Review and Herald, Vol. 25, No. 23. (5/9/1865)

Review and Herald

May 9, 1865

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 9, 1865

Personal Impressions of Mr. Lincoln.

By F. B. Carpenter

BY F. B. CARPENTER.

MY DEAR MR. TILTON:

You ask me if I will not write out some incidents of my intercourse with Mr. LINCOLN, for The Independent. The absorbing interest with which everything relating to him is now read, and will be cherished, must be my excuse, if excuse is needed, for thus placing myself before the public. As you and my personal friends generally know, my relation to the late President was peculiar. Perhaps no one outside of his official family ever enjoyed such unusual opportunities for studying and knowing him. For six months of last year, I was an occupant of the White House, permitted, during the whole of this period, the freedom of his private office at almost all hours—engaged upon a work commemorating what he believed to be the greatest event of his life, and by far the most important of his administration; a work in which, as many will bear me witness, he felt and manifested the deepest interest; for the consummation and perfection of which he invited me to the White House. It is no exaggeration, then, to say, that my opportunities for seeing and knowing Mr. LINCOLN were almost unexampled.

Many friends have often urged me to write out for publication, the incidents of these, to me, memorable six months. The obvious reasons which have hitherto stood in the way of this, may be said now to exist no longer, and I hope at an early day to be able to put in permanent form, many reminiscences which would at any time, in connection with the illustrious subject, have commanded popular interest, but which will now be invested with a sacredness which belongs only to the history of the world's martyrs.

Many persons have formed their impressions of Mr. LINCOLN from the stories in circulation attributed to him, and, consequently, suppose him to have been habitually of a jocund, humorous disposition. This was a characteristic side of him, but it was merely the by-play of his nature.

I believe that it was this happy faculty of throwing off care for the moment, that kept him alive under his heavy burdens; but any true discerner of character, looking into that worn and seamed face, would have said at once, 'He is a sad, if not a melancholy man.'

It has been the business of my life, as you know, to study the human face, and I say now, as I have said repeatedly to friends, Mr. LINCOLN had the saddest face I ever painted! During some of the dark days of last spring and summer, I saw him at times when his care-worn, troubled appearance, was enough to bring tears of sympathy into the eyes of his most violent enemies. I recall particularly one day, when, having occasion to pass through the main hall of the domestic apartments, I found him all alone, pacing up and down a narrow passage, his hands behind him, his head bent forward upon his breast, heavy black rings under his eyes, showing sleepless nights—altogether such a picture of the effects of weighty cares and responsibilities as I never had seen. And yet he always had a kind word, and almost always a genial smile, and it was his way frequently to relieve himself at such times, by some harmless pleasantry. I recollect an instance told me by one of the most radical members of the last Congress. It was during the darkest days of '62. He called upon the President, early one morning, just after news of a disaster. It was a time of great anxiety if not despondency. Mr. LINCOLN commenced telling some trifling incident—which the Congressman was in no mood to hear. He rose to his feet, and said, "Mr. President, I did not come here this morning to hear stories; it is too serious a time." Instantly the smile disappeared from Mr. LINCOLN's face, who exclaimed, "A—, sit down! I respect you as an earnest, sincere man. You cannot be more anxious than I am constantly, and I say to you now, that were it not for this occasional vent, I should die!"

A large number of those whom he saw every day, came with appeals to his feelings in reference to relatives and friends in confinement, and under sentence of death. It was a constant marvel to me, that with all his other cares and duties, he could give so much time and be so patient, with this multitude. I have known him to sit for hours, patiently listening to details of domestic troubles from poor people—much of which, of course, irrelevant—carefully sifting the facts, and manifesting as much anxiety to do exactly right as in matters of the gravest interest. Poorly clad people were more likely to get a good hearing than those who came in silks and velvets. No one was ever turned away from his door because of poverty. If he erred, it was sure to be on the side of mercy. It was one of his most painful tasks to confirm a sentence of death. I recollect the case of a somewhat noted rebel prisoner, who had been condemned to death, I believe as a spy. A strong application had been made to have his sentence commuted. While this was pending, he attempted to escape from confinement, and was shot by the sentinel on guard. Although he richly deserved death, Mr. LINCOLN told Judge Holt in my presence, that "it was a great relief to him that the man took his fate into his own hands."

