Philip Barrett
The Deaf Shoemaker
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Table of contents
JOHN 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.
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 is
he?” 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 hand
life-preservers to
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 is
Eternity. 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 of
an 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 has
died, that you
might live.
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;
