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I from thee would know the reason,
For he died lest you should perish. 56
THE MISSIONARIES. There is a kind of sacred charm in the very sound of the word “Missionary.” We are glad it is so, for we wish the Young to love and support this holy cause whilst they are boys and girls, and then when they become men and women, they will love and support it more and
Why should we love and support it ? Because it is the greatest work and the best work in the world. Inventing machinery—making railroads—and a thousand other things are all very good in their places, but they are not worth naming when compared with going to teach the poor dark, barbarous heathen the knowledge of the great God, and the love of Jesus Christ whom he has sent to save us.
See the Missionary leaving England and all his friends and comforts, He goes to the naked African roaming over his hills and vallies like the wild beasts around him. He collects a few of these scattered savages. He tells them wonderful things! They knew not God-had not heard of his word-never kept a sabbathnever saw a book-knew nothing of the world in which they lived-and as they were, their fathers had been for ages.
See them again, taught by the missionary they have built houses, and they have clothing, and books, and schools, and they meet on the sabbath for worship and prayer Is not this a great work then, to turn the savage into a man, the barbarian into a Christian! The missionaries are doing this great work. Help them. You may help them. Children may help them. Hundreds of pounds are given every year by children-given in farthings, half-pennies, and pennies, perhaps, but they soon make pounds-hundreds of pounds. Little Reader, do what you can, all you can.
A MISSIONARY HYMN. Rise, Sun of Glory, rise!
And chase those shades of night,
And hide thy sacred light.
A MISSIONARY HYMN.
Behold, how heathens dwell
In gloominess profound, Where sin, and death, and hell,
Spread their black horrors round; Behold, and chase that gloom away, And shed the bright millennial day. Yes, Jesus, 'tis thy will
To haste that sacred morn, Hear our petition still,
Nor leave the world forlorn :
Effulgent and divine :
The twinkling planets shine ;
Before the glorious sun,
Our little glimmering done;
Heavenly accents fall,
imparting hope to all.
SOPHIA M. BURDER.
THE POOR WIDOW TO HER CHILD. Oh sink to sleep my darling boy,
Thy father's dead, thy mother lonely; Of late thou wert his pride, his joy,
But now thou hast but one to own thee. The cold wild world before us lies,
But ah! such heartless things live in it; It makes me weep—then close thine eyes,
Though it be but for one short minute. O sink to sleep my baby dear,
A little while forget thy sorrow, The wind is cold, the night is drear,
But drearer it will be to-morrow. For none will help, though many see
Our wretchedness-then close thine eyes love, Oh! most unbless'd on earth is she,
Who on another's aid relies, love.