WELL done,' smiled Brother Eldred. 'Now, Mr. Field, suppose you name some of the most wonderful miracles which Christ performed during His earth-life,—I mean those which for some reason most appeal to you.'
Mr. Field paused a moment before he answered, and finally replied, hesitatingly:
'Well, Mr. Eldred, the fact is, the Bible is a very large Book; and as I did not give it any study during my childhood and youth, I find it quite hard to remember the stories now. Perhaps Mrs. Field will answer,' and Mr. Field turned appealingly to his wife.
'I think the miracle of the stilling of the tempest one of the most wonderful of the Christ-life, and the healing of the leper one of the most beautiful,' replied Mrs. Field.
'Tom, will you tell us what writers in the Bible give an account of the stilling of the tempest?'
'I believe Matthew, Mark, and Luke all tell the story, but I like best to read the account given in Mark 4: 35-41, because it seems to be a little more complete.'
'Blanche has a recitation, father, don't you think we would enjoy hearing it? She told me it was entitled, 'Stilling the Tempest,'—directly upon the subject, you see.' Brother Eldred smiled and nodded, and Miss Blanche proceeded:
'All day the Saviour sat beside the sea,
And taught the multitudes that gathered there,
Till evening came and spread o'er Galilee
The wing of darkness on the silent air.
'He bade the throng depart and seek their rest,
While He retired upon the fragile bark;
And floating o'er the water's glassy breast,
He sought repose while night reigned lone and dark.
'All's well,' the sailor cried, as o'er the sea
The evening zephyr floated sweet and mild;
And on the ship sped, joyously and free,
As light and buoyant as a happy child.
'And Jesus slept! O blessed, hallowed sleep,
To soothe the burden of His royal heart;
And loving angels gathered there to keep
Sweet watch, and bid the weariness depart.
'But hark! a fearful sound breaks on the ship;
A tempest sweeps full-armed across the sea;
And pale and trembling is the sailor's lip,
As rise the billows wild on Galilee.
'The sails are torn, the masts sway to and fro,
The cordage shrieks amid the howling storm,
The waters burst and fill the hold below,
And awful fear convulses every form.
'He sleeps, in peace the weary Saviour sleeps,
For storm and calm are both alike to Him;
Alike the mountains firm or surging deeps,
The light of day or shadows damp and dim.
'Now deeper thunders roll and lightnings flash,
And torrents flood the trembling vessel's deck;
While one wild billow sweeps with awful crash,
And threatens all the ship an instant wreck.
'They wake the Master now, and cry, 'O save,
We perish, Lord! we perish, hear, O hear!
Let not the billows be our lonely grave;
O shelter us, O save us in our fear.'
'Then He arose, and spake unto the sea,
'Peace! be thou still; and cease, O wind.'
The storm recoils, his legions turn and flee,
And leave the waters calm and still behind.
'Again the stars look down with golden gleam,
And Jesus' name was praised upon the sea;
And soft and lovely as an angel's dream,
We love this nightly tale of Galilee.'
'Very well, Blanche,' said Brother Eldred; 'now, will Mr. Allan please name some of those miracles of our blessed Lord which to him seem the most wonderful?'
'It seems to me that changing a man's heart and making him all over again, as He did the man sick of the palsy, is the greatest thing of which I am able to conceive. Where is the story, Mr. Eldred? I read it yesterday, but have forgotten. I wish you'd read the verse which says that the man's sins are forgiven;' and Mr. Allan's voice trembled.
Brother Eldred quickly turned to Mark 2: 5, and read:
'When Jesus saw their faith, He said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.'
'Praise the Lord,' said Sister Eldred, while Mr. Allan only bowed his head and murmured an earnest 'Amen.'
'Tillie, which one of Christ's miracles do you most enjoy reading?' asked Mrs. Field?
'I love to read about the raising of Jairus' daughter. I will repeat the beautiful story as I have learned it in verse:'
She lay on her snowy pillow,
So silent and pale and cold,
And the summer sunshine flickered down
And fell on her curls of gold,
Till it seemed that a glorious halo
Had circled the dainty head,
And the heart of love could scarce believe
That the little maid was dead.
Jairus stood by the Master,
Trembling and sad and mute,
For he heard the sound of the mourner's wail
And the dirge of the solemn flute.
'O why this sound and tumult,'
The pitying Master said,
'Why weep ye thus for the maid who sleeps,
As ye weep for the silent dead?'
Then He spake to His three disciples—
To Peter and James and John—
And the parents, sad, of the little maid,
And they silently followed on
Till they stood by the quiet bedside
Where the waxen figure lay,
And they heard in the hush of the silent room
The great Physician say,
'Talitha Cumi—Maiden,
I say unto thee, Arise!'
And the flickering breath of the child returned,
And she opened her dreamy eyes.
There's a hush, like the calm that cometh
In the solemn hour of night,
And a flush like the glow of morning fair
O'erspreadeth her brow so white.
There's a sigh like the gentle zephyr
At the summer evening's close;
The thrill of a hand-clasp, strong and sweet,
And the little maid arose!
O the love of the great Physician—
The love that is strong to save!
I will trust in the Arm that is mightier far
Than the chains of the dusty grave.