ADDRESS AT A MATERNAL MEETING. 23 "How beautiful they look!" even when death had dashed the bloom from the young cheek, and placed his marble hand on the fair brow. "Face to face we have gazed on death, In his regal pomp and sway; When he had snatched the wavering breath We have looked on him when nought was there, To waken fear or dread; We saw no terror nor fierce despair, As we stood by their dying bed." We delight to dwell on the memory of some mothers, whom we hope to meet in heaven, who came here at our first meeting, careless and unconcerned as to themselves and their children; but who with dying lips thanked God for Maternal Associations. At these anniversaries the dead seem to claim a share in our recollections, and we do not like they should be forgotten. Why should they? They live yet-far or near, they are living still; and for aught we know, may be taking a deeper interest in our meeting this evening, and longing for some heart to be touched, so as to be from henceforth prepared to dwell with them in their heavenly home. They are only passed into another state of existence. The dream of life is over with them, but they have awakened in everlasting day. Some of us can say, "Joseph is not, and there is no Benjamin ;" but we shall have them restored to us again in the city of the golden streets. "Oh happy-happy land! in thee There happy souls, whom death may sever, But why were our dear ones taken? Ah! why? There is no voice to answer; but listen, I will read a page to the point. 24 ADDRESS AT A MATERNAL MEETING. THE HAND THAT SAVES US. Two painters were employed to fresco the walls of a magnificent cathedral. Both stood on a rude scaffolding, some forty feet from the floor. One of them was so intent upon his work that he became wholly absorbed, and in admiration stood off from the picture, gazing at it with intense delight. Forgetting where he was, he moved slowly back, surveying critically the work of his pencil, until he had neared the edge of the plank upon which he stood. At this critical moment his companion turned suddenly, and, almost frozen with horror, beheld his imminent peril. Another instant, and the enthusiast would be precipitated upon the pavement beneath. If he spoke to him it would be certain death; if he held his peace, death was equally sure. Suddenly he regained his presence of mind, and seizing a wet brush, flung it against the wall, spattering the beautiful picture with unsightly blotches of colouring. The painter flew forward, and turned upon his friend with fierce upbraidings; but, startled at his ghastly face, he listened to his recital of danger, looked shuddering over the dread space below, and with tears of gratitude blessed the hand that saved him. Just so it is with us. We sometimes get absorbed upon the pictures of our homes, and in contemplating them step backwards, unconscious of our peril; when our heavenly Father dashes out the beautiful images, to draw us into His arms of compassion and love. We had household gods, but we did not know it till they were taken away; or we were resting upon an arm of flesh, and our heavenly Friend would not that we should have the "of those who do this; therefore He dashed out the beautiful from our pictures, causing us to stand still, and remember that He is God. "curse But, dear friends, let us speak to our own hearts. Here we are, still spared. Let us praise our God, and resolve in His strength to be more alive than ever in our work; and, THEY ARE PASSED OVER JORDAN, 25 oh, let us train our tender plants that remain to us upwards, that they may shine in the life-giving rays of the Sun of Righteousness. We seem to be on the eve of sifting and momentous times. Our sons and daughters— yes, and our Sabbath-school children too—will be the men and women of those times. Let us, as mothers and teachers, train our charge to endure hardness, as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. Let us fix firmly in their young minds the simple, saving truths of the Bible, that when the battles of life are over, we, with them, may join the Captain of our salvation, and shout-victory, victory, VICTORY, on the plains of the celestial city, through the blood of the Lamb. THEY ARE PASSED OVER JORDAN. THEY are gone to rest They have gone o'er the dark deep tide, They are gone to rest Some lovely infants reached the tide, Nor grieved, nor felt a fear; One farewell smile, and they were past; They are gone to rest A lovely youth, with earnest brow, Nor mourned his shortened race. "Jesus is mine," he nobly cried, 26 THE FIRST YEAR OF THE MARRIAGE. They are gone to rest- A mother to the river's brink, Came down with kindling eye. A blood-stained cross she held and pressed, They are gone to rest- The victor's wreath, on many a brow, Of heaven's eternal rest; While palms of victory they wave, They sing of triumph o'er the With Jesus they are blest. December, 1853. grave; THE FIRST YEAR OF THE MARRIAGE. "In the beginning of your journey neglect not the favour of heaven." "You are later than usual, Henry," said the young wife, as she looked up at her beloved and good-looking husband, who had just entered his neat cottage. "Am I, Polly? Well, maybe I am; one cannot be answerable for a few minutes one way or another." Mrs. Judd looked up again at her husband, evidently surprised, and a flush passed over her cheek. "You seem a bit put out, Polly," Henry continued ; now we had better begin as we intend to go on, as the people say; so, as the anniversary of our wedding is not come round, we can form any plans we like." Plans, dear," exclaimed Polly, "I thought we had made all our arrangements for years to come, unless Providence caused us to alter them." Providence, eh! why, no, not just like that; I think I shall spend an hour or two of an evening, now and then, among some of our men; one can't, as they say, be tied-up to one's wife's apron-strings!" "Oh, dear Henry, I am sorry to hear you say this," replied the young THE FIRST YEAR OF THE MARRIAGE. 27 wife, taking up a book that lay by her side, " I thought you would have liked to finish this to me this evening; I have not even peeped into it since I sat down, though I longed to know the ending." Well, well, there is no time now for reading; 'tis too late, and I want to talk to you. In the first place, there's a present for you—a bright half-crown to put in your pocket for your own use; the great folks, I think, call a wife's own money, 'pin money;' but you can buy anything to eat, drink, or wear with it, Polly, for one does not like just to be selfish; and if I like to spend a shilling all to myself, why, you can do the same you see, and I like to see my wife a little matter smartish too, particularly if one's comrades happen to call; so you can get a new cap or ribbon." "Thank you, Henry, I do not want anything; I have plenty to last me." Well, you are to have it, and spend it as you like; and I will spend mine in a mug of porter with Sam and Charles, and get a chat about business at the same time." "Oh, dear! what has come to you, my dear Henry?" said Polly, and a tear rushed to her eye, "your wages will never allow of this, and our happiness will be at an end; who can have been persuading you to do this?" "Ah, as to that, nobody. Now let us have supper and be off, 'tis getting late." "Won't you read a chapter first in the Bible, as you are accustomed to do, Henry?" "Why, no, I don't think I will to-night. I shall go up stairs soon, and then you can read it to yourself if you like— one's mind is not always just fit to read Bibles." Silently the astonished wife prepared the supper, and saw her husband depart "up stairs." She felt like one in a dream, who has suddenly lost a beautiful vision, then awakes to a sense of overwhelming disappointment, almost amounting to agony. |