Our Gift - Teachers of the School Street Universalist Sunday School, Boston
The Baldwin Library
RMB
University of Florida
FROM THE LIBRARY OF
PAUL & VIRGINIA CROWLEY
OUR GIFT.
BOSTON:
ABEL TOMPKINS, NO. 38 CORNHILL.
1851.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850,
By ABEL TOMPKINS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
DEDICATION.
"We offer no words of inspired thought,
No gems from the mines of wisdom brought,
No flowers of language to deck the page,
No borrowed glories of Muse or Sage;
But an offering simple and pure we bring,
And a wreath of wild roses around it fling;
Not culled from the shades of enamelled bowers,
But watered by love's own gentle showers.
In tones of affection we here would speak;
To waken an echo of love we seek;
We mingle our tears for the early dead,
To the land of spirits before us fled.
While a moral we humbly would here entwine
With the flowers we lay on affection's shrine,
We pray that the light of religion may dawn,
To brighten our pathway each coming morn.
Then with love for each other OUR GIFT we bring,
And love for the memories that round it cling,
And trust in the hopes that are lighted here,
To burn with new brightness each passing year.
And as Time moves on with unceasing tread,
And the flowers of youth are withered and dead,
May no sigh of regret to the past be given,
As it peacefully fades in the light of Heaven."
PREFACE.
"OUR GIFT" has been prepared as a token of affection for our Sunday
school Pupils, and it is hoped that it may serve a similar purpose in
the hands of other teachers. It has been said, that "_He who gives his
thought, gives a part of himself_." It was this idea that suggested the
offering we now bring. We do not claim for it especial excellence. We
are aware that its pages have not uniform merit. When we state that they
are from the pens of twenty-five different teachers, few of whom are
accustomed to write for the public eye, we offer the only apology for
the imperfections of the work, which, in our judgment, the circumstances
of the case demand. If this explanation shall not cause the critic to
throw the work aside, we would welcome him to whatever pleasure he may
find in its perusal. Of the defects which it contains, we prefer to
share jointly the responsibility; and have, therefore, omitted to attach
signatures to the several articles. The shorter paragraphs, scattered
through the work, embody ideas from several contributions which have
been excluded by its narrow limits. Such as it is, we present it to the
public generally, and especially to our pupils, as a slight token of the
ardent love we bear them, humbly praying that the moral lessons it
contains may find a place in their hearts, and contribute to the
formation of such a character as involves within itself the highest form
of blessing.
TEACHERS OF THE SCHOOL STREET UNIVERSALIST SUNDAY SCHOOL, BOSTON.
CONTENTS.
Dedication
Preface
Remember me
Honor thy Parents
Uncharitable Judgment
Boys become Men
To the Portrait of Father Ballou
Susan's Repentance and Appeal to her Elder Sister
Little Emma
The Old Sabbath Schoolroom
The Hunter, and his Dog Jowler--A Fable
Take Care of your Books
My Niece
Teachers' Library
Scholars' Library
Agatha
Responsibility
Duty of Parents
A Scholar's Remembrance of the Pic-Nic of 1850
Rain Drops
Obey the Rules
The Ways of Providence
To Alberta
The Discontented Squirrel--A Fable
School Street Society
The Example of the Bee
The Morning Walk
True Satisfaction
Female Education
One Family
Summer Thoughts--A Fable
A Talk with the Children
Uncle Jimmy
The Child's Dream of Heaven
The Influence of Sabbath Schools
Memory
Selfishness
Trouble
Revenge
A Biographical Sketch
The Sabbath School Boys
Fear of Death
Ill Temper
Reading
A Sabbath School Excursion
Christ and Duty
OUR GIFT.
"REMEMBER ME."
"Remember me!" How swift the tide
Of memory glideth o'er the past;
Those sunny hours so quickly sped,
Perchance a few with clouds o'ercast.
But memory hath more lasting flowers,
Which Time's rude hand can ne'er efface,
The sweets we cull from friendship's bowers,
The gems affection's altar grace.
"Remember me!" In youth's bright morn
Those simple words so lightly spoken,
Far into future years may reach,
And wake a spell which ne'er is broken.
A star to gleam in Memory's sky,
A line on Memory's page to glow,
A smile to offer at her shrine,
Or tears which from her springs shall flow.
