PILGRIMS AND STRANGERS.
By Dwight L. Moody
A PARTY of Americans, a few years ago, on their way from London to Liverpool, decided that they would stop at the North-Western Hotel; but when they arrived they found the place had been full for several days. Greatly disappointed, they took up their baggage and were about starting off, when they noticed a lady of the party preparing to remain. "Are you not going, too?" they asked. "Oh, no," she said, "I have good rooms already." "Why, how does that happen?" "Oh," she said, "I just telegraphed on ahead, a few days ago." Now that is what the children of God are doing; they are sending their names on ahead; they are securing places in the mansions of Christ in time. If we are truly children of God our names have gone on before, and there will be places awaiting us at the end of the journey. You know we are only travelers down here. We are away from home. When the war was going on, the soldiers on the battle-field, the Southern soldiers and the Northern soldiers, wanted nothing better to live in than tents. They longed for the war to close, that they might go home. They cared nothing to have palaces and mansions on the battle-field. Well, there is a terrible battle going on now, and by and by when the war is over God will call us home. The tents and altars are good enough for us while journeying through this world. It is only a night, and then the eternal day will dawn.—Moody.