If the slightest occasion existed for showing clemency, he was sure to improve it.

Judge Bates, in the same conversation referred to above, said that he had often told the President that "he was hardly fit to be intrusted with the pardoning power." "Why," said the Judge, "he can scarcely turn away from the application (if it touches his feelings) of a man, and the tears of a woman are sure to overcome him!"

A touching instance of his kindness of heart occurred quite recently, and was told me incidentally by one of the servants. A poor woman from Philadelphia had been waiting, with a baby in her arms, for three days to see the President. Her husband had furnished a substitute for the army, but some time afterward was one day made intoxicated by some companions, and in this state induced to enlist. Soon after he reached the army he deserted, thinking that, as he had provided a substitute, the Government was not entitled to his services. Returning home, he was, of course, arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be shot. The sentence was to be executed on Saturday. On Monday, his wife left her home with her baby to endeavor to see the President. Said old Daniel: "She had been waiting here three days, and there was no chance for her to get in. Late in the afternoon of the third day, the President was going through the back passage to his private rooms, to get a cup of tea or take some rest." (This passage-way has lately been constructed, and shuts the person passing, entirely out of view of the occupants of the ante-room.) "On his way through he heard the little baby cry. He instantly went back to his office and rang the bell. 'Daniel,' said he, 'is there a woman with a baby in the ante-room?' I said there was, and if he would allow me to say it, I thought it was a case he ought to see; for it was a matter of life and death. Said he, 'Send her to me at once.' She went in, told her story, and the President pardoned her husband. As the woman came out from his presence, her eyes were lifted, and her lips moving in prayer, the tears streaming down her cheeks." Said Daniel: "I went up to her, and pulling her shawl, said, 'Madam, it was the baby that did it!'"

Another touching incident occurred, I believe, the same week. A woman in a faded shawl and hood, somewhat advanced in life, at length was admitted, in her turn, to the President. Her husband and three sons, all she had in the world, enlisted. Her husband had been killed, and she had come to ask the President to release to her the oldest son. Being satisfied of the truthfulness of her story, he said, "Certainly, if her prop was taken away, she was justly entitled to one of her boys." He immediately wrote an order for the discharge of the young man. The poor woman thanked him very gratefully, and went away. On reaching the army, she found that this son had been in a recent engagement, was wounded, and taken to a hospital. She found the hospital, but the boy was dead, or died while she was there. The surgeon in charge made a memorandum of the facts upon the back of the President's order, and, almost broken-hearted, the poor woman found her way again into his presence. He was much affected by her appearance and story, and said, "I know what you wish me to do now, and I shall do it without your asking: I shall release to you your second

son." Upon this, he took up his pen and commenced writing the order. While he was writing, the poor woman stood by his side, the tears running down her face, and passed her hand softly over his head, stroking his rough hair, as I have seen a fond mother do to a son. By the time he had finished writing, his own heart and eyes were full. He handed her the paper, "Now," said he, "you have one and I one of the other two left; that is no more than right." She took the paper, and reverently placing her hand again upon his head, the tears still upon her cheeks, said, "The Lord bless you Mr. President. May you live a thousand years, and may you always be the head of this great nation!"

I could multiply these instances—for they were of constant occurrence—but my limits warn me to close. No more sincere tears have fallen during the past week, than those shed by the humble and obscure in every part of the country, who had been, in various ways, in contact with that great heart. And many a poor boy—led into error, if not crime, but pardoned in his great compassion, feels to-day that in his death he has lost more than a father. Surely "THE MEMORY OF THE JUST IS BLESSED!"—N. Y. Independent.

THE foregoing facts and incidents were contributed by Mr. Carpenter to the N. Y. Independent. To these we may appropriately add the following, contributed by the same writer to the N. Y. Evening Post.

MR. LINCOLN'S FAVORITE POEM.

To the Editors of the N. Y. Evening Post.

I have been urged by several friends to send you the enclosed poem, written down by myself, from MR. LINCOLN'S lips; and although it may not be new to all of your readers, recent events give it a peculiar interest.