"Remember me!" As one by one
The cherished ties of earth are torn,
The magic spell which Memory weaves,
Shall long in kindred hearts be worn.
And when the last farewell is said,
A solace to each heart shall be
The memory of that love which spoke
In parting tones, "Remember me!"
HONOR THY PARENTS.
CONVERSATION I.
"Honor thy father and thy mother."
"Well, Clara," said Mary, as they left the church, "shall we go now and
take a walk before we go home? Look, there are William Johnson and
George Field waiting to see which way we shall turn, in order to
accompany us."
"Not this afternoon," answered Clara, "I think we had better go home."
They continued their way homeward until they reached the street where
Clara lived, and were about to part, when Mary asked her companion at
what time she would meet her the next morning to take a long walk,
adding that William and George would go with them.
"I will ask mother," replied Clara, "and if she is willing, I will meet
you at six o'clock."
"How is this," said Mary, "you never used to say you would ask your
mother; besides, there can be no possible objection to our going to take
a walk."
"True," rejoined Clara, "there can be no objection to our taking a walk;
but we have never told our mothers that William and George are in the
habit of going with us."
"Well, I don't see any _great_ harm in their going with us," continued
Mary, with a tone which indicated that she did not see _any_ harm
_whatever_ in it.
"Perhaps there is not, and yet, Mary, I have thought that there might
be; therefore, I prefer to speak to my mother about it."
"And pray, Miss Clara, what has made you so conscientious all at once?"
"I will tell you, Mary. You recollect that on the last Sabbath, our
pastor took for his text, the fifth commandment."
"Yes, I do."
"Well, something which he said, caused me to think more about these
words than I ever did before; and the more I think of them, the more
convinced I am, that we do not consider and reflect upon them so much as
we ought to."
"Let me see," said Mary, "Honor thy father and thy mother;"--"Well, I
am sure I do honor my father and my mother; I obey them when they give
me a command, and I love them with all my heart. What more can I do?"
"So I reasoned before, but when I sat down alone in my chamber, a good
many things came to my mind, to convince me that I was wrong."
"Well," added Mary, "let me have the benefit of your reflections."
"Why, in this very instance of going to walk, I had always asked my
mother's consent, and she had given it; but I never told her where we
went, or who went with us, which now appears to me wrong. Our mothers
are much older than we are, and have had much more experience than we
have, and there _may_ be wrong in doing what appears to us quite
harmless."
"For the life of me," interrupted Mary, "I cannot think there can
possibly be any harm in such a slight occurrence. However, say nothing
to your mother to-night; but go with us to-morrow morning, and then you
can mention it to her, and see what she says."
"I beg your pardon, Mary; but you said just now, you could not see what
possible harm there could be in so slight an occurrence, and yet your
request to put off mentioning this to my mother, shows that you have
some misgivings on the subject."
Mary reflected for a moment. "Clara," said she, "if you have no
objection, I will go home with you, and hear what your mother will say."
"I shall be delighted to have you," was the answer.
Mary Winthrop and Clara Spaulding had arrived at the ages of fourteen
and fifteen years, a time of life which is peculiarly critical for
girls. At no age do they more require the advice of a mother, and at no
age are they less inclined to seek it. This would seem to be a natural
disinclination, so prevalent is it. These were both good girls, but, as
may be judged from the conversation we have just related, Clara was the
more thoughtful, while Mary was very apt to act without much reflection.
She possessed, however, this noble trait; she was always ready to
acknowledge her error, when it was pointed out to her, and would
endeavor to avoid repeating it.
Mrs. Spaulding had reached home when the girls entered. She was a woman
of excellent sense, and a mother indeed to her children. Mary frankly
told her all the conversation which had passed between Clara and
herself, and then waited for her opinion.
"It makes me truly happy," said Mrs. S., "that you have come to me in
this free and open manner; and I am very glad that my dear Clara has
reflected so much upon the text. In itself, there is not much harm in
taking a walk with William Johnson and George Field, and yet it is not
proper for you to do so, without the knowledge and consent of your
parents. William and George are not bad boys, and perhaps would be
called by people generally, good ones; still, I have remarked a certain
levity in their manner, which if only occasional, might be called good
humor, but which, recurring as it does at all times and on all
occasions, the Sabbath not excepted, makes me fear that their training
at home is not what I should desire to have it. For this reason, Mary, I
am not willing that Clara should be often in their company, nor do I
think your mother would differ from me, should you ask her."
