Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

The Model Church.

ELL, wife, I've found the model church! I worshiped
there to-day;

It made me think of good old times, before my hairs were gray.
The meetin'-house was finer built than they were years ago;
But then I found, when I went in, it wasn't built for show.

The sexton didn't seat me 'way back by the door;

He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor. He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly through The long aisle of that pleasant church to find a pleasant pew.

I wish you'd heard the singin'-it had the old-time ring-
The preacher said with trumpet-voice, "Let all the people sing";
The tune was "Coronation," and the music upwards rolled
Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold.

My deafness seemed to melt away, my spirit caught the fire,
I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir,
And sang, as in my youthful days, "Let angels prostrate fall,
Bring forth the royal diadem and crown him Lord of all."

I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more,
I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore;
I almost want to lay aside this weather-beaten form
And anchor in the blessed port forever from the storm.

The preachin'! well, I can't just tell all that the preacher said;

I know it wasn't written, I know it wasn't read;

He hadn't time to read, for the lightnin' of his eye

Went passing 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by.

The sermon wasn't flowery, 'twas simple Gospel truth,
It fitted poor old men like me, it fitted hopeful youth.
'Twas full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed,
'Twas full of invitations to Christ-and not to creed.

The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews;
He shot the golden sentences straight at the finest pews.
And, though I can't see very well, I saw the falling tear
That told me hell was some way off, and heaven very near.

How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place!
How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face!
Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with

friend,

When congregations ne'er break up and Sabbaths have no end.

I hope to meet that minister, the congregation, too,

In the dear home beyond the skies, that shines from heaven's

blue,

I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening gray,
The face of God's dear servant who preached His Word to-day.

Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory be won,
The shining goal is just ahead, the race is nearly run.
O'er the river we are nearin', they are thronging to the shore
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.

T

Old Times and New.

WAS in my easy chair at home,
About a week ago,

I sat and puffed my light cigar,
As usual, you must know.

I mused upon the Pilgrim flock,
Whose luck it was to land

Upon almost the only Rock
Among the Plymouth sand.

In my mind's eye, I saw them leave
Their weather-beaten bark-

Before them spread the wintry wilds,
Behind, rolled Ocean dark.

Alone that noble handful stood

While savage foes lurked nigh-

Their creed and watchword, "Trust in God.

And keep your powder dry."

Imagination's pencil then

That first stern winter painted,

When more than half their number died,

And stoutest spirits fainted.

A tear unbidden filled one eye,—
My smoke had filled the other-
One sees strange sights at such a time,
Which quite the senses bother.

I knew I was alone-but lo!

(Let him who dares deride me;) I looked, and drawing up a chair, Down sat a man beside me.

His dress was ancient, and his air Was somewhat strange and foreign;

He civilly returned my stare,

And said, "I'm Richard Warren.

"You'll find my name among the list Of hero, sage and martyr,

Who, in the Mayflower's cabin, signed The first New England charter.

"I could some curious facts impart-
Perhaps some wise suggestions-
But then I'm bent on seeing sights,
And running o'er with questions."

"Ask on," said I; "I'll do my best
To give you information,
Whether of private men you ask,
Or our renowned nation."

Says he, "First tell me what is that

In your compartment narrow, Which seems to dry my eye-balls up,

And scorch my very marrow."

His finger pointed to the grate,

Said I, "That's Lehigh coal,

Dug from the earth," he shook his head

"It is, upon my soul!"

I then took up a bit of stick,

One end as black as night,

And rubbed it quick across the hearth,
When, lo! a sudden light!

My guest drew back, up rolled his eyes,
And strove his breath to catch;
'What necromancy's that?" he cried,

Quoth I, "A friction match."

Upon a pipe just overhead

I turned a little screw,

When forth, with instantaneous flash

The streams of lightning flew.

Uprose my guest: "Now Heaven me save,"

Aloud he shouted; then,

"Is that hell fire?" ""Tis gas" said I,

"We call it hydrogen."

« ForrigeFortsett »