Our Gift - Teachers of the School Street Universalist Sunday School, Boston
And more: we have offended God; this day I feel and know
We have forgotten his commands, and gained us nought but woe.
O join with me as, filled with grief, most earnestly I pray,
That he will yet be merciful, and take our sin away.
"Love thou each other;" "love all men;" "and love shall make you free;"
Thus said the Savior, Jesus; and let this _our_ watchword be;
Let us each other love; and pray that gentle thoughts may come,
And gentle words and acts may make an Eden of our home.
Forgive me now, dear sister, all the anger I have shown,
And all my past unkindness, through the years already flown;
I'll love thee faithfully and true, and lay all harshness by;
To be my loving sister, then, wilt _thou_ not also try?
LITTLE EMMA.
One Saturday afternoon, little Emma came into her mother's room, and
said to her, "Mother, may I go with Abba to her Sunday school? She says,
they are all so happy there."
"My child," said her mother, "why do you wish to leave your own school
and go to a strange one?"
"Because, mother, Abba has often told me what a good school they have,
and how much she loves it."
"Well, as you are very anxious to go, I will grant your request this
once, on condition that it must never be repeated."
The next morning, this pleasant little girl was up very early to make
ready to go with her friend to the new Sabbath school.
She was delighted with all she saw and heard; and when the pastor took
her by the hand, she said to herself, "I wish mother would permit me to
come here every Sunday. I will ask her, at any rate." After the school
was dismissed, she went home, revolving in her mind what she should say
to obtain her mother's consent.
Her mother observed how thoughtful she appeared, and said to her, "Emma,
how did you like Abba's Sunday school?"
"Oh, mother! I was so happy; do let me go there. They sing so sweetly,
and the pastor was so kind. He had an affectionate word for all. Their
superintendent, too, was so pleasant, I know I should love him."
Her mother said to her, with a very sorrowful countenance, "Do you know,
my child, that they teach very erroneous doctrines there, in regard to a
future life? They teach that all will be eventually holy and happy, both
the good and the bad."
"But, mother, I should think it would make us all happy to believe so.
The minister told us that 'God is Love;' and that cannot be a bad
doctrine. I am sure I would much rather think so, than that he would
hate any of us, for you have often told me that hatred was very wicked.
I cannot think that a good and wise being would do that which you have
taught me is wrong. Then they all seem to love each other dearly. They
are like a pleasant family of brothers and sisters. Do let me go, will
you not, dear mother? I should be so happy."
Her mother said many things to convince her that it was not right to
change her school. But she was very unhappy, and said so often, "Do let
me go," that her mother consented to gratify her; thinking, perhaps,
that she would soon tire of it.
Sunday came, and Emma was nearly the first one there; so anxious was she
to be in season.
She entered the schoolroom with a bright and happy face, and when the
superintendent came to her, she said, "I have come to join your Sabbath
school. Will you receive me?"
To add to her joy, the superintendent gave her a seat in the same class
with her friend Abba, who was a very kind and good little girl; and she
found a number of others in the class who were very glad to see her
there. One little girl lent her a book to study, and when the teacher
gave her a lesson for the next Sabbath, she said, "I have a lesson now.
Fanny lent me her book, and I have already learned a lesson from it."
This pleased her teacher very much; for she thought that there were many
little girls who would have been very glad of such an excuse to put off
their lessons. Ever after, she was very constant in her attendance,
always had her lessons very perfect, and never stayed at home, even if
it chanced to be a rainy clay; for she would say, "My teacher will be
there; and I am sure if she is there, I can go. Besides, I know it will
make her very happy to see me always in my place."
In this way did this good little Emma continue to go on, acquiring
knowledge, and gaining the love and good-will of all who knew her. She
was always happy and cheerful; kind to her parents, obliging to her
brothers and sisters, ever ready to assist the poor and destitute,
having a kind word and a happy smile for all. And this she learned from
that one great and ennobling truth, that "God is Love."
THE OLD SABBATH SCHOOLROOM.
A PARODY.
How dear to our hearts is that old Sabbath schoolroom,
Which each Sunday morning presents to our view;
The seats, the piano, the portrait that's near it,
And ev'ry loved thing which our memory knew.
Our dearly-loved pastor, his wife who comes with him,
Our Superintendent, and dear Mrs. G.,
The teachers, the pupils, and faithful Librarians,
We each Sabbath morning invariably see.
