CHILDREN'S EXERCISES FOR SABBATH, DEC. 24, OR CHRISTMAS DAY
By Estella Houser
PREPARED BY ESTELLA HOUSER
Suggestive Program
I. OPENING SONG: “Hasten on, Glad Day.” (“Christ in Song,” page 448.)
II. PRAYER.
III. RESPONSIVE SCRIPTURE READING.
IV. SONG: “The Harvest Waits.” (Music, “Hymns and Tunes,” page 1063.)
V. RECITATIONS:—
“Bear the Message Onward.”
“Thoughts of a Little African Girl.”
VI. SONG BY THE CHILDREN—with motions. “Living Is Giving.” (“Christ in Song,” page 433.)
VII. RECITATIONS:—
“The Macedonian Call of the Nations.”
“We Plead for the Little Children.”
VIII. SONG: “Idolatry.” (Music, “Hymns and Tunes,” page 775.)
IX. BLACKBOARD EXERCISE:—
China’s Millions.
X. RECITATIONS:—
“The Voice of Thy Brother’s Blood.”
“The Great Commission” (by sixteen children).
Little Boy with Collection Box.
XI. COLLECTION.
XII. CLOSING SONG: “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains.” (“Hymns and Tunes,” page 1055.)
Responsive Scripture Reading
Superintendent.—For the Scripture saith, “Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed. For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him.”
School.—“For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
Supt.—“How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed?”
School.—“And how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard?”
Supt.—“And how shall they hear without a preacher?”
School.—“And how shall they preach, except they be sent?”
Supt.—“As it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!” Rom. 10:11–16.
School.—“We do not well: this day is a day of good tidings, and we hold our peace; if we tarry till the morning light,
some mischief will come upon us: now therefore come, that we may go and tell the king’s household.” 2 Kings 7:9.
Supt.—“Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.” John 4:35.
School.—“The harvest truly is great, but the laborers are few.”
Supt.—“Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth laborers into his harvest.” Luke 10:2.
School.—“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Supt.—“Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” Matt. 28:19, 20.
Song—The Harvest Waits
(Music, “Hymns and Tunes,” page 1063.)
Lo, the harvest waits for reapers!
Christian, wherefore waitest thou?
Blessed labor for the Master,
In broad fields, awaits thee now.
Christian, dost thou pray with pleading,
“Lord, into thy harvest send
Laborers to do thy bidding,
Toilers for the far-off lands”?
He who blessed the seed in sowing,
With the sunlight of his care,
Made it ready for the reaping.
Bids you to the garner bear.
Haste, O, haste! the shadows falling,
Soon the land in darkness leave;
Hasten to fulfil thy calling—
Quickly bind the golden sheaves!
He who bids thee to the reaping—
Christ—will all thy labor crown,
Till, o’er vale and mountain ringing,
“Safely gathered,” comes the song.
—Mrs. C. R. Allen.
Bear the Message Onward!
“Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” Mark 16:15.
BEAR the message onward!
Spread it far and wide;
Let the distant heathen
Know that Jesus died,—
Died, that God might justly
Vilest sins forgive,—
Died, that through his merit
Guilty men might live.
Bear the message onward!
Dare ye keep it back?
See those sin-bound millions!
Death is on their track!
Wretchedness surrounds them,
Woe succeeds to woe;
Listen, friends of Jesus!
Will you leave them so?
Bear the message onward!
Farther! farther yet!
Quickly! ere in darkness
This day’s sun shall set.
Quickly! judgment hasteneth!
Men are dying fast!
How can you, if heedless,
Meet your God at last?
Bear the message onward!
Spread it forth with power;
Let it reach fresh regions
Every passing hour.
Human souls out-value
Coronets imperated;
Pause not, till the message
Vibrates through the world.
—Rev. J. Clark.
Thoughts of a Little African Girl
I AM only a little black girl, and I live in a heathen village in Central Africa. My mother tells me I must begin early to learn to work; so she ties the baby on my back, puts a basket on my head, and I trudge after her to the field three miles away.
I have had no breakfast, for my brother ate all the mush that was left from supper; and when I tell mother I am hungry, she ties a piece of bark tight round my stomach. She says that will make me feel better; but it doesn’t.
I must not cry, though, or she will slap me, and tell me that the lions will come and eat me up. When we get to the field, mother digs up a sweet potato, and I eat that; it tastes nice, too.
AN AFRICAN VILLAGE
Baby cries, and wants mother; but she must hoe the corn, so I stand up and shake and shake my body till he falls asleep. Then mother puts him in a safe place, and tells me to pull weeds. I want to go to sleep, too. My back aches, and so do my legs; but mother says I must grow strong by working hard; then I can marry, and have a field of my own.
By and by when the sun is getting low, we leave the corn, and go into the woods and gather sticks to take home to cook our supper. I wish I was a baby, and could ride on mother’s back, but I must carry the heavy basket of wood.
