The Deaf Shoemaker
The Deaf ShoemakerJOHN McDONOUGH.MARY AND HER DRAWER;OR, NOTHING MADE BY GETTING ANGRY.AGAINST YIELDING TO TEMPTATION.“IT IS I!”THE ORPHAN.THE RECORDING ANGEL.THOMAS WARD; OR, THE BOY WHO WAS ASHAMED TO PRAY.THE ROSE.THE LANTERN.THE DECISIVE MOMENT.THE ALARM WATCH.“CONDEMNED.”“I WANT TO BE A MINISTER.”RUFUS TAYLOR.GERTRUDE MASON.THE DEAF SHOEMAKER.NORMAN HALL;OR, THE BOY AND THE ROCK.“DELAY NOT.”THE SAVIOUR.AUTUMN.NERO; OR, CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.THE RAILROAD.A TRUE SKETCH“THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON.”HUGH MILLER AND THE PRECIPICE.THE HOME OF ST. PAUL.HOME.TO MY SABBATH-SCHOOL CLASS.HALF AN HOUR IN BAD COMPANY.THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAR.THE YOUNG MAN WHO WENT TO SLEEP IN CHURCH.MARGARET WILSON.GILBERT HUNT.SKETCHES FOR YOUNG MEN.SKETCHES FOR YOUNG MEN.THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN.No. 1.THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN.No. 2.THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN.No. 3.“WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?”No. 1.“WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?”No. 2.“WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?”No. 3.THE POOR CONSUMPTIVE.“WHAT I LIVE FOR.”THE LAST SERMON OF THE SEASON.“WILL NOBODY SAVE ME?”A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY.THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN’S DEATH-CHAMBER.WHAT PRAYER DOES.“PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.”APPENDIX.Copyright
The Deaf Shoemaker
Philip Barrett
JOHN McDONOUGH.
“Jesus, lover of my soul,Let me to Thy bosom fly,While the raging billows roll,While the tempest still is high.
“Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,Till the storm of life is pastSafe into the haven guide;O receive my soul at last.”
“John McDonough! who ishe?” my young reader will doubtless exclaim.It is true, his name is not written in golden letters on the
pages of History,—no Senate chamber has resounded with his
eloquence,—the conqueror’s wreath has never encircled his brow; but
John McDonough has performed a deed which posterity, to the
remotest generation, can never forget.But a few weeks since, the steamer Northern Indiana was
burned on one of the Northern lakes, and then and there it was,
that this noble and gallant deed was performed.You who have never seen a ship on fire can form no idea of
the awful horror of such a scene. All was wild excitement and mad
confusion. The flames spread like a whirlwind over the noble ship,
and soon wrapt it in their withering embrace. Every heart was
lifted to God in prayer; every voice was joined in supplication;
mothers were clasping their infants to their bosoms; husbands
endeavoring to save their wives; fathers encircling their sons in
their strong and unfailing arms; the waters were a mass of living,
immortal beings, struggling for life.Amid the hissing of the flames, the pale glare of the
atmosphere, and the wild shrieks of hopeless agony that arose from
the sinking passengers, John McDonough might have been seen, calm
and composed, struggling nobly with the swelling waves, and bearing
in one handlife-preserversto
the perishing souls scattered over the surface of the lake, which,
to many, was destined soon to be the winding-sheet of
Death.How noble the action! How my heart swells within me when I
think of the gallant and fearless conduct of such a
man!When despair clothed every brow, fear paled every cheek, and
the wild cry—“Save, Lord, or I perish”—echoed in the ears of the
drowning, his lofty brow showed no signs of fear, his eye beamed
with hope. He still struggled on, and on, till many and many a soul
was rescued from a watery grave.I had rather be the brave, the dauntless, the
self-sacrificing John McDonough—the humble laborer on the ill-fated
Northern Indiana—than Alexander the Great weeping because there
were no other worlds for him to conquer.God bless thee, noble John McDonough!Though no eulogy be pronounced at thy death, no booming
cannon thunder over thy grave, no proud monument mark thy
resting-place, yet there will be erected in the hearts of thy
countrymen a monument more lasting than marble, more enduring than
brass. May thy name live forever!My young friends, do you not also see, concealed as it were
by the terrible grandeur and painful horror of the scene, a
beautiful and important truth displayed in the conduct of this
noble-hearted man?We are all embarked in a ship. The destination of that ship
isEternity. The voyage is
tempestuous, and when we least expect it, the fires of hell may
take hold upon us. But, thanks be to God, there is a Great
Life-preserver always at hand. That Life-preserver I now extend to
you: reject it if you dare; destruction is the consequence. Accept
it; and you will soon be landed on the blissful shores of Heaven.