That old Sabbath schoolroom, that dearly-loved schoolroom,
That blessed old schoolroom where all love to be.
That old Sabbath schoolroom we hail as a treasure;
For often, when weary and anxious with care,
We've found it the place of a heavenly pleasure
We seek for with ardor, but find not elsewhere.
How eager we enter, with hearts that are glowing,
And quick to our places,--we all know them well,--
And then with our song-books, and souls overflowing,
The anthem of praise we unitedly swell,
That old Sabbath schoolroom, that dearly-loved schoolroom,
That blessed old schoolroom where all love to be.
Blest truth,--from our teachers with joy we receive it,--
That God is our Father, our Savior and Friend!
There's nought so alluring could tempt us to leave it,
Though fraught with all pleasures the fancy can lend.
And when far removed to some distant location,
The tears of regret will intrusively swell,
As mem'ry reverts to our former vocation,
And longs for the schoolroom we all loved so well.
That old Sabbath schoolroom, that dearly-loved schoolroom,
That blessed old schoolroom we all love so well.
THE HUNTER, AND HIS DOG JOWLER.
A FABLE.
A famous hunter in the woodland country had a dog which was particularly
fond of certain kinds of game, but exceedingly averse to other kinds of
much better flavor. Now it happened that, whenever the hunter wished to
give chase to moose or deer, Jowler was sure to scare up a woodchuck, or
some still filthier game, leaving the deer to make good his escape.
Day after day thus passed away, leaving the hunter's labors no suitable
reward. It was in vain that the hunter expostulated with his dog.
Neither threats nor blows were of any avail. When the master would hunt
one thing, the dog was sure to be hunting something else.
At length, both master and dog seemed to tire of their constant
conflict, and to desire some adjustment, whereby each might accommodate
his own taste to some extent, and yet live in harmony with the other.
With this view, a friendly conference was held, in which Jowler appeared
so tenacious, that the hunter well-nigh despaired of any adjustment
whatever.
It was, however, finally agreed, that Jowler should hunt game to his own
taste five days in the week, and devote the remaining hunting day to
such game as his master preferred. Jowler, however, was careful to
stipulate that, if he chanced to find himself ill, or not in hunting
trim, on the sixth day, he should be considerately dealt by, and not
forced to go beyond his strength.
The arrangements being fully made, a paper was drawn up containing the
articles of agreement, and both Jowler and the hunter affixed their
names thereto. Jowler, no doubt, congratulated himself on having it all
to his liking five days out of six; while the hunter, perhaps, flattered
himself that the taste of venison one day in the week, would so improve
the standard of Jowler's tastes, as to bend him, at length, altogether
to his own wishes.
For a while, things seemed to promise well, under the new arrangement.
By and by, when the day for hunting venison came round, Jowler was sick,
and told his master he couldn't hunt that day. So his master very
considerately excused him, according to the terms of their agreement.
It was not long, however, before Jowler refused to hunt for another
reason. He said, he had followed his own game with such constancy and
alacrity for the five days, that he was too much exhausted to hunt
venison on the sixth day. He must rest from any farther fatigue; and
claimed the continued indulgence of his master, by virtue of their
contract.
The hunter urged in vain that Jowler had virtually violated the
contract; for although it was stipulated that he should not be compelled
to the chase to his personal detriment, yet it was implied, of course,
that he should use the same precaution to be in hunting trim on the
sixth day, as he did to be so on the other five. While the fact was, he
purposely deprived himself of rest during the five days, that he might
be compelled to employ the sixth as a day of rest, thus virtually
appropriating the whole time to his own service.
Jowler, however, pretended not to be convinced of his wrong. Nor did his
dishonesty stop here. His master soon discovered that, while he was
pretending to be unable from his excessive fatigue to hunt venison, he
was really continuing to hunt his own game, as on the other five days.
Thus did he go on, his old loves gaining strength day by day, and
impelling him to a total disregard of his contract in order to indulge
them, until his master would bear with him no longer, but drove him from
his door.
Having deprived himself of the care of so good a master, he soon fell
into still greater irregularities; and a neighboring shepherd,
suspecting him of committing depredations upon his flock, killed him,
thus terminating his vicious career.
Moral.--Excessive engagedness in worldly labors six days in the week, is
no sufficient excuse for the neglect of public worship on the seventh;
and a vicious love, continually indulged, is quite sure to root out even
our good resolutions.