The circumstances under which this copy was written are these: I was with the President alone one evening in his room, during the time I was painting my large picture at the White House, last year. He presently threw aside his pen and papers, and began to talk to me of Shakespeare. He sent little "Tad," his son, to the library to bring a copy of the plays, and then read to me several of his favorite passages, showing genuine appreciation of the great poet. Relapsing into a sadder strain, he laid the book aside, and leaning back in his chair, said: "There is a poem which has been a great favorite with me for years, which was first shown to me when a young man by a friend, and which I afterward saw and cut from a newspaper, and learned by heart. I would," he continued, "give a great deal to know who wrote it, but I have never been able to ascertain." Then, half closing his eyes, he repeated to me the lines which I enclose to you. Greatly pleased and interested, I told him I would like, if ever an opportunity occurred, to write them down from his lips. He said he would some time try to give them to me. A few days afterward he asked me to accompany him to the temporary studio of Mr. Swayne, the sculptor, who was making a bust of him at the Treasury Department. While he was sitting for the bust, I was suddenly reminded of the poem, and said to him, that then would be a good time to dictate it to me. He complied, and sitting up on some books at his feet, as nearly as I can remember, I wrote the lines down, one by one, from his lips.

THE POEM.

Oh, why should the spirit of mortals be proud? Like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.

The infant a mother attended and loved; The mother that infant's affection who proved; The husband, that mother and infant who blessed, Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne; The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn; The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap; The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep; The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

So the multitude goes, like the flower of the weed That withers away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told.

For we are the same our fathers have been; We see the same sights our fathers have seen— We drink the same stream and view the same sun— And run the same course our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink; To the life we are clinging they also would cling; But it speeds from us all, like a bird on the wing.

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

They died; aye! they died: we things that are now, That walk on the turf that lies over their brow, And make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, We mingle together in sunshine and rain; And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath; From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud— Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Prayer.

By Susan Mc Intosh

How sweet to bow before our God, And seek protecting care, To thank him for his mercies past, In humble, fervent prayer.

In every season of distress, Or time of deep despair, How good to trust in Jesus' grace, And seek relief by prayer.

When blessings oft our pathway strew, And light our burdens are; We then should give to God the praise, By grateful, thankful prayer.

Be this the bright, the polar star, To guide us to the skies, Until we reach that world of bliss, Where prayer is changed to praise.

SUSAN MC INTOSH. Arlington, Wis.

Necessity is the Mother of Invention.

By R. F. Cottrell

"In the end of the Sabbath as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulcher.

"2. And, behold; there was a great earthquake; for the angel of the Lord descended from Heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.

"3 His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow.

"4. And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.

"5. And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye; for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.

"6. He is not here; for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay." Matt. xxviii, 1-6.

To meet the argument (if argument it may be called), in favor of first-day observance, from the fact of the resurrection of Christ on that day, some have asserted that he did not rise on the first, but on the seventh day, i. e., before sun-set on Saturday. To prove this, they take the first part of the text I have quoted above, claiming that the coming of the women to the sepulcher was in the end of the Sabbath, or "late in the Sabbath," and make the "dawn" of the day a little before the going down of the sun. Very well so far. But what the angel says to the women corresponds so exactly with what is recorded by the other evangelists as occurring very early in the morning, that the identity cannot be disputed. What shall be done? It will not do to give up the point that the resurrection took place on the Sabbath, and accept of those translations which render the text, "After the Sabbath" and "The Sabbath being ended," which would harmonize it with the testimony of Mark, namely, "And when the Sabbath was past," but it must be maintained that the Sabbath was not past. How shall this be done? Divide the text and find two visits to the sepulcher in it, one on the Sabbath, the other the next morning. Thus the angel descended and rolled back the stone, the earth quaked, the Saviour rose, and the keepers shook and became as dead, on the Sabbath; and the next morning this angel, or some other one "answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye," &c. This is very much like the view that the writing of Joshua on plastered stones caused Moses' face to shine forty years before, when he came down from the mount with the tables of stone in his hands.

There is no real difficulty in the text. The renderings I have referred to, which harmonize this testimony with the other witnesses, doubtless convey the true meaning. This too is in harmony with the meaning of the word, dawn, namely, "to begin to shine, to grow light, dawn."—Greenfield.