"I wonder," said Mary, "how Clara came to think of this slight
circumstance of a walk, in connection with the commandment, 'Honor thy
father and thy mother.'"
"I thought she had sufficiently explained that, herself," replied Mrs.
Spaulding. "I wish both of you, and not only you, but all young persons,
would think a good deal more on this subject. I remember when I was of
your age, that many things occurred which I omitted to mention to my
mother, but which it would have been much better for me, if I had told
her. Sometimes these concerned my bodily health, and I am sure that if I
had informed her of them at the time, I should now have a much better
constitution than I possess. At other times, I neglected to ask her
advice about what I thought were small matters; but the result proved
that I should have been saved much trouble had I consulted her."
"In fact," continued Mrs. S., "the command to honor thy father and thy
mother, is far more comprehensive, and exacts many more duties, than the
young, and, I am sorry to say, the old too, are willing to recognize.
The young are too apt to think, when they get into their teens, that
there are a great many things about which there is no need of asking
their parents' advice and counsel; that they know, _then, about_ as well
as their parents what they ought to do; and, by the time they get to be
eighteen or nineteen years of age, _a good deal better_. But, my dear
children, it is not so. And the young who reason and act thus, will soon
cease to honor their father and mother. No! The Almighty Father, in
giving this as one of the ten commandments to the children of Israel,
knew the vanity of our nature. He knew how unwilling the young are to
learn from the experience of the old, and he therefore proclaimed this
command, that they might have it constantly before their eyes.
"I have said, this is a comprehensive command. To honor thy father and
thy mother is not merely to show them outward respect. It embraces
numberless duties, and among them this; the duty, while you are young,
of doing nothing without their knowledge and consent, when you are in a
situation to ask it.
"Be assured of one thing. If you are about to go anywhere, or do
anything, and a doubt arises in your mind whether it is necessary to ask
your mother's permission, be certain that you ought to ask it. The very
doubt in your own mind is sufficient evidence of the fact.
"Get into the habit of talking with your mother upon every subject; your
diversions, your studies, your health. Never conceal anything from her.
Is she not your mother? Did she not give you being? Who then shall you
look up to, if not to her?"
"O," interrupted Mary, "I have sometimes begun to talk to my mother
about many things which I did not exactly understand, but somehow or
other she was not willing to answer my questions."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Spaulding, "you did not take a proper occasion, or
she may have been very busy about something else. You ought always to
endeavor to take a proper time for everything. At the same time," she
continued, "I am sorry to say that there are some mothers who think
children cannot be talked to, and reasoned with, till they are of age.
This is a mistaken idea. Children have reasoning faculties, and the
sooner we begin to converse with them accordingly, the sooner will those
faculties be developed. With this view, we ought always to encourage
them to give us their confidence on all occasions, gratify their
curiosity, and allow them to talk upon every subject to us. If we do not
act thus, they will soon abstain from that frank manner with which
children ought always to lay open their whole hearts to their parents."
"O yes," cried Mary; "there is Emma Woodbury,--I do not believe she ever
asks her mother's advice."
"No," said Clara, "and there is Jane Clifton's mother,--"
"Stop, my dears," interrupted Mrs. Spaulding, "these remarks of yours
remind me that there is another subject, about which I should like to
have a conversation with you; and if your mother, Mary, will give you
permission to come home with Clara, after school to-morrow afternoon, I
will tell you what it is."
"O yes, I know she will," replied Mary. "Indeed, yesterday, I should not
have thought of asking her; but now, after what I have heard from your
lips, I shall not do anything, or go anywhere, without asking her
consent."
"I am glad," responded Mrs. Spaulding, "that you remember this lesson so
well. Now, Mary, you had better go home; and may neither of you ever
think otherwise than seriously, of the divine command, to 'honor thy
father and thy mother;' and remember that few persons have ever come to
harm when they grew up, who in their youth obeyed it."
UNCHARITABLE JUDGMENT.
CONVERSATION II.
"Cast out the beam from thine own eye, then shalt thou see clearly to
cast the mote out of thy brother's eye."
Mary's mother cheerfully gave her leave to go home with Clara, the next
day. She knew and highly esteemed Mrs. Spaulding, and was very glad that
her daughter should be intimate with her family.
