# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1906_S61
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

The Lutheran Pioneer.

61

That Place Is Heaven.

There is a land so bright and fair,
No pain or death can enter there,
And angels snowy garments wear —
That place is heaven.

The streets are paved with shining gold,
And all is joy and peace untold.

There’s nothing in that place grows old —
That place is heaven.

There is a river pure and bright

That flows on through the gates of light;
In that fair Jand there is no night —
That place is heaven.

There is a Savior up on high

Who for our sake came down to die;
There is a home up in the sky —

That home is heaven.
ESTHER PETERSON.

——_———_>- 0-2 —____-

God’s Providence.

‘Do you see this lock of hair?” said an old
gentleman to me.

“Yes; but what of it? Is it perhaps a lock
clipped from the head of a darling child, long since
dead ?” ;

“No; it isn’t that; it is a lock: of my own hair,
and it is now almost seventy years since I had it
cut off.”

“But how is it that you treasure up a lock of
your own hair?” -

“Well, a remarkable event is connected with it.
I preserve the lock carefully, because it strongly
speaks to me of God’s providence. I was a child,
four years of age, my hair falling on my shoulders
in long ringlets. One.day my father went to the
woods to cut off a log, and I went with him. Whilst
he was at work I stood near by, looking with inter-
est at the ax as it was raised and lowered, scatter-
ing chips right and left at every stroke. Some of
the chips fell at my feet, and I stooped down to
pick them up. In so doing I stumbled, and, of a
sudden, my head lay on the block of wood. I had
fallen just at the moment the ax came down with
all its might. It was too late to check it. I
screamed, and my father, struck with horror, sank
to the ground. He had been unable to stay the
blow, and being blinded by sudden fright, he
thought he had killed his child. Both of us recoy-
ered from our fright, and my father folded me in
his arms, looking at me from head to foot to see
where I had been injured. Not a drop of blood
could be seen, and he sank on his knees, earnestly

thanking God for His great mercy. On taking up
his ax, he found some hair on the edge of it. He
turned to the block and saw lying upon it a lock
from the hair of his child. What a token of God’s
protection! It was as if an angel had turned the
edge of the steel aside the very moment it came
down. Again my father’s lips were moved in
thanksgiving. Then, picking up the lock and tak-
ing me on his arms, he went home. Yes, sir, dur-
ing his lifetime he preserved the lock as an evidence
of God’s watchful care. He left it to me on his
death-bed. I preserve it as I would a treasure. It
tells me of my father’s God and of my God, and
bids me always trust in Him. Seventy years have
passed since that day in the woods, but this lock
of hair still speaks to me of God’s watchful eye and
loving providence.” — rom the German.

No Longer Afraid.

Little Clarence, ten years old, was an inmate
of an Orphans’ Home.

“Please, ma’m,” he said one day to the lady
who was teaching his class, “I’ve been thinking a
good deal lately.”

“Have you, Clarence? I am glad to hear it.
But tell me what you have been thinking about.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking that if, as you say,
God knows and cares about all things, He must
be very busy. And then I’m right afraid He might
forget about a little chap like me. I’m so small.”

“Ah, Clarence, older people than you are tempted
to think that sometimes. But shall I tell you some-
thing that will make you quite sure that He will
not forget you?”

“Please, ma’m.”

“When Jesus was on earth, a sparrow was worth
only half a farthing, and yet He said that not one
fell to the ground without His Father’s knowledge.
What do you think about it now, Clarence?”

_ “Thank you, ma’m; I’d forgot that, I shall be
no longer afraid.” -

This poor little boy had been deserted by his
mother, and had yet to learn that there is a love
stronger. than a mother’s. It is the love of Him
who says:

“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that
she should not have compassion on the son of her
womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will not I for-
get thee,” Is. 49, 15.

—____ 4 —____.