There is not the least probability that the resurrection, in connection with a great earthquake, took place while the Sabbath sun was shining, and nothing be known of it till the next morning, when the women went to the sepulchre expecting to find the Lord's body there. Unless the keepers lay as dead all night, they would have reported the matter to the chief priests before morning. But we are told that as the women left the sepulchre to tell the disciples, "some of the watch came into the city, and showed unto the chief priests all the things that were done." Verse 11. All the circumstances combine to show that the resurrection took place at the early dawn, just before the women came to the sepulcher in the morning. As soon as the watch had recovered from the shock which laid them senseless to the ground, and saw the stone at a distance from the empty sepulchre, they dispatched a part of their number to the chief priests to bear the news of these wonderful occurrences. A candid and sensible examination of the evidences can leave no doubt that the resurrection of our Saviour took place in the morning of the first day of the week, just before the women came to the sepulcher, and that the same shining angel that rolled back the stone and sat upon it, immediately proceeded to tell them the glad news, directing them to go and tell it to the sorrowing disciples.

The day of the crucifixion is another question. If the "heart of the earth" means the tomb "hewn out in the rock," as I think it does, "three days and three nights" back would make the fifth day or Thursday the crucifixion-day. The space of time included would be two whole days and two whole nights, and a part of another day and a part of another night; making the resurrection take place on "the third day," and with this view every text would harmonize. But if he was crucified on Wednesday, and lay in the tomb three times twenty-four hours, he would rise on the fourth, and not on the third day; for the moment the third day ends the fourth begins.

Why I Attend Meeting on Rainy Sabbaths.

[Bro. White: If you deem the following selections worthy of a place in the columns of the Review, I think it may do us, as a people, good. It is good to be zealous in a good cause. The 16th Reason would be a suitable one for some Sabbath-keepers to consider, who work themselves, also their teams, so that they claim that mercy to their beasts demands that they stay at home from meeting.]

Vernon, Iowa.

1. Because God has blessed the Sabbath-day, and hallowed it, making no exceptions for rainy Sabbaths.

2. Because I expect my minister to be there: I should be surprised if he were to stay at home for the weather.

3. Because, if his hands fall through weakness, I shall have great reason to blame myself, unless I sustain him in my prayers and by my presence.

4. Because, by staying away, I may lose the sermon that would have done me great good, and the prayers which bring God's blessing.

5. Because, my presence is more needed on Sabbaths when there are few, than on those days when the church is crowded.

6. Because, whatever station I hold in the church, my example must influence others; if I stay away, why may not they?

7. Because, on any important business, bad weather does not keep me at home; and church attendance is, in God's sight, very important. (See Heb. x, 25.)

8. Because, among the crowds of pleasure-seekers, I see that no bad weather keeps the delicate female from the ball, the party, or the concert.

9. Because, among other blessings, such weather will show me on what foundation my faith is built. It will prove how much I love Christ: true love rarely fails to meet an appointment.

10. Because, those who stay from church because it

is too warm, or too cold, or too rainy, frequently absent themselves on fair Sabbaths.

11. Because, though my excuses satisfy myself, they still must undergo God's scrutiny, and they must be well-grounded to bear that. (Luke xiv, 18.)

12. Because, there is a special promise, that where two or three meet together in God's name, he will be in the midst of them.

13. Because an avoidable absence from church is an infallible evidence of spiritual decay. Disciples first follow Christ at a distance, and then like Peter, do not know him.

14. Because, my faith is to be known by my self-denying Christian life, and not by the rise or fall of the thermometer.

15. Because, such yielding to surmountable difficulties prepares for yielding to those merely imaginary, until thousands never enter a church, and yet think they have good reasons for such neglect.

16. Because, by a suitable arrangement on the previous day, I shall be able to attend church without exhaustion; otherwise my late work will be as great a sin as though I worked on the Sabbath itself.

17. Because, I know not how many more Sabbaths God may give me; and it would be a poor preparation for my first Sabbath in Heaven, to have slighted my last Sabbath on earth.

Music and Health.

