling, fallen, and doomed nations, Christ
ianity, born from above, took root and grew
—a principle of life in every sense —intel-
lectual, moral, spiritual life to those who re
ceived it; even to the world that rejected
it, the preservation from decay; the life of
the Church, the salt of the earth. Christi
anity—or rather the Church—not a mere
system revealed from above, but men, poor
sinful men (with the taint of the corrupt
age on them), born from above; one by one
brought into direct communication with
God, believing Him, regenerated by Him,
commissioned by Him to go forth with a
message of peace to all, poor men, for the
most part (though in no age could the
Church have been without its scribes as
well as its fishermen), with a narrow range
of thought, until they received that faith,
which extended their vision over all nation
al barriers to the human race, and through
all mists of ignorance to the throne of God;
like Lucia and Irene, knowing little of
what wise men had thought, or learned
men had discovered, but knowing that the
Son of God had been made flesh, and had
dwelt among men; that He had redeemed
them#om sin and hopelessness, and that
He was to return : and for this faith they
were ready to die.
In Jerusalem there had existed a church
since the days when the Apostles and elders
resided there, —scattered, indeed, to the
mountains, when the city had been encom
passed with armies, but returning with fond
recollection to the streets where Jesus had
taught, and His first martyr had died.
In many respects they retained Jewish
customs, hoping, perhaps, thereby to win
thqir brethren after the flesh; perhaps also
still fettered by the national association of
more than a thousand yeais. Their bish
ops all bore Jewish names. Doubtless they
received Gentiles gladly, and probably did
not insist on the Jewish yoke being laid on
them ; but their hearts yearned affection
ately over the fallen and scattered nation,
so long the chosen of God. The Jews, on
the other band, looked hopefully on many
of these Christians; and in times of insur
rection seemed to have relied on the nation
al bond proving stronger than the relig
ious.
During the months whose course had
brought so many changes to Lucia, the
lodge in the vineyard above the Kedron val
ley had become a place of much importance.
Midnight conferences had "been held there;
the vines and maize had been left to the
care of Achsah and Shelomith, whilst Azor
and Eleazar had devoted themselves to the
more congenial occupation of keeping up
communication with the various bands of
insurgents, and feeding the flame of discon
tent with the wild hopes of a Deliverer at
hand.
The mother and her little Denoni, with Ach
sah, were seated in front of the lodge. The
vineyard bore traces of disorder, and the
ground was trodden hard, as if by many
feet. - Eleazar was wandering about, unea
sily watching for the return of Azor. It
was already dusk before the sound of a
horse’s feet, advancing rapidly, re-echoed
through the rocky valley. In those days
of secret plotting, Shelomith’s heart trem
bled at the clattering of the hoofs in the
silent place.
“Could you not have come on foot?” she
said, as her son dismounted, and hastened
towards her. “It would seem strange
your arriving so late, at such a terrifiic pace
at this lonely spot.”
“Seem strange to whom, dear mother?”
was the laughing reply ; “surely the goats
-and eagles are no traitors. Resides,” he
added, respectfully saluting his father; “our
days of underground plotting are nearly
over; we are no longer a confederacy—we
are a nation.”
“What news to prove that?” asked Elea
zar shortly; “dreams do not vanquish em
pires,—n6r do epigrams.”
“Five more fortresses are in our hands,
father. The Romans have massacred wo
men and children, but dare not attack us
in the open field. They have sent for re
inforcements ; and the Emperor has been
compelled, for once, to be honest, and tell
the dismal truth to the Senate. They say
he has sent home polite ‘hopes that with
Rome and the Senate all is well/ but has
omitted the comfortable formula—‘with me
and the army all is well/ ”
Eleazar took one or two turns, and then
resumed, in no very sanguine tone —
“The substance of which is—that many
of our people have been slain, and that the
Emperor, in order to secure effective sue*
cours, has sent an alarming message to the
Senate. I do not see how that mends
matters.”
“But the Emperor’s decree has roused
the whole nation, father; it is proclaimed
everywhere that not one of our sacred rites
or feasts is to be observed, and that to
read or explain our law is death.”
“I thank the Romans for that,/ replied
Eleazar. “Despair is a firm ally.’’
“But the Messiah, father ?’’ asked Achsah
timidly, fixing her eyes intently on his face.
“Is not the Messiah with us; and if God is
with us can there be any fear ?’’
Eleazar’s brow contracted, and there was
little enthusiasm in his tone with which he
replied —
“There must be victory with God’s A
nointed, child ; but we have many sins upon
us, and I sometimes think we have scarce
ly yet drunk to the dregs the cup of wrath/’
“Oh, father!’’ she replied, “is not the
siege of Jerusalem, and the captivity which
followed it, enough ? And,” she contin
ued eagerly, “did not the Lord always have
mercy on our people when they cried unto
Him ?’»