TAKE CARE OF YOUR BOOKS.
Suppose you loan a book to a friend, would you not consider it his
imperative duty to take the best of care of it, as though it were his
own, and return it in as good condition as it was when taken? Certainly
you would. Then the same duty devolves upon you, as a member of the
Sunday school. The school lends you books, and expects you to take good
care of them, and return them early. This is no trifling duty. If you
have a right to be negligent, every other scholar must have the same
right, and the Library would be speedily ruined. Thus your negligence
greatly wrongs others. Therefore, children, _take care of your books_.
MY NIECE.
I know a darling little girl,
With silky, chestnut hair,
Which falls in many a dancing curl,
Around her shoulders fair.
Her eyes are very dark and soft,
And round their curtained bed,
I've seen the fairy smiles full oft
Their radiant beauty shed.
Her very tears are like the rain
Which falls in summer's hour;
Quick turned to glittering gems again,
As sun succeeds to shower.
This witching child is very small;
Her feeble, tiny hands,
Can scarcely tend the mammoth doll,
Which so much care demands.
Then, though her voice is very sweet,
She does but little more
Than simple childish songs repeat,
And prattle baby lore.
She cannot skip, for ah! she's lame;
One soft, white foot denies
Its aid, her body to sustain,
And weak and powerless lies.
Yet, strange to say, a crown she wears,
Which claims our homage mute;
And in her hand a sceptre bears,
Whose sway we ne'er dispute.
From whence doth come the wondrous power
She never fails to wield--
Making strong hearts and wills, each hour,
To _her_ light wishes yield?
If but a touch of grief appear
To veil that bright, pure face;
If sickness cast its shadows there,
Or pain its dark lines trace;
How anxious every means we take,
The ill to drive away!
And cheerfully, for her dear sake,
Would watch both night and day.
And when the light of coming health
Brightens that clear, dark eye,
What joy is ours! priceless wealth,
Earth's gold can never buy.
She makes us cast aside our book,
Though filled with learning rare;
To work is vain, when fun's arch look
Those beaming features wear.
Whence is this spell? I can but think
That, in sweet childhood's hour,
E'er yet the soul has learned to drink
From knowledge' fount of power;
Or felt what virtue is, or known
Life's sins, not yet begun;
Or seen how thick life's path is strown
With dangers it must shun;
A spirit pure doth come, to dwell
In these fresh-bursting minds,
Who weaves round them the powerful spell
Our hearts so firmly binds;
Our holier thoughts through them to wake;
Our earth-dimmed vision clear;
And through _their_ purity, to make
_All_ holy things more dear.
If so, where speeds that spirit, when
The soul has gathered strength--
The child, become with busy men,
A busy man at length?
Where has _our_ childhood's spirit gone?
How have _we_ lost the charm,
Thus thrown around life's early morn,
Keeping us safe from harm?
Ay! whither speeds it? Rather say
Is it not always by,
Though, through the dust of life's noonday,
We may not see it nigh;
Nor when dark clouds of sin would veil
_All_ glory from our sight;
And make both heart and hope to fail,
And brightness turn to night?
But when, midst virtue's clearer air,
The eye no hindrance knows,
How radiant stands the angel there!
What holy gifts bestows!
My darling niece, whose form of grace
Has made these thoughts arise,
I'm sure this angel oft I trace
In those clear depths--thine eyes.
And bursting forth from my full heart,
My prayers to heaven ascend,
That earth's dark changes ne'er may part
Thee and thy angel friend.
That purity may always be
The medium, clear and bright,
Through which may ever shine on thee
Heaven's own unclouded light.
TEACHERS' LIBRARY.
The Teachers' Library connected with the School street Universalist
Sunday school, was commenced in 1841, when 67 volumes were collected for
that purpose.--Great care has been taken in selecting volumes for this
library. At this time, 1850, it numbers 194 valuable books.
SCHOLARS' LIBRARY.
The foundation of the Scholars' Library, connected with the School
street Universalist Sunday school, was laid in the year 1835. The number
of volumes, in 1840, amounted to 400, of which 100 needed repairing.
Some 50 volumes were added during 1841. Additions continued to be made
from year to year, till the spring of 1850, when the number was
increased to 700 volumes.
AGATHA.
