Take the pillows from the cradle Where the little sufferer lay; Draw the curtain, close the shutters, Shut out every beam of day.

Spread the pall upon the table; Place the lifeless body there; Back from off the marble features Lay the auburn curls with care.

With its little blue-veined fingers Crossed upon its painless breast, Free from care, and pain, and anguish, Let the infant beauty rest.

Smooth its little shroud about it; Pick its toys from off the floor; They, with all their sparkling beauty, Ne'er can charm their owner more.

Take the little shoes and stockings From the doting mother's sight; Pattering feet no more will need them, In and out with such delight.

Parents faint and worn with watching Through the long, dark night of grief, Dry your tears, and soothe your sighing; Gain a respite of relief.

Mother's care no more is needed To allay the rising moan; And though you perchance may leave it, It can never be alone.

Thus a golden link is broken In a chain of earthly bliss-- Thus the distance shorter making 'Twixt another world and this.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. (_See page 108._)]

A GATHERED ONE.

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF EMMA BEESLEY, OF LEICESTER, WHO DIED ON LORD'S DAY MORNING, JANUARY 1ST, 1888, AGED TWENTY-ONE YEARS.

Our earliest recollection of Emma was as a child in our Sunday School, which she was led, in a very marked way, to attend. Her sister was persuaded by a companion to go with her to our school just for one afternoon, and she was so interested that she became a regular scholar.

Emma was at that time attending a school in connection with a General Baptist cause, but hearing her sister speak in such high terms of the school at Zion Chapel, she was soon persuaded to go with her. Like her sister, she felt so at home that she also became a scholar. They each became so very much attached to both school and chapel, that they had no desire whatever to leave it; and we have good reason to believe the Word was made a blessing, and that the seed of divine grace was sown in each of their hearts by G.o.d the Eternal Spirit.

Emma was of a very quiet turn of mind, and for the last two years was the subject of great soul-trouble. All who knew her could testify to the deep sense she had of her sinnership before G.o.d. Her great fear was, that she was too great a sinner for the Lord to look upon; but her whole desire was, to be found right with Him.

To a friend she said, "Oh, I should not mind waiting, if only I knew I should obtain the blessing; but I am so afraid I shall never have what I am seeking after."

Her love for the house of G.o.d was so great that no weather would prevent her from attending the means. Being of a delicate const.i.tution, her mother often reproved her for going so much; but she could say, with the poet--

"I love to meet amongst them now, Before Thy gracious feet to bow, Though vilest of them all."

Truly, she prized the company of the Lord's people, and looked upon them as the excellent of the earth; and many times has said, "I want the Lord to a.s.sure me that I am one of His family, redeemed by precious blood."

For the most part she was very dark in her mind, but had rays of light, being often encouraged under the preached Word.

It was about a month before her last illness that the Lord seemed to completely wean her from the world. She seemed like one that was indeed taking the kingdom of heaven by violence. The things that belonged to her soul's happiness were eagerly sought after, while the things of the world were only a plague and a burden.

She said to a friend, "Oh, how I long for the Christmas holidays--not for the mere holiday, but that I may get away from my work, and be with the dear people of G.o.d."

About a fortnight before her illness, our dear minister spoke from the words, "My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." It seemed to completely cut her up, as she feared she was only a hypocrite, and not a true follower, which caused her great sorrow of heart. But during the week the Lord was pleased to shine upon her once more with these words--"I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee." But the words were so great she feared to take them, and yet she could not put them away.

On the following Sunday, our dear pastor took for his text, "Even to Him shall men come" (Isa. xlv. 24). That day was indeed a Sabbath to her; for, as the character was described, the Lord sweetly made it plain to her that she was no longer to cut herself off, and she felt sure that she was the character described. She earnestly begged of the Lord that day that Mr. Hazlerigg might be led to take the same text in the evening. To her great joy the same words were again given out, and the sermon was attended with the same sweetness to her. She was indeed full.