Mrs. Spaulding greeted the girls with a smile and a kind word; then
said, "Mary, you began last evening to make a remark about Emma
Woodbury. Will you tell me what you were going to say?"
"Certainly," replied Mary; "I was going to say that Emma scarcely ever
asked the advice of her mother, or her consent to do anything or go
anywhere; and I know a great many girls who act in the same way."
"And I," added Clara, "intended to say that Jane Clifton's mother was
one of those whom you spoke of, as never conversing with children in a
rational and reasoning manner."
"I guessed as much," said Mrs. Spaulding. "I told you," she continued,
"there was another point upon which I wished to say a few words to you.
Can you think what it is?"
"I cannot," said Mary. "Nor I either," said Clara; "certainly, I see no
harm in the words we uttered."
"True," responded Mrs. Spaulding, "there was no harm. It was not the
words you spoke, but the tone in which they were spoken, that attracted
my attention; as if you were _glad_ to be able to point out somebody to
whom the reproof could be applied. This failing is a common one, and our
Savior may have had it in view, when he said to his followers, on the
mount, 'Cast out the beam from thine own eye; and then shalt thou see
clearly to cast the mote out of thy brother's eye.' My object now, my
dear children, is to caution you against a failing, which is almost
universal, namely, of seeing distinctly and reproving faults in others,
while we appear to be quite unconscious that we ourselves are in the
practice of the same or worse defects.
"This blemish develops itself in a variety of ways. The pastor preaches
an excellent sermon, wherein is contained some allusion to faults which
ought to be corrected. If the people had treasured up in their hearts
all his exhortations, they would not have forgotten one which he has
often endeavored to impress upon their minds; I mean, the duty of
self-communion, self-examination; and when he should have occasion to
allude to faults, they would, one and all, ask themselves, 'Am I guilty
of this wrong? Let me see; and if I am, let me correct it in future.'
Instead of this, how frequently do we hear such expressions as these:
'The remarks in the sermon this morning applied to Mr. A or Mrs. B, very
well, and it is to be hoped they will see it, and profit by it.' Now if
such individuals, instead of trying to find others who are guilty of the
wrong indicated, would only carefully look within themselves, ten
chances to one they would find that they deserved the rebuke as much as
any one else.
"Children insensibly contract the same bad habit of looking very sharply
for the faults of others, never once thinking that they may have some,
which, if not precisely the same, may be even worse. Thus if the pastor,
superintendent, or one of the teachers, addresses the Sabbath school,
calling the attention of the scholars generally to any fault, each
scholar ought to ask himself at once, 'Is it I?' and not look round
complacently and ask, 'Who _can_ it be?' or say, 'I guess the speaker
means to refer to Lilly A or Edgar B.'"
"Well," said Mary, "I must confess that I have done this often, and
without being conscious of any wrong feelings; some how or other, I did
not consider that the reproof belonged to me; or ever ask myself if I
had committed the fault which was exposed."
"For this reason, I remarked," continued Mrs. S., "that children
insensibly contract this habit from their parents; and the defect
extends to physical as well as moral errors. Not long since, I had an
interesting conversation with Mr. R., a well-known philanthropist and
physiologist, who is devoting his life to the alleviation of some of the
ills of human existence. He told me that, a short time before, he
delivered a lecture to parents on the physical training of their
children, and pointed out the great mistakes which are often made. On
retiring, said he, I overheard many remarks, but not one spoke as if I
had addressed him. Every one could point to some one else who might well
profit by the lecture; but not one would believe that I meant to say to
each individual present, as Nathan said unto David, 'Thou art the man.'"
"I am sure," observed Clara, "I never felt the full force of this saying
of our Savior before, although I have read it a hundred times. I shall
read the whole chapter again, carefully, to-night."
"And so will I," added Mary.
"Do so, my children," said Mrs. S., "and read in the same careful spirit
the whole Sermon on the Mount, and all our Savior's teachings. Many
people, old and young, read the New Testament because they are told to,
without thinking that there is an active, living principle in it, a
thought to be treasured up and carried out in our daily lives, in almost
every word the Master uttered. Those who _do_ read it in the true
spirit, find new pleasure and new instruction every time they peruse it.
