THE CHRISTIAN TRAVELERS.
By L. C. HUTCHINS.
Two Christian travelers once were foes, who should have been united,
Instead of doing loving deeds, they quarreled, and they slighted.
They drove their minister away; their mutual anger nursing,
So, left without the means of grace, they joined to spread the cursing.
The darlings of the household, grew, maturing by their side,
And sons to holy altar led, prayerless, the blushing bride.
And oh! beneath the lowly sod, full many a dear one slept,
The house of God was desolate, his Sabbaths all unkept. One of these Christian travelers, while at his work one day,
Kept thinking how like wandering sheep his brethren went astray,
And how the little lambs he loved, by ravening wolf were torn.
The narrow way seemed all untrod, the broad one sadly worn.
He thought, too, of his own wrong course. At last he turned within,
“Alas!” said he, “the fault is mine, and mine has been the sin.
A fearful load is on me laid, I’ll go and tell my brother.
The sin indeed belongs to me, and not to any other.” And so he left his work, and went, all weeping on the way,
Nor dared to lift to heaven his eyes—he had a vow to pay.
He found his brother, too, at work, by worldly cares surrounded,
And told him how the cause of God, by friendly hands was wounded.
Said he, “Indeed the fault is mine, I do not blame another,
I’ve injured oft your feelings too, forgive me, O my brother.” His brother straightened from his toil, his head was lifted high,
“Ah, well,” said he, “I will forgive,” while scorning filled his eye.
“Of course I will forgive. I’m glad you know your sin and guile.
’Tis as you say, the fault is yours. I knew it all the while.” The penitent, low bowed his head and knelt with bitter weeping,
Asking our Father to forgive, gave all into his keeping.
Then weeping still, he turned away, returning to his labor.
He prayed God’s blessing on this stern and unrelenting neighbor. The lofty man soliloquized, “My words were not well chosen.
Full oft, indeed, in bitter words, there lieth much of poison.
Alas, methinks a kindlier mien, had honored more my Master.
And, pouring oil upon a wound, doth heal it oft the faster.” And as he thought upon the wrong, he saw his own misdoing.
He saw his sins, the work was deep, for ’twas the Spirit’s showing.
He left his task, for now to him, eternal things were nearest.
His sorrowing brother seemed to him, of all men known, the dearest.
And weeping now became his turn, with tearful eye he sought him,
And told him of the heavy load, in penitence, that brought him. Said he, “I’ve nothing to forgive, for mine has been the sinning.
And O my brother, pardon me, the ending, and beginning.
They mingled tears, those penitents, each his own sins bemoaning,
And prayed they might be washed away, Christ’s blood alone atoning.
When Zaccheus-like they had confessed, while each to each restoring,
There came upon the people round, the Spirit’s blest outpouring. The church was filled with listening souls, God’s word was duly spoken,
And humble ones there were, who sought to keep his day unbroken.
Young children too, there were, who sought to walk the way that’s holy,
And lisped their praise to David’s Son, the blessed and the lowly.
And so it is, God blesses still the pure and lowly-minded,
While him who will not brook reproof, he leaveth to be blinded. L. C. HUTCHINS.
Ganges, Mich.