# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1897_S3 # Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration) ‘The Lutheran Pioneer. Time. Time’s a hand-breath; ’tis a tale; ’Tis a vessel under sail. ’Tis an eagle on its way, Darting down upon its prey. Tis an arrow in its flight, Mocking the pursuing sight. *Tis a short-lived, fading flower; ’Tis a rainbow in a shower. /Tis a momentary ray, Smiling in a winter’s day. ‘Tis a torrent’s rapid stream ; 'Tis a shadow; ’tis a dream; ’Tis the ending watch of night, Dying in the dawning light. Tis a bubble—but a sigh; Be prepared, o man, to die! Selected. The Crippled Boy of the Alps. _ A widow lived in a little hut, near a moun- tain village of the Alps. Her only child was a poor cripple. He was a Christian boy and loved his mother, and would gladly have helped her to bear the burden of poverty, but he could not. At the age of fifteen he worried about the fact that he was useless to his mother and to the world. About this time an enemy tried to conquer the country. A secret arrangement existed among the people by which the coming of the enemy was to be made known by signal-fires from village-to village, from~ one mountain height to another, and materials were laid ready to be lighted and to give an instant alarm. The village in which Hans, the crippled boy, and his mother lived was in direct line of the route the enemy’s army would take, and the people were full of fear. All were preparing for the’struggle. The widow and her son alone seemed to have no part but to sit still and wait. ‘‘Ah, Hans!’’ she said one even- ing, “it is well for us now that you can be of little use; they would else make a soldier of you.”’ The boy looked sad, and tears rolled from his cheek. ‘Mother, I am useless,’’ cried he in bitter grief. ‘Look round our village— all are busy, all ready to strive for home and fatherland. I am useless.”’ “My boy, my dear son, you are not useless to me.’’ “Yes, to you; I can not work for you, can Not support you in old age. Oh, why was IT born?”’. “Hush, Hans,’’ said his mother; ‘tyou know Such thoughts are wrong. It is a sin to mur- Mur against God. And then, remember our old proverb : : ‘God hath His plan For every man.?” Hans looked ashamed and begged pardon. Little did he think that he would soon have Some great work to do. The festive season of Switzerland came. he people lost their fears of the enemy in the sports of the holidays. All were busy in the merry making—all but Hans. He stood alone on the porch of his mountain hut, over- looking the village. At the close of the festival day, after his usual evening prayer, he fell into a deep sleep. He awoke in the night, as if from a dream which made him restless. He arose, dressed himself, and strolled up the mountain path. The cool air did him good, and he went on till he came to the signal pile. Hans walked around the pile; but where were the watchers? They were nowhere to be seen, and perhaps they were busy in the festivities of the village. Near the pile was an old pine tree, and in its hollow stem the tinder was laid ready. Hans stopped by the old tree; and as he listened, a singular sound caught his ear. He heard a low tread, then the click of muskets, and two soldiers crept along the cliff. Seeing no one, for Hans was hidden by the old tree, they gave the signal to some comrades in the distance. Hans saw the plot and the danger. The secret of the signal pile had been made known to the enemy; a party had been sent to de- stroy it; the army was marching to attack the village, With no thought of his own danger, he took the tinder, struck the light, and flung the blazing brand into the pile. ; The two soldiers, whose backs were then turned to the pile, awaiting the coming of their comrades;--were seized-with fear;-but they soon saw that there were no foes at hand, only a single youth going down the mountain path. ‘They fired, and a bullet struck the boy’s shoulder. Yet the signal fire was blaz- ing high, and the country was sroused from mountain top to mountain top. The plan of the enemy was defeated, and a hasty retreat followed. Hans, faint and bleeding, made his way to the village. The people with their arms were coming in thick and fast. ‘The question was everywhere heard: ‘*Who lighted the pile?’ .“Jt was I,” said at last a faint voice. Poor crippled Hans tottered among them, saying, ‘“The enemy was there.’’ He faltered and sank upon the ground. ‘‘Take me to my mother,’”’ said he, ‘‘thank God, I have not been useless.’’ They carried Hans to his mother, and laid him before her. As she bowed over his pale face, Hans opened his eyes and'said, ‘‘Weep not for me, dear mother. Iamhappy- Yes, mother, it is true, ‘God hath a plan For every man.’ You see He had it for me, though we did not know exactly what it was.” Hans lived long enough to know that he had been of use; he lived to see thankful mothers embrace his mother—to hear that she would be honored by those whom her son had saved at the cost of his own life. Such a work as Hans did is not given to every man todo. There is, however, & work for every one, if he will but look out for it. None need stand useless and idle. And es- pecially in the Church there is work for all. There can be no idlers in the Master’s vine- yard. “God hath a plan For every man.”’ ———~