A friend who walked with her from chapel said afterwards, that she seemed in a most heavenly frame of mind. She could do nothing but speak of the favoured times she had had in hearing.

The next, and indeed the last, time that she was permitted to meet with us on earth, was at our prayer-meeting on the Monday evening, and then she seemed again to be much favoured.

She was taken ill on the Wednesday evening. On the following Friday, the writer, being sent for, went and found her very ill, but her mind seemed stayed upon eternal things. I said, "Do you think you shall get better, Emma?" to which she replied, "I do not know. If the complaint is not stayed, I must sink; but I do not mind." I asked her if she feared death. She replied, "No; I only want the Lord to reveal Himself to me more, and then I do not mind whether it is life or death." She said, "I have only one wish, and that is, that the affliction may be sanctified."

She said that verse had been so blessed to her--

"Fenced with Jehovah's 'shalls' and 'wills,'

Firm as the everlasting hills."

I said, "Oh, Emma, how good of the Lord to give you those words. He knows how full of fears you are, and how Satan would cast his 'buts' and 'ifs' at you; but the Lord has given you those words to quench Satan's darts with." I told her I believed the Lord was either preparing her for His Church below, or His Church above. She smiled, and said, "I hope it is so."

A friend, to whom she was much attached, called to see her, and said, "Emma, should you like me to read to you? I am afraid you are too ill."

She said, "Oh, do! I should so much like you to do so." The twenty-third Psalm was read, and a few words of prayer offered; and to a friend, who afterwards went in, she said how very much she enjoyed it.

We did indeed feel it good to be with her; but the affliction was of such a painful nature that she could not talk much. The doctor said that all that could be done for her was to keep her very quiet, and give her support, so that we often refrained from conversing with her, hoping very much that it might be the Lord's will to restore her.

On Sat.u.r.day morning our hopes were raised very high. She was quiet in her mind, Satan not being permitted to hara.s.s her. Her only fear seemed to be that she was ungrateful. She said, "I have so many friends, and they are all so kind." But we always found her to be truly grateful for every little act of kindness shown to her.

Towards evening a change for the worse took place. Convulsions seized her, and, for about twelve hours, it was most painful to witness her struggle with the last enemy--so much so that her dear sister, who was devoted to her, was led to beg of the Lord to release her.

About six o'clock on Lord's Day morning her spirit took its flight, to be "for ever with the Lord." Truly, we could say it was her gain, though we felt the loss most keenly. The Lord had been so good in supporting her through her painful affliction, that we felt we could justly say, with the poet--

"Her mind was tranquil and serene; No terror in her look was seen; Her Saviour's smile dispelled the gloom, And smoothed her pa.s.sage to the tomb."

C. WARDLE.

PRAYER ANSWERED.

A TRUE INCIDENT.

On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic Valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but few dollars, and when cold weather came, he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter.

This fall, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick, and was unable to keep his fires going, so, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the mountain, John and his wife were in great straits. Their entire stock of food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of potatoes. Sugar, flour, coffee, and tea had, early in December, given out, and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed.

The snowstorms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even in the valley, were impa.s.sable, and no one thought of trying to open the mountain highways, which even in summer were only occasionally travelled, and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.

December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple on the mountain was now reduced to a day's supply, but John did not yet despair. He was a Christian and a G.o.d-fearing man, and His promises were remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was blowing and the fierce snowstorm was raging, John and his wife were praying and asking for help.

In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well-to-do farmer of fifty years old, who was noted for his consistent and G.o.dly deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had gone to bed early, and, in spite of the storm raging without, were sleeping soundly, when, with a start, the deacon awoke, and said to his wife, "Who spoke? Who's there?"

"Why," said the wife, "no one is here but you and me. What is the matter with you?"

"I heard a voice," said the deacon, "saying, 'Send food to John.'"

"Nonsense!" replied Mrs. Brown. "You've been dreaming."