“When they repented, and turned to Him
child.”
“But have not we suffered and repented ?
We do not worship the gods of the heathen
now, father?’’
“No, child,’’ he replied s^dly; “but we
seem to worship ourselves, and lam not
sure if that is not worse.”
“Oh, father, you do not worship your
self?” said Achsah, flushing eagerly in her
father’s defence; “have not you given up
everything ? ’’
He stroked her face fondly, and turning
to Azor, said—
“ What message did you bring?”
“The rabbis thanked you for the money;
they said it was life-blood to the cause, and
they trust you’ll have your reward; and as
to what you said about applying part of it to
rebuilding the temple, they thought it was
a most pious purpose, and should be attend
ed to if possible. And, father,” he contin
ued, “I saw the King himself, and he is
coming through our valley to-morrow.’’
“The King 1” exclaimed Achsah, turn
ing deadly pale with emotion. “And he
spoke to you ?”
“He offered me the command of a com
pany of men, to storm a highland fortress
in the South/’ replied Azor, eagerly; “and
father, may I accept it ?”
’
SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN - ADVOCATE.
“Surely; why should my son be with
held,” said the old man ; but there was some
bitterness in his tone, and he added—
“ Young blood is worth more than aged coun
sel.”
But Azor heeded not his words, full of
his new military power, and of plans for his
exploit. And Achsah heard him not. She
sate pale and speechless. “Could be
possible that to-morrow they would see the
King ?”
She could not sleep one moment that
night—strange bewildering thoughts chased
each other through her brain —old prophe
cies, and sacred histories heard in the syn
agogue, or from her mother’s lips;—psalms
about an Anointed One, girded with truth
and riding forth in majesty, ! and of glory
heaptd on the head of One who was to come
—the Prince of peace, the Captain of the
Lord’s host, the son of Davia, the root of
Jesse, the star of Jacob, God’s King, the
Messiah; and then, jarring against all this,
“money the life-blood of the cause”—and
Azor seeming to look on it all as an ordinary
war ! She wondered if it was her ignorance
and childishness that made her feel different
ly ; —if Joshua, and Moses, and David had,
after ail, had no different feeling from
Azor; and if the battles of the Lord in old
times were like any other battles, and the
heroes of her people like all the rest of the
world, if you came close. Then came vies
ions of hosts passing through seas and livers
on dry land, —of an army going forth to bat
tle with unarmed priests before them, sing
ing praises;—of victories won, and hosts
slain without a blow struck by human liandf
—of a city falling before the holy ark; and
then follow ed other scenes of that very ark
leading that very people, in their impiety,
to ruin, and the dying wail ran through her
heart—“lchabod! Ichabod ! The glory is
departed,” till, terrified at her own thoughts,
she arose and prayed. But to whom could
she pray ? To the unutterable—the God
that hideth Himself; —yet* the Lord of
hosts, the God of Israel. The God of Is
rael ?—the God who had sent her people
into captivity—who had let His holy city
perish, and his temple be burned up? How
could she know if He would hear—if she
were* not crying to one whose face was
turned away in deadly wrath ? Yet why
all these fears now? To-morrow, to-mor
row was not the Deliverer to come ?—she
could scarcely bring ber lips to utter in
prayer the words, Thine Anointed; and yet
if what all believed were true, was it not
far worse impiety to doubt ? So she dressed
early., and, after preparing the meal she
could not touch, planted herself on a rock,
from which she oommanded several reaches
of the valley. If she had been perplexed
at night, it seemed terf times worse by day:
the house, Jbmillar look, —Azor
polishing his arms, lier mother about her
ordinary occupations, and Benoni at bis usu
al play. Did they Wally believe the Mes
siah—the King of —was to pass that
way ? or was it because they believed it
that they were so was it only her
her sowast
less ? She could not rest on her first sta
tion, but climbed higher and higher, hop
ing to catch the first cloud of dust, or the
first flash of weapons. And so she watched
until the sun began to destine, end she be*
gan to dread another night of suspense,
when, in the farthest distance, she caught
sight of a few straggling horsemen—then a
few more, then a larger body. She waited
not an instaut, but flew over the rocky hills
UDtil she reached the vineyard. There sate
Shelomith, peeling chestnuts for their eve
ning meal, and little Benoni making boats
of the skins.
“ Mother! mother !” she exclaimed,
breathless. * Shelomith looked up compos
edly. “ They are coming, mother, —it must
be Himself! ’’
Azor came out from the lodge. “ Are
they near ?” he asked eagerly.