When we reach the village, we find father sitting in the visiting house, smoking with a lot of men. He calls to me as we pass by, “Bring me a gourd of beer.” So mother takes off my load of wood, and puts the great gourd of beer in my hands. It is so heavy that I stagger and almost fall. Father calls out, “If you spill that beer, I will beat you.” O, how I tremble as I drop on my knees before him, while he drinks and treats his friends.
He is better-natured now, and when the gourd is handed back, he tells me to drink the thick dregs left in the bottom. I go back to our hut, and mother hands me a large clay pot, and tells me to hurry and bring water from the brook to cook our food. On the way down the hill, I pass a lot of boys, who are lying16
on the soft grass. I wish I were a boy. Boys never have to carry wood or water.
I hurry on, and fill my pot; but just as I am climbing up the steep rocks, my foot slips, and my water-pot lies broken at my feet. O, dear! O, dear! I cover my face with my hands, and wail till some one brings mother. She is very angry, and says it will cost her much corn, as it was a borrowed pot, and she must pay for it.
I flee to a deserted hut, creep into a dark corner, and cry alone. I am so tired and hungry! My head aches, and now I am burning with fever.
I keep thinking about that broken pot. Perhaps my uncle will sell me for a slave to pay the fine. O, if I could only die! Then they would cover me with lots of cloth—more than I have ever had in my life. They would send for all the relatives, who would wail for me, and shoot off gunpowder; they would dance and beat drums, and make beautiful noises all night. They would have a big feast, and then they would question my spirit as to who caused my death.
Then I would come back, and torment with fear those who have made me so unhappy. It is a dreadful thing to be a heathen girl in Africa.
The Macedonian Call of the Nations
JAPAN
Across the sea, full many a mile,
From far Japan’s sea-girded isle,
I come, O Christian friends, to plead
My country’s dire and urgent need;
Teach us to tear our idols down,
And give unto your God the crown.
CHINA
I come from China. Dark and deep
Pacific’s rolling billows sweep
’Twixt your fair land and mine, where now
Unnumbered millions blindly bow,
And prayers are poured, and vows are paid,
To gods which their own hands have made.
INDIA
I come from India’s ancient land,
Her forests, vales, and mountains grand
With idol temples are defiled;
The air is rent with mourning wild,
And suffering women live and die
In hopeless, hapless misery.
PERSIA
From Persia’s sunny vales I come.
No longer may our lips be dumb!
The days and years are fleeting by,
And we in heathen darkness die.
O, haste the bread of life to give,
That Persia, too, may eat and live!
SYRIA
From Syria’s sacred shores I come—
The land your Saviour called his own.
Yet where his holy feet once trod,
They know not of the living God!
O Christian people! heed our call;
Teach us of him who died for all.
AFRICA
From Afric’s darkened shores am I;
Hark! hear ye not that mournful cry?
There human blood is daily shed,
And living souls are as the dead.
O, haste and help to free our land
From Error’s dread, despotic hand!
MEXICO
From Mexico’s hill-girded shores
I come, a suppliant to your doors.
Haste, with the Spirit’s flaming sword;
Haste, in the name of Christ the Lord,
And help our fettered band to flee
From Rome’s dark craft and tyranny.
—Selected.
We Plead for the Little Children
We plead for the little children
Who have opened their baby eyes
A BOLIVIAN BABY
(Representing an unentered field.)
In the far-off land of darkness,
Where the shadow of death yet lies.
But not to be nurtured for heaven,
Not to be taught in the way,
Not to be watched o’er and guided,
Lest their tiny feet should stray.
Ah, no! It is idol worship Their stammering lips
Are taught;
To cruel and false gods
Only
Are their gifts and offerings brought.
And what can we children offer,
Who dwell in a Christian land?
Is there no work for the Master
In reach of each little hand?—Selected.
AN INDIAN WOMAN
Song—Idolatry: Its Misery and Remedy
(Music, “Hymns and Tunes,” page 775 or 844.)
Do you see the heathen kneeling,
Bowing to his god of stone?
Do you see how deep his feeling?
Hear, O hear his heavy moan!
Thus he sits in midnight darkness,
At the great dumb idol’s feet,
Pleading, wailing, sacrificing,
Yet his soul receives no meat.
Millions thus are vainly grasping,
Struggling on in nature’s night,
Vainly seeking, looking, longing,
For a ray of heavenly light.
Is there none in God’s great vineyard
Who will to their rescue go,
And among these thorns and briers
Will the seed of gladness sow?
Who will go and bear the message
That our blessed Saviour gave—
How he, wounded, bleeding, dying,
Gave his life their souls to save?
Can you sport while souls are dying,
Trifle precious time away?
Can you really live in comfort,
While you have a debt to pay?
Do you hear the Master crying
To his people great and small,
“Go and work in my great vineyard,
For the weeds and briers are tall”?
As this call is wide extended,
Will you answer while you may,
“Yes, O Lord, I’ll do thy bidding;
I will gather sheaves to-day”?
—F. L. Smelser.
