Tracts for the Christian Seasons. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. The love of Life. PROPER LESSONS: Morning, Isaiah xxxvii.; Evening, Isaiah xxxviii. Ar an early hour there was a loud ring at the door of the parsonage one Sunday morning, the first Sunday after Christmas. The servants were just lighting the fires, and hastened to the door, as they felt something must be the matter. O, ask the rector to come down to Mrs. Brooke's as quick as possible, for we're afear'd she's a dying," exclaimed a labouring man the moment the door was opened. You may be sure that the rector was quickly on his way. It was just beginning to be light when he hurried forth, and there was the promise of a clear frosty day; the air was keen and sharp, but it was very still; the ground was crisp with frost, and it crackled under his feet. As he reached the village all seemed calm and quiet; here and there the smoke was beginning to rise from a few of the cottages, but the children who usually gave noise and life to the scene were fast in bed, or the frost kept those within doors who were already up. The old church tower seemed in the twilight to have increased in strength and height, and looked so strangely solemn as it rose high above the houses of men, that the rector could not but stop a moment to glance at it on his road. "O blessed place," he exclaimed to himself as he pressed on, "how long has that old tower preached to the people here, and pointing upwards to heaven bidden them to rise above the world, and to seek the blessedness of heaven, which Christ Jesus our Lord offers to all the members of His universal Church." The school which seemed to cling for protection to the church, and had a certain church-like look about it, was as quiet as the other parts of the village; the usual hum of a multitude of little voices saying their lessons, or singing their Sunday hymns, had not yet begun. How calm it all is, thought the rector to himself; who would think, on looking at the outside of this tranquil place, what a scene of deep trouble and anguish is going on in the midst of it. At last he reached a small farmhouse just at the outskirts of the village, and offering up a secret prayer that God might bless his ministrations, and succour with great gifts of the Holy Ghost the dying sheep of his flock, he passed hastily through the little garden that fronted the road, and lifted the latch of the door. The moment his step was heard, a young girl of sixteen, one of the daughters of the poor woman, caught the sound, and rushed down stairs to meet him; grasping him warmly by the hand, while the tears streamed from her eyes, she said, "O sir, it will be soon over; it will be soon over; dearest mother can't hold out long; thank God you're come." "God help us for His dear Son's sake," said the rector as he followed her up stairs. "Amen, Amen," exclaimed the poor girl fervently. When the rector entered the room he saw in an instant that the end was indeed near. He had been there late the previous evening, and had thought Mrs. Brooke sinking fast; but the change was now more decided still. She had been able then to join audibly in prayer, and to talk in a feeble way; but now all powers of speech were gone. A faint smile played upon her face when she saw the rector enter, for she had always esteemed him as her best and truest friend, and had received him as a guide sent from God. He hastened to her side, and tenderly pressing her hand looked earnestly into her pale face; as eye met eye, heart answered to : heart; and without a word being spoken, they held deep, strange, most holy intercourse with each other. Her children stood weeping by her bed the eldest was a young man about six and twenty, who had managed the little farm since his father's death; there were three daughters, the youngest about fourteen. Never had children been loved by a mother with warmer or holier love; never had a mother received from her children stronger affection in return; it was indeed a united family, one in Christ, a holy household in which Christ reigned. The young farmer had been his widowed mother's stay, and had acted as a father to his sisters, while all his worldly business was done in faith; he was most careful of his labourers, called them all together for morning and evening prayer, corrected the slightest sins of speech, sins so common among labouring men, saw that they all attended church on Sundays, went himself, whenever it was possible, to daily prayer in church, was very kind and tender to the poor, in short, in all ways was endeavouring to be a faithful and devoted member of Christ's Church in his sphere of life. Such was the son who now stood by his dying mother's bed; of such a spirit too were the daughters, and thus had God blessed their mother's prayers and labours. When this first silent greeting had passed, the rector opened his Prayer-book, Mrs. Brooke slightly moving her head in token of her desire for prayer. All knelt down; the prayers then offered were prayers indeed; the souls of that little company were poured forth even in an agony of prayer; the voice of the faithful pastor sometimes quivered with emotion, but with great effort he endeavoured to calm his spirit; sobs burst from the rest. When he had commended the soul of his dear friend into the hands of God, and had given his blessing in God's Name, they all remained a few minutes in silent inward prayer. On rising from their knees the eldest daughter bent over her mother's face. At the first look she stood aghast, and then, clasping her hands, she exclaimed with a bitter piercing cry, "She's gone! she's gone!" It was too true; the soul of the good servant of Christ had gone forth, while their heads were bent in prayer. She had died in the act of prayer; blessed way of death! most holy and hopeful end! The grief of the little loving group cannot be described; words fail to paint that mysterious pang which pierces the souls of any who gaze on the death of near kindred who have been truly loved. For a time the rector said nothing; |