We would have music generally taught, as it promotes health. It is one of the best remedies for weakness in the chest. It exerts a most favorable influence on delicate constitutions, by imparting vigor to the organs connected with the lungs. Consumption in its earlier stages has thus been cured. Dr. Comstock, the author, was once a consumptive and given up to die. The practice of music, joined with elocutionary exercises, was recommended by a physician. He followed the novel prescription, and reaching the secret springs of health, was restored to be useful to mankind.

PROTECTION AGAINST CERTAIN DISEASES.

The German children are proverbially healthy, and one of the causes must be sought in their musical education. All their children are taught in an art as simple as childhood itself. It was once thought that singing at a tender age injured the health by causing the spitting of blood, and led to other pulmonary complaints; but the German Government made the most rigid inquiry, and proved its falsity.

The practice expands the lungs and increases vitality; it strengthens the organs of speech, and banishes pulmonary and bronchial affections. It does still more for children. The organs are disciplined to a healthy power; nay, fortified against the assaults of fatal diseases. Bearing this shield, we need not fear a whole brigade of consumptive ghosts, nor quail in a pitched battle against that dark-visaged foe—Diptheria.

HOW THE OBJECT IS SECURED.

Art teaches us how to manage the voice for the double purpose of health and melody. The lungs should be filled without violence, if health is the object, for the lungs of consumptives are collapsed; inflation enlarges the compass, admitting more air, and with it more oxygen. Where the lungs are contracted, or the chest is weak, Dr. Fitch recommends expansion by throwing the arms backward and forward, and slowly filling the lungs in the open air. You are aware that in musical practice, the lungs are to be kept full by replenishing between the different sounds. The air-cells thus filled, I repeat, vitalizes the blood, and sends the messenger of health through the voice.

The practice of vocal and instrumental music and elocution, all have the same result. So has also exercise in the open air, which gives English ladies their robust health. American ladies wear paler faces, and are shorter lived.

I have not the least doubt that the practice of music in our common schools would add to the health and happiness of the nation.—Sel.

Good is the Lord.

By A. M. A. Cornell

Bro. White: I esteem it a privilege to acknowledge through the Review the great goodness of the Lord toward me in my late afflictions; and to express my deep gratitude for the words of sympathy and comfort received from many of God's dear people. It is my firm conviction that my life has been spared in answer to the fervent prayers of faithful brethren and sisters. I feel humbled under a sense of my own unworthiness and of the loving kindness of the Lord, and trust that my afflictions have been for my profit, that I may be drawn nearer to the Lord, and feel more closely united than ever before with his people.

I feel like giving myself anew to the Lord, and devoting the life he has so mercifully lengthened out, to his service. When I review the events of the past few months, I feel to exclaim, Good is the Lord and greatly to be praised.

I have found sympathizing hearts and willing hands to minister to my necessities. May the Lord, who has promised a blessing to those who give even a cup of water, abundantly reward them all.

I feel that I have strong incentives to faithfulness in the cause of God, and by his grace I hope to be numbered with the redeemed when they shall come to Zion with singing and everlasting joy upon their heads.

“Affliction, and sorrow, and death will be o'er; The saints then unite to be parted no more; Their loud hallelujahs fill Heaven's high dome; They dwell with the Saviour, forever at home.” A. M. A. Cornell. Portland, Me., March 10, 1865.

Pity.

By Susan McIntosh

"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." Ps. ciii, 13.

How consoling is this promise to those who are striving to love and serve God! How cheering to know that although they may be surrounded by temptations, without any earthly friend to sympathize with them, there is One who ever looks in pity and compassion upon them, and imparts unto them strength to endure.

In the same manner does our kind heavenly Father deal with us, as an earthly parent deals with his child. He does not remove temptations out of our way, so that we shall have nothing to contend against; but he imparts to us grace and strength to overcome the obstacles that come in our way, for in every temptation he has promised to make a way of escape.

A child has perhaps done wrong. He may have disobeyed his father's command, and thereby incurred his displeasure. But on reflection, he feels sorry for his disobedience, and goes to his father, confesses his fault, and asks his forgiveness. Will the father answer him harshly, and refuse his request? Oh, no! He pities his erring child, even though he disobeyed his command a short time previous; and when he sees he is truly sorry for what he has done, he freely forgives him, and takes him back to his love and confidence once more.