That Life-preserver is CHRIST.CHRIST THE ROCK OF AGES.
“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,Let me hide myself in Thee;Let the water and the blood,From Thy wounded side which flowed,Be of sin the double cure;Cleanse me from its guilt and power.
“Not the labor of my handsCan fulfil the law’s demands;Could my zeal no respite know,Could my tears forever flow,All for sin could not atone,Thou must save, and Thou alone.
“Nothing in my hand I bring,Simply to Thy cross I cling;Naked, come to Thee for dress;Helpless, look to Thee for grace;Vile, I to the Fountain fly,Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
“While I draw this fleeting breath,When my heart-strings break in death,When I soar to worlds unknown,See Thee on Thy judgment throne,—Rock of Ages, cleft for me,Let me hide myself in Thee.”
MARY AND HER DRAWER;OR, NOTHING MADE BY GETTING ANGRY.
I cannot curb my temper,I might as well have triedTo stop, with little pebbles,A river’s rapid tide.My good resolves I hardly form,When trifles raise an angry storm.Child’s Christian Year.The church bells were sending forth their merry chimes, and
hundreds of children were wending their way to the Sabbath-school.
Mary was late that morning, and ran very quickly to her drawer, in
which were kept her gloves, hymn-book, catechism, &c., and
endeavored to jerk it open at once; but in so doing she got it
crooked, and it would move neither way.Being in a great hurry, she began at once to fret and blame
the drawer for not coming out. She soon became quite angry; her
check flushed, her eyes sparkled, and with a violent effort she
pulled the drawer out, emptied its contents on the floor, tore her
dress, disfigured her hymn-book, and almost ruined the drawer
itself.Her father was patiently waiting in the hall for his little
daughter, when the accident occurred, and asked her what was the
matter. Her instant reply was, “Nothing, Father; you go on—I will
overtake you presently.”Little Mary did not overtake her father, and he looked in
vain for her at the Sabbath-school.Her dress was so badly torn that she could not go to
Sabbath-school, and with tears flowing down her cheeks, she sat
down and thought soberly over her conduct.She doubtless felt very sorry for her anger, and the
unnecessary damage she had done.No one, when the family returned from church, said a word to
her, but left her to her own reflections. When her father had taken
off his hat and seated himself, she modestly approached him, threw
her arms around his neck, and said,—
“Father, do you know why your little Mary was absent from
Sabbath-school this morning?”
“No, my child,” he replied.
“I was in a very great hurry, and attempted to pull my drawer
out very quickly, and got it fastened so tightly that it would move
neither one way nor the other. I tried and tried, but it would not
move. I then got angry with the drawer, pulled it very hard, and
not only scattered its contents over the floor, but hung the knob
in my dress and tore it so badly that I could not come to the
Sabbath-school.”Her father told her he willingly forgave her, and that she
must also ask God’s forgiveness, for she had committed a sin in
giving way to her anger. He also told her to remember that nothing
was ever made by getting angry. If she ever tried to do anything,
and could not do it at once, she must not get angry, but be patient
and calm.I hope this little thing taught Mary an important lesson—and
may it teach you the same, dear little reader.Nothing was ever made by getting angry, but something
always lost.
AGAINST YIELDING TO TEMPTATION.
My love, you have met with a trial to-day
Which I hoped to have seen you oppose;
But alas, in a moment your temper gave way,
And the pride of your bosom arose.
I saw the temptation, and trembled for fear
Your good resolutions should fall;
And soon, by your eye and your color, my dear,
I found you had broken them all.
Oh, why did you suffer this troublesome sin
To rise in your bosom again?
And when you perceived it already within,
Oh, why did you let it remain?
As soon as temptation is put in your way,
And passion is ready to start,
’Tis then you must try to subdue it, and pray
For courage to bid it depart.
