# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1904_S46
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

46 The Lutheran Pioneer. —

Go Where the Sheep Are Straying.

Go where the sheep are straying
Out on the mountains cold;

Seek, and with patience bring them
Back to the Shepherd’s fold.

See o’er the path you journey,
Light from His throne descend;

He with His eye will guide you
Safe till your work shall end.

Go where the poor and friendless
Long for a word of cheer;
Whisper the name of Jesus,
Name to the heart most dear.
Soft as the breeze of twilight,
List to the words descend;
He with His eye will guide you
Safe till your work shall end.
F. B. Crosby.

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The Faith of Abram Lewis.

A SKETCH FROM LIFE.

Abram Lewis was a middle-aged colored man,
highly esteemed as an honest, industrious Chris-
tian citizen. For some years he had been working
at the packing house in the east end of town and
by careful planning he had succeeded in building a
‘‘residence,’” a three-roomed cottage, hardly more
than a shanty. But it was a royal home for Abram
Lewis and his wife and babies. Moreover,’ the
happy time to which he had looked forward with
joy had come, and he was making his last pay-
ments on his property.

Late one afternoon, however, fire broke out and
soon destroyed the little home of Abram Lewis.
‘Kind white neighbors cared for Abe’s wife and
children, for he enjoyed the friendship of the white
folks, the banker of the town being his special
friend, having often helped Abe in time of need.

The day after the fire the banker told the story
of poor Abe’s loss to some. of his friends. ‘‘As we
stood by the burning house,’’ said he, ‘‘we knew
that Abe would soon be coming from work, and we
‘hated to see him turn the corner and see what had
happened to his little all. Pretty soon we saw him
come into the road, and we watched and waited.
Our hearts fairly ached for the poor fellow. All at
once he stopped and staggered. Then he picked
himself together, and came slowly towards the place
where his little home had stood. The neighbors
stood around wanting to say something, but all of
us seemed to be tongue-tied; we could not say any-
thing. When Abe reached the group, as we stood
near the ruins of his home, he took off his hat and

t

bowed his head. Then we heard him say, quietly
but clearly, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’

“T tell you,”’ added the wealthy banker, as he
wiped his eyes, ‘‘such faith is worth more than all
my riches.’’— Exchange.

0

A Child’s Trust.

A woman in New York was quietly engaged in
her house work when the dreadful news was brought
to her:

“Come at once to the police station. Your child
has been run over by an express wagon.”’

She hastened to the police station and found
her child surrounded by strangers. The doctor had
not yet arrived. She was told that the wheels had
passed over the child’s foot, but on examination
she found no real injury.

She said to the little darling, ‘‘Why, Willie, how
could the wagon have passed over your foot and not
have crushed it?’’

The child looked up at his mother and said,
‘“Mamma, I guess God put it in a hollow place.’’

——————————

Massa’s Journey.

A certain gentleman who lived in one of the
Southern states before the war had a pious old
slave. ,When the master died, they told the slave
that the master had gone to heaven.

"The old man shook his head. ‘‘I’se ’fraid massa
no gone there,’’ he said.

“But why, Ben?’ he was asked.

He replied, ‘‘Cos, when massa go North or to
the Springs, he talk about it a-long time and get
ready. I never hear him talk about going to heaven,
neyer see him get ready to go there!’’

——______ --» e-# —___--.-—

A Persian Custom.

A physician who has recently returned from a
visit to Persia says that Persians still believe that
human tears are a remedy for certain chronic dis-
eases. At every funeral the bottling of mourners’
tears is one of the chief features of the ceremonies.
Each of the mourners is presented with a sponge

with which to mop off his face and eyes, and after .

burial these sponges are presented to the priest,
who squeezes the tears into bottles which he keeps.
This custom is one of the oldest known in the Hast,
and has probably been practiced by the Persians
for thousands of years.