How consoling, then, should be this promise of the Lord to all the tempted and tried; to think that he condescends to notice the trials that daily beset our pathway, and ever looks with pity and compassion upon us. Should not this lead us to trust him more fully day by day?

Susan McIntosh.

Arlington, Wis.

Love.

HUMBLE love becomes all things (but sin) to all men, although it delights most in those who are most holy. We may, and ought to set our love of peculiar complaisance upon God's dearest children, upon those who excel in virtue; because they more strongly reflect the image of the God of love, the Holy One of Israel. Where the loving Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. In a multitude of words there wanteth not sin, he therefore slow to speak, nor cast your pearls before those who cannot distinguish them from pebbles. Nevertheless, when you are solemnly called upon to bear testimony to the truth, and to say what great things God has done for you, it would be cowardice, or false prudence, not to do it with humility.

Be, then, always ready to give an answer to every one who properly asketh you, a reason of the hope that is in you, with meekness and with fear, with a reverential awe of God upon your minds. They that love God perfectly, are burning and shining lights, and our Lord intimates, that as a candle is not lighted to be put under a bushel, but upon a candlestick, that it may give light to all the house, so God does not light the candle of love to hide it in a corner, but to give light to all those who are within the reach of its brightness. If diamonds glitter, if stars shine, if flowers display their colors, and perfumes diffuse their fragrance, to the honor of the Father of lights and Author of every good gift; if, without self-seeking, they disclose his glory to the utmost of their power, why should we not go and do likewise? Love can never do or suffer too much for its divine Object. Let us, then, be ambitious, like St. Paul, to overcome through sufferings, if need be.

“I love the Lord; he heard my cries, And pitied every groan; Long as I live, when troubles rise, I'll hasten to his throne.

How Knox and Luther Prayed.

DURING the troublous times of Scotland, when the popish court and aristocracy were arming themselves to suppress the Reformation in that land, and the cause of Protestant Christianity was in imminent peril, late on a certain night, John Knox was seen to leave his study, and to pass from the house down into an enclosure to the rear of it. He was followed by a friend; when, after a few moments of silence, his voice was heard as if in prayer. In another moment, the accents deepened into intelligible words, and the earnest petition went up from his struggling soul to Heaven, "O Lord, give me Scotland, or I die!" Then a pause of hushed stillness, when again the petition broke forth, "O Lord, give me Scotland, or I die!" Once more all was voiceless and noiseless, when with a yet more intense pathos, the thrice-repeated intercession struggled forth, "O Lord, give me Scotland or I die!" And God gave him Scotland, in spite of Mary and her Cardinal Beaton; a land and a Church of noble Christian loyalty to Christ and his crown. How could it be otherwise?

So Luther when Germany and the Reformation seemed to be lost, and human help was none; this was the prayer which that second Moses went and laid down at the foot of the eternal throne: "O God, Almighty God, everlasting! how dreadful is this world! behold how its mouth opens to swallow me up, and how small is my faith in thee! If I am to depend upon any strength of the world, all is over. The knell is struck. Sentence is gone forth. O God! O God! O thou my God! help me against all the wisdom of the world. Thou shouldst do this. The work is not mine, but thine. I have no business here. The cause is thine, and it is righteous and everlasting. O Lord, help me. O faithful and unchangeable God! I lean not on man. My God, my God, dost thou not hear? My God art thou no longer living? Nay, thou canst not die. Thou dost not hide thyself. Thou hast chosen me for this work. I know it. Therefore, O God, accomplish thine own will. Forsake me not for the sake of thy well-beloved Son, Jesus Christ, my defence, my buckler, and my stronghold."

But he had not done. Once more the tide of emotion and importunity burst forth, "Lord where art thou? My God, where art thou? Come, I pray thee; I am ready. Behold me prepared to lay down my life for thy truth. For the cause is holy. It is thine own. I will not let thee go; no, nor yet for all eternity! My soul is thine. Yes, I have thine own word to assure me of it. My soul belongs to thee, and will abide with thee forever. Amen! O God, send help! Amen!"

The history of the salvation and sanctification of human souls hitherto, is the history of such praying as this, in spirit, if not in these or any uttered words. Such holy earnestness and familiarity never offends the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who through him is the God of all grace and consolation.—Family Treasury.

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