But now you can only with sorrow implore
That Jesus would pardon your sin,
Would help you to watch for your enemy more,
And put a new temper within.
Jane Taylor.
“IT IS I!”
“Claim me, Shepherd, as Thine own,Oh, protect me, Thou alone!Let me hear Thy gracious voice,Make my fainting heart rejoice.”There was once a great storm on the Sea of
Galilee.The wild winds howled, and the furious waves rose almost
mountain high.There was a small vessel in the midst of this storm, and in
this vessel were some of Christ’s disciples.When the storm had reached its utmost fury, and certain
destruction seemed to await those who were in it, a man was seen
walking on the water towards the vessel.The disciples were at once struck with wonder and amazement.
They were doubtless somewhat superstitious, and supposed it to be a
spirit; for they were well aware that nothing having flesh and
blood like themselves could walk on the surface of the water
without sinking.But whose familiar voice is that, heard even above the roar
of the sea, and the noise of the winds? Who is He that dares
approach their vessel on such a night?The voice is the voice of their Saviour; and He who dreads
not the rage of the billows, is He whom “the winds and the sea
obey.” What are His words? They are few and well chosen—such as
were best suited to the occasion: “It is I; be not afraid!” Oh, how
welcome the visitor! How delightful that familiar voice! How the
downcast hearts of the disciples throb with joy when they welcome
their Saviour to their bosoms! How their hearts gush forth in
thanks when they see the raging billows become, at His command, as
gentle as a lamb, and the furious winds as innocent as a little
child.Children, do not we gather some important truths from this
Scripture narrative? In the storms of adversity and sadness,
affliction and bereavement, ought we not hear Christ saying to us,
“It is I; be not afraid?”CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.The beating rain in torrents fell,The thunder muttered loud,And fearful men with deep grief dwellBefore their Saviour bowed.The billows lashed the rock-bound shore,The howling winds roared by,While feeble cries rose on the gale,
“Christ, save us, or we die.”Upon a bed of sweet reposeOur blessed Saviour lay,While round Him played the lightning’s flashFrom out a frowning sky.And feeble cries of grief and woeWere heard around His bed,—
“Oh! Jesus, wake—we perish now,Our courage all has fled.”The lightnings flashed, the thunder roared,The foaming waves rolled by,And Jesus calmly rose and said,
“Fear ye not; it is I.”Loud roared the winds in wailing notes,The night was cold and chill,And to the raging storm He said,
“Hush, ye winds; peace, be still.”The winds were stilled, the sea was calm,The clouds soon passed away,And sunny skies, with golden gleams,Beamed on the face of day.
“What man is this,” the seamen cry,
“That e’en the sea ’ll obey?He only whispered, ‘Peace, be still,’And darkness passed away.”Western Recorder.
THE ORPHAN.
“An orphan in the cold wide world,Dear Lord, I come to Thee:Thou, Father of the fatherless,My Friend and Father be!”
“Cold is the world without a father’s arm to shield, and a
mother’s heart to love. The sun shines but dimly on the head of the
orphan, for sorrow claims such as its own, and no earthly power can
release from its embrace. When a father dies, and she who ‘loves
with a deep, strong, fervent love,’ is laid in the grave, then is
the brightness of earthly existence extinguished.”Children, how accurately do the above lines describe the
lonely and forsaken condition of the orphan!Have you never felt your little hearts throb with sorrow when
you saw the children of the Orphan Asylum walk quietly down the
aisle of the church and seat themselves in regular order in the
front pews? Did not their plain dress speak to you in language
which you were obliged to hear? Did not the prayer arise from your
breasts, that God would be a Father to the fatherless, that He
would watch over, guide and protect, throughout the journey of
life, that helpless little band of fatherless and motherless
children?How lonely must their condition be. No father to counsel, no
mother to love, no home beneath whose shelter they may rest, but
dependent upon the cold charities of a colder world.He who would treat unkindly, or wound the feelings ofan orphan, is worse than the brute of
the field.My young orphan friends, there is but one source to which I
can direct you; there is but one friend who will never desert you;
there is but one house whose door will never be closed against
you.That source is God; that friend is Christ; that house is one
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. God will counsel you;
upon the bosom of Christ you may “lean for repose;” and the angels
of heaven will ever welcome you to their blest abode.The kind father and the loving mother, from whom you have
been separated by death, you shall meet again, if you are
Christians.And to you, dear little readers, who know not the length and
breadth and depth of a Saviour’s love, let me say one word: There
is no orphanage like that of the soul which leans not upon Christ
as its Saviour and Redeemer.LAMENT OF AN ORPHAN.
