# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1913_S3
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

The Lutheran Pioneer. -3

stares them in the face. ‘They rush to the woods,
they fell trees, they dig up the roots, they till the
ground, they sow the seed. It is too late! Winter
comes, and their seed rots in the ground. ‘They die
of hunger in the midst of their gold.

“What folly!” you say. You are right. But
do not all those commit the same folly who spend
the spring and summer of their life in hoarding
treasures on earth, neglecting the living seed and
tilling of the ground of their sinful heart till winter
comes and finds them without the Bread of Life,
without any treasure in heaven, and they are lost?

Selected.

————-- eee

‘“sNow We See Through a Glass,’’ etc.

“Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then
face to face,” 1 Cor. 13, 12.

A yery touching story is told of a poor, unhappy
boy in London, who was one day run over and
brought to a children’s hospital in an unconscious
condition. :

The past life of the boy had been most sad and
wretched. His parents were both dead, and he lived
with a mean, drinking woman who daily sent him
out to beg; and when he returned from his trips
with empty hands, she received him with cruel
blows. His nights were spent lying on a heap of
dirty rags. Dry bread crusts and.thin broth were
his daily food. ‘The only pleasure the wretched boy
had was when he could feast his eyes on the beau-
tiful things displayed in the show-windows of the
stores: frosted cakes, appetizing meats, and, above
all, the many toys. He knew quite well that these
things were not for him, for there was always a
glass between them and himself. He reconciled
himself to the idea never to possess them, and it
never entered his mind that these glorious things
could exist for him without the transparent wall.
A box of lead soldiers particularly fascinated him.

- A long, long time he looked at them and longed to
handle them, but — of course, there was the glass.

One day, as already stated, he was run over and
brought to a hospital, a hospital founded and con-
ducted for the love of Chiist. When he regained
consciousness, he found himself in a clean, white
bed in a pleasant room, whose windows were beau-
tified with fresh flowers. But what impressed him
most was a lovely, loving face bending over him.
A strong nourishing broth, such as he had never
tasted before, was brought to him. Then he was
kindly told to go to sleep again, and somebody drew

the curtains of the windows, so that the bright sun-
light might not shine in his eyes. All this he could
not understand. He almost believed that he was
already an angel in heaven. He touched his shoul-
der to feel whether he already had wings, but he
found none. It was all a riddle to him, but in his
weak condition he was not able to think much, and
soon he was peacefully slumbering.

His injuries were soon found to be less serious
than had been at first thought. On the next day
he saw several children playing in the room with
little toy-wagons and horses. He looked on in sur-
prise, for they actually seemed to handle the beau-
tiful things with their hands!

Soon he was able to sit up in his little bed. The
kind nurse supported him with pillows, laid a board
in front of him, and brought him—he could
scarcely trust his eyes —a