“ I saw them from the top of the hill. ’’
“ Then they will not be here for half an
hour, ”he said, turning quietly •away; and
in another moment the sound of whetting
steel recommenced.
“ You look pale, child, ” Shelomith said;
“ and no wonder. You have been all day
in*the sun. Go in and rest.’’
“lam resting here, mother,” was the
reply. “ But should we not mske any prepa
rations-should we not gather palm-branch
es ?”
“ I think grapes and dates would be more
acceptable to the soldiers,” was the reply—
“ and I have collected all I could. Where
have you been all day ?”
Achsah could not reply, and just then the
first horseman came insight. It was a mot
ley cavalcade; some dressed in mere peas
ants’ garments, armed with scythes and
spears, and rough axes; —some looking less
at home in the spoils of Roman legionaries ;
—but all had a daring, determined air,
which gave them a more military character
than weeks of drilling could have bestowed.
Azor hurried forward to greet the chief;
Eleazar held back, in an attitude of homage;
Shelomith held Benoni up to see the pro
cession ; whilst Achsah stood trembling be
side her, gazing, and yet scarcely ventur
ing to gaze, on the leader. There was a
soldierly dignity and a habit of command
about him, as he spoke to her brother, which
evidently impressed him; and the whole
party waited on the glances of his keen,
quick eye. Achsah felt that he would knpw
her again, though she only caught his eye
once, as she gazed immovably on him. A
few parting words from her brother, and he
was on horseback among the cavalcade ; and
with a salutation to his father, and a loud
cheer, commenced by Azor—“ Long live
the star of Jacob the band swept rapid
ly out of sight, and left the valley silent.
Achsah stood some minutes like a statue,
and then she sate down on the edge of the
vine-terrace, covered her face with her hands,
and burst into a flood of bitter tears.
She was roused by her father’s hand on
her hea i.
“ What ails you child ?”
“ Oh, father, I don’t know ! lam very
wicked ; but I thought he would have look
ed different ?
“ Has not he an eye like a king? Are
you such a child as to think kings must al
ways ride about in crowns and purple robes ?”
“ No; it was not that,” she said, gather
ing courage, and looking up in his sac
“ if he were only to be a king—hut God’s
king, father—the Anointed l —l thought
he would have looke'd holier, ihore as you
look in the synagogue, or my mother when
she hears Benoni pray/’
Eleazar drew his hand hastily .over his
eyes, but he said nothing.
“ Father,” she resumed, at length, tak
ing his hand, aud looking down, “ will God
look on it as a very great sin if we mistake
about this ?’’
“ It would be destruction,” he murmured.
“ Then,” she said, rising, and her voice
deepening, “it does not seem to me like
God to give us no clearer tokens by which
to tell. If you sent a messenger on an er
rand of life and death to me, father, would
you not give me some sign I could not mis
take, to know him by ? or if not, could you
disown me because I did not receive him ?”
“ Hush, child,” he replied ; “you must
not compare the Almighty with me. He is
all-wise, and we are very sinful and blind.”
“ But ah, father ! the more you thought
me likely to err, would you not be the more
minute in every direction, so that I could
not go wrong.”
“ Oh, child, do not tempt me ; it seems
as if some unutterable weight lay on our
people, and we could not rise/’
“ Father,’’ said the little, cheerful voice
of Benoni, “ mother says it is sleeping time ;
won’t you come and read us a psalm ? ”
MY MOTHER’S VOICE.
There’s music in tne autumn wind,
Around the dripping eaves ;
And waere its pinions stop to play,
Among the fallen leaves
There’s music in the river’s flow,
Along the pebbly shore,
When ail the winds have gone to sleep,
And boughs are swayed no more.
There’s music in the cricket’s song,
I hear through evening shade,
Aud in the low of distant herds,
Returning from the glade.
There’s mus.c in the household tones,
That greet the sad or gay,
And in the laugh of innocence,
Rejoicing in its play.
But there is music sweeter far,
In memory than this—
The music of my mother’s voice,
Now in the land of bliss.
A music time may never still—
I near it in my dreams,
When all the fondness of her face
Once more upon me beams.
I know notwha’. the angel3 hear,
In mansions in the skies —
But there is not a sound on earth,
Like mother’s ge tie voice.
The tears are in my clouded eyes,
And sadness m my brain,
As nature wimpera to my heart,
■She will not com 3 again.
A mother! oh. when she departs,
Her like is never known ;
The records of affection speak,
Os only, only one 1
Aod brighter will that record grow,
Through all the changing years—
The oftener to the lip is pressed,
The cup of sorrow’s tears.