Little Agatha was a Sabbath school scholar. She lived in a rural
district of Scotland. Her father's dwelling was surrounded by trees and
flowers, and near by a little sparkling rivulet wandered onward, now
murmuring along by its rocky bed and dancing over bright pebbles, and
now wending its way silently through the valley, journeying onward to
mingle with kindred waters.
Agatha loved to roam through these shady glens, and often would she
stand upon the margin of the little stream, and, gazing down, fancy that
she saw a beautiful little angel in the pure waters. She sometimes
waited a long time, hoping it might speak to her, little dreaming that
her sweet angel was but the reflection of her own innocent face and
golden ringlets from the mirrored surface. She loved the little brook,
and walked among the wild flowers upon its banks, herself as pure and
innocent as Spring's earliest blossoms. She was never lonely in her
rural bowers; for the brook, the birds, and the flowers, ever spoke to
her heart in tones of love.
But one day her teacher told her that wicked spirits were ever flying
about, trying to lead away little children into their company, and make
them as wicked as themselves. This much disquieted Agatha, for she had
never learned before that aught existed save innocence and joy. At
first, she feared to wander out alone, into the "great temple of
nature," as she was wont, lest she should meet some of those malicious
beings. She dared not look into the pure waters, fearing that, instead
of the beautiful angel which so often met her gaze, hideous forms might
rise and drag her away into their bad company.
But her heart was soon quieted again; for her teacher also told her,
that good beings come down from the Spirit-land, to watch over little
children, and drive the wicked ones away. So Agatha no longer feared to
visit her favorite haunts, for she besought the good spirits to be her
guardians. And when at night she retired to her little couch, she prayed
the kind angels to watch over and protect her from evil spirits. And her
prayer was answered, for none but good spirits ever visited the heart of
Agatha. She was always punctual at Sabbath school; and one day after
looking around in vain for one of her mates, she was very much troubled
to learn that she had been led a long way off, by a company of evil
spirits. She longed to tear the unfortunate victim from their grasp; but
her teacher told her, that the celestial beings alone could save her,
and she must pray to them.
So Agatha went home, and walked out among the flowers, thinking the
celestial spirits would delight to linger in so pure a spot, and
kneeling amid a cluster of roses, she prayed them to fly to the rescue
of her misled companion. And everywhere that Agatha thought pure enough
for the abode of the good spirits, would she go and pray that her friend
might be restored. At night she would look up to the stars, and entreat
the same good beings to come down from their pure, bright dwellings, and
lead back the straying one. Her prayers were soon answered, and when she
next went to Sabbath school, she was almost overjoyed to find her little
friend at her accustomed place. Little Mary (for she it was who had been
led away) seemed very happy to get back again. She kissed her
schoolmates, and said she would never leave them more. But she told them
a sad tale of Sin-land; how the evil ones would not suffer her to sleep,
lest, in her slumbers, the good spirits might visit her and take her
away;--that they would not let her walk among the flowers, for good
spirits are there. And for a long time they watched her very closely,
and directed her steps in their pathway.
But, at length, when she become faint and weary, the ministering angels
came to her assistance, took her in their arms, and folding her weary
limbs in their white robes, bore her back to her anxious companions. No
one rejoiced more than did Agatha, that the heavenly messengers had led
Mary back.
Their teacher said that her school was a little garden of flowers, which
she was rearing for heaven. But Agatha was the most innocent flower
there, and ready to bloom in the garden of paradise. The kind heavenly
guides thought her too pure for earth, and they would fain have her
companionship in their purer regions. So they bore her away on wings of
love to their heavenly home.
May every Sabbath school scholar be, like Agatha, led by celestial
spirits.
RESPONSIBILITY.
That teacher alone, whose eye is open to the immense value of religious
influences, and who perceives the importance of trifles in morals, can
properly feel his great responsibility, or be qualified to guide the
young in the way of life.
DUTY OF PARENTS.
Parents should see that their children understand their lessons, and
that they commit them perfectly. They will thus both aid and encourage
the superintendent and teachers.
A SCHOLAR'S REMEMBRANCE OF THE PIC-NIC OF 1850.
How bright, my dear mother, this sweet summer morning,
Does everything round me appear;
The sun the tall steeples with gold is adorning,
And lights up the skies blue and clear.
All freshly around me the west wind is blowing;
And, mother, I smell the sweet hay
Which was left on the Common from yesterday's mowing;
How I wish they'd not take it away.