"And finally, to come back to our subject, when you hear your
schoolmates making uncharitable remarks about others, use all your
influence, especially by your own example, to make them correct the
habit. And when you hear a sermon in church, or an address in the
school, where any faults are exposed, ask yourselves if the rebuke
applies to you; and if it does, set about correcting the fault
immediately. Do this always. 'Cast the _beam_ out of thine own eye,'
correct your own errors, then will you see clearly to 'cast the _mote_
out of thy brother's eye.'"
Mary returned home that evening well pleased with the two conversations
she had taken part in; and better still, she and Clara profited by them.
I am happy to add, that their schoolmates are gradually correcting many
evil habits by the good example of these two girls; and thus Mary and
Clara have the double satisfaction of improving their own conduct, and
of being instrumental in improving that of others.
BOYS BECOME MEN.
If you were to be boys always, and didn't need to know anything more
than just enough to enable you to enjoy your sports from day to day, it
would not be so necessary, perhaps, as it now is, to attend strictly to
your every-day studies; though the influences of the Sunday school would
be necessary, even then. Boys cannot enjoy their sports together, unless
they are truthful, just, and kind; and it is in the Sunday school that
these graces are most successfully acquired. But boys will become men;
and all the knowledge they can acquire in boyhood will become
serviceable in manhood. Therefore, boys should be diligent.
TO THE PORTRAIT OF FATHER BALLOU,
HANGING IN MURRAY HALL.
O, much-loved features! Faithful counterpart
Of one we love, and cherish, and revere;
Thy gentle influence shed o'er every heart,
And be thy spirit ever present here.
Look from thy quiet resting-place on us,
With that familiar smile so dear to all,
Which ever seems to speak of happiness,
And every mourner would to hope recall.
Thro' childhood's sunny days and youth's bright morn,
Mid changes and mid sorrows, thou hast been
A light to guide, a hope to cheer and warm,
And to the heart bring joy and peace again.
And for thine honored form how fit the place,
Where childhood's ear instruction would receive;
Preside o'er all, lend all our efforts grace,
To learn God's love, and on his word believe.
Thy Master's faithful servant! Who, in love,
Took little children in his arms to bless;
While looking down from his bright home above,
Through thee diffusing peace and holiness;
May his pure spirit ever with us dwell,
Shedding o'er all our thoughts its heavenly ray;
Our hearts attune the song of praise to swell,
And o'er our darkness pour eternal day.
And when thou'rt left alone, to bear the name
Of him whose faithful emblem thou art made,
May thou through ages still endure the same,
Though all around thee shall decay and fade.
May his dear memory, which through thee shall live
Long in the places which his love has blest,
Shine as a beacon, life and light to give,
And hope at last in God's eternal rest.
SUSAN'S REPENTANCE AND APPEAL TO HER ELDER SISTER.
I once knew two sisters, the only companions of a widowed mother, who,
though they had no relatives and but very few friends, and should
therefore have been the more closely united in heart, were in the habit
oftener of harshly rebuking and blaming, than of encouraging, assisting,
and comforting each other. I often wondered at this, as they both had
many estimable traits of character, and could only account for it, not
excuse it, by the fact, that they had been much separated in early life,
and, since their reunion, had had to encounter many obstacles, and bear
the weight of many heavy disappointments. I confidently hoped and
believed that the good sense of one or both of them, would in time lead
them to see their error, and the sin of thus fretting and irritating
each other. Nor was I disappointed. The younger, whose conscience was
the most sensitive, first made the discovery, and immediately began
trying to remedy the evil, and to induce her sister to aid her in the
endeavor. Imagining some of her thoughts and feelings, I have put them
in rhyme.
We have done wrong, dear sister; and I'm very sad to-day:
For I have felt how far we've strayed from wisdom's blessed way;
Have felt how much of angry strife hath dwelt within our hearts,
And how, when _that_ has entered in, Life's happiness departs.
We have done wrong, dear sister; for we have not patient been,
But answered often hasty words by hasty words again;
And when we should with gentle acts have soothed each other's care,
We've made by cold indifference our lot more hard to bear.
We have done wrong, dear sister; I remember how we've grieved
Our widowed mother's anxious heart, so long of joy bereaved;
O, were we loving, good, and kind, and all our murmurings o'er,
Might not the smiles come back again and light her face once more?
I know our lot in life, thus far, hath not been smooth and fair;
That often much of toil and ill has fallen to our share;
But why, dear sister, why should we _ourselves_ the load increase?
Why, by our jangling and our strife, shut out all joy and peace?