Cjjilta.
TRY EACH DAY.
A little child I am indeed,
And little do I know:
Much help and care I yet shall need,
That I may wiser grow,
If I would ever hope to do
Things great and good, and useful too.
But even now I ought to try
To do what good I may ;
God never meant that such as I,
Should only live to play,
And talk and laugh, and eat and drink,
And sleep and wake, and never think.
One gent’e word that I may speak, ”
Or one kind, loving deed,
May, though a trifle, poor and weak,
Prove like a tiny seed ;
And who can tell what good may spring
From such a very little thing ?
Then let me try, each day and htur,
To act upon this plan :
What little good in my power,
To do it while I can ;
If to be nieful thus I try,
I may do better by and by.
.» 0 -*•
See wiiat “I’ll Try” can do. —“Chil-
dren, those of you who will bring new schol
ars to school shall be rewarded with some
nice books,’’ said the superintendent of a
Sunday school in Kentucky to his scholars
one Sunday.
“ I can’t get any new scholars,” said sev
eral of the children to themselves.
“ I’ll try what I can do,” said one little
boy. He went home to his father, and
said:
“Father, will you go to Sunday school
with me ?’’
“I#can’t read, my son,’’ said the father,
with a look of shame.
“ Our teachers will teach you, dear fa
ther,’’ said he, in a respectful and affection
nte manner.
“Well, I’ll go,” said the father.
He went. He learned to read. He be
came a Christian. Then he felt so much
interested in the Sunday school cause, that
he engaged himself as a Sunday school col
porteur, and in four years that man had es
tablished four hundred Sunday schools,into
which thirty-five thousand children had
been gathered. Only think of all this
amount of good resulting from the one ef
fort of that little boy, when he said, “I’ll
try/’ God paid him again more than a hun
dred-fold.
THE OAK TREE.
Once— a long time ago —two youn'g men,
named Edmund and Oswald, appeared in a
court of justice.
Edmund said to the judge, “ When I was
going on a journey, three years ago, I gave
to this Oswald, whom I then considered my
best friend, a valuable ring with precious
stones, to keep for me. But now he will
not give the ring up to me.”
Oswald laid his hand upon his breast, and
said, “ I swear, upon my honor, I know
nothing about the ring. My triend Ed
mund must be out of his senses in this mat
ter/*
The judge said, Edmund, can nobody
give evidence that you gave the ring to
him ?”
“Edmund replied, “Alas! there "was no
body near; there was only an old oak tree
in the field, under which we took leave of
one another.”
Oswald said, “I am ready to take an
oath, that I know no more about the tree
than I do about the ring.”
The judge said, “Edmund, go and bring
me a twig from the tree. I wish to see it.
Meanwhile do you, Oswald, wait here till
Edmund returns.”
Edmund went. After a little while the
judge remarked, “ Where, now, can Ed
mund be remaining so long? Oswald, open
the window, and see if he is not coming.”
Oswald said, “ Oh, sir, he cannot come
back again so soon. The*tree is above a
mile distant from this place/’
Then said the judge, “ 0 thou godless
liar ! who wouldst have sworn thy lie before
God, the highest Judge, who looks into all
hearts. Thou knowest as much about the
ring as about the tree !’’
Oswald was obliged to give up the ring,
and was sentenced to prison for a year.
“There,’’ said the.judge, “you will find
time to consider the important truth :
“It comes at last, the judgment day,
Which every falsehood will display.”
“ Not Blessed It.”—A little boy was
once invited to go home to dinner with a
school fellow. He remarked with innate
pleasure several attractive dishes on the
plentiful board. • Exercise, and a sharp air,
and the proverbial hungriness of school, had
quickened his appetite. A bountiful piece
of chicken, with mashed potatoes and cran
berry sauce, were laid upon his plate. He
did not at once, like those around, partake
of it. He was requested not to wait. His
companion at his side was eating heartily.
At length the lady of the house inquired
why he did not take his food: and he
sobbed forth his reply, “You liavn’t bless’d
it! You havn't bless’d it!’’
A Good Rule. — A man who is very rich
now, was very poor when he was a boy.
Whpn asked how he got his riches, he re
plied, “ My father taught me never to play
until my work was finished, and never to
spend my money until i had earned it. If
I had but one hour’s work in a day, I must
do that the firs 4 thing, and in an hour—and
after this I was allowed to play; and then
could play with much more pleasure than if
I had the thought of an unfinished task be
fore my mind. I early formed the habit of
doing every thing in time, and it soon be
came perfectly easy to do so. It is to this
I owe my prosperity.” _
BURKE & CO’S
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