I'm sure 'tis too pleasant of school to be thinking,
Its tasks this bright day I should hate;
Much better I'd like the fresh air to be drinking,
Than puzzle o'er book and o'er slate.
O if it were Pic-nic to-day, my dear mother,
How happy and gay I should be!
How joyful without any studies to pother,
Away in the woods to roam free.
I'm sorry 'tis over; how great was my pleasure
The whole of that beautiful day;
I jumped, and I danced, and I sung without measure,
But ah! it so soon passed away.
How well I remember the time of our starting!
How quick the large cars we did fill!
How screamed the shrill whistle, the signal for parting!
How we flew by town, river, and hill!
We reached the sweet grove which in stillness was waiting,
Its numerous guests to receive;
We rested one moment, while we were debating
What wonder we first should achieve.
"Let us make some green wreaths! let us gather wild flowers!"
Said some; and they bounded away.
"Let us fill up with music and dancing the hours!"
Said others, more lively and gay.
And soon every part of the wild wood was ringing
With sounds full of mirth and of glee;
Some dizzily high in the free air were swinging,
While others climbed up the tall tree.
When called from our sports, to our dinner we hasted,
And sat on the green grassy ground;
How keenly we relished each morsel we tasted,
While fanned by the soft air around.
Then came a loud summons, the signal for choosing
Our Queen by the mystical ring;
We crowned her with flowers; nor feared her abusing
The honors her station might bring.
We sang some sweet school-songs, and then our loved pastor,
With other dear friends who were there,
Told us kindly of Jesus, the Savior and Master;
Of God, and his fatherly care;
Who planted the trees that were waving around us,
And the wild flowers growing below;
Who all our life long with rich blessings had crowned us,
And watched us where'er we might go.
Then, mother, I heard all around me a whisp'ring,
And soon I found out what it meant;
When to hallow our Pic-nic, the sweet rite of christ'ning
Its soft, holy influence lent.
Forth from the glad circle, their sweet infants bringing,
Came parents, with mild, thoughtful mien;
What deep, tender thoughts in all bosoms were springing!
How solemn, how sacred the scene.
And I could not keep back the hot tears, my dear mother,
Which came thick and fast to my eyes;
For those babes made me think of my own darling brother,
Now gone to his home in the skies.
When this service was over, my playmates came round
And drew me away to the wood;
No longer light-hearted and merry they found me,
For thoughtful and sad was my mood.
So on the soft turf I sat silently thinking,
Of days when dear brother was by;
While slowly and surely the bright sun was sinking,
Far down in the clear western sky.
Ring, ring, went the bell; and then, O, what a hustling!
All knew 'twas the signal to part;
What searching for bonnets and boxes! what bustling!
All hurrying, eager to start.
We left ere the shadows of evening were dimming
The broad fields and woods all around;
And with our swift steam-horse, again we went skimming
Through village, and meadow, and town.
We soon reached the city, and after the saying
Of cheerful "Good night," to our friends,
We sought our own home without further delaying,
And the rest night to weariness sends.
'Twas a blest, happy day; and oft in my dreaming
That cool, shady grove do I see,
With its bright little spots where the sunlight lay gleaming,
And all that was pleasant to me.
And much do I hope, when again, my dear mother,
The summer shall come with its flowers,
Our teachers will kindly allow us another
Such Pic-nic, mid Nature's green bowers.
RAIN DROPS.
"O mamma, how fast it rains! Do see those bright and sparkling drops, as
they fall so rapidly on the green walks and beautiful flowers! Just see
how revived that little fainting flower looks on the farther border. It
was but yesterday I thought it would die. It drooped its head as if to
avoid the rays of the scorching sun; but now it is as fresh as any on my
little bed. Who was so kind, mamma, as to send this gentle shower,
purposely, as I should think, to save my favorite flower?"
"'Favorite,' my child, did you say? I thought you loved them all."
"Oh, I do; but this one looked so sickly and faint, and I have watched
it so anxiously, that it really seems dearer to me than all the rest;
just as when we are sick, mamma, you watch us the more constantly, and
love us the more tenderly. But who did send the rain, mamma?"
"It was God, my child, who caused the gentle showers, not only to cheer
your heart, by making the little flower revive, but to bless all his
children. Have you forgotten your little verse, about God sending 'rain
on the just, and on the unjust?'"
"O no; I remember it well. I think he is very kind to remember
everybody. I am sure I shall always love him."