“Homeless, friendless, for many yearsI’ve wandered far and wide,With none to wipe away my tears,And none to be my guide.
“No gentle word to soothe my grief,Words so harshly spoken;No tender hand to give relief,And now my heart is broken.
“I sigh to think in former days,When by my mother’s sideI watched the sun’s last golden raysAs they sank at eventide.
“Oft I’ve played beside the brook,My brother’s hand in hand,As each did seek his favor’d nook,Then we’re a merry band.
“I have no friends—my mother’s gone,She is far, far away;I sit beside her lowly stone,And sing my plaintive lay.
“I pray that God will take me homeTo that bright world above;There we shall meet to part no more,In that heaven of love.
“Death has marked me for its own,And I no more shall rove;God has called the orphan childTo praise with Him above.
“Can you hear my prayer, Mother,In yonder region bright?I’m coming to you now, Mother,Earth’s but a dismal night.”
THE RECORDING ANGEL.
“Among the deepest shades of night
Can there be one who sees my way?
Yes, God is as a shining light
That turns the darkness into day.”
We are told, that during the trial of Bishop Cranmer, in
England, he heard, as he was making his defence before the judges,
the scratching of a pen behind a screen. The thought at once arose
in his mind that they were taking down every word he uttered. “I
should be very careful,” thought he to himself, “what I say; for
the whole of this will be handed down to posterity, and exert an
untold influence for good or for evil.”
Do you know, my young friends, that there is a Recording
Angel in heaven that takes down not only every wicked word you
utter, but the very thoughts of your minds and desires of your
hearts?
Remember, that though your actions are not all seen by men,
nor your thoughts known to your companions, yet every action,
thought and word is carefully recorded in the Book of God’s
Remembrance.
How chaste, then, should be your conversation, how guarded
your conduct, how pure your every wish!
At the day of judgment, how full will the pages of that book
be of your unkind treatment of some poor, forsaken little wanderer;
of your revengeful feelings towards your schoolmate for his little
acts of childish thoughtlessness!
But is there not some way to blot out these dark sins from
the Book of God’s Remembrance? Yes, there is. Christ hasdied, that you mightlive. He assures you that though your
sins are “as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they
be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”
THE EVER-PRESENT GOD.
“In all my vast concerns with Thee,
In vain my soul would try
To shun Thy presence, Lord, or flee
The notice of Thine eye.
“Thy all-surrounding sight surveys
My rising and my rest,
My public walks, my private ways,
And secrets of my breast.
“My thoughts lie open to the Lord
Before they’re formed within;
And ere my lips pronounce the word,
He knows the sense I mean.”
THOMAS WARD; OR, THE BOY WHO WAS ASHAMED TO PRAY.
“Come, my soul, thy suit prepare,
Jesus loves to answer prayer;
He Himself has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.”
Early one morning, in the month of September, 184–, Mr.
Ward’s family were assembled around the family altar for prayer, to
implore the blessing and protection of our Heavenly Father in
behalf of their only boy, who was about leaving his home for a
distant school.
Thomas, a boy of about twelve summers, was deeply affected by
the solemn services, and as he arose from his knees his eyes were
filled with tears, thinking, perhaps, that he might never be
permitted to enjoy that delightful privilege again. His father
prayed particularly that God would take care of his boy during his
absence from his parents; that He would preserve him from all
dangers; that He would be near him in all his temptations; and, if
they should not meet again on earth, that they might all—father,
mother and son—meet where the “wicked cease from troubling, and the
weary are at rest.” He endeavored to impress upon his mind the
necessity of prayer, and that he should never neglect it, under any
circumstances.Don’t be ashamed to pray, my
son, said his father.
The ringing of the car-bell announced that in a short time he
must be off. The most trying point had now come,—he must bid his
parents farewell. Clasping his arms around his mother’s neck, he
said: “Oh, my Mother, my Mother, shall I ever see you again?” and
with a kiss to each, bade his affectionate parents adieu, and,
valise in hand, walked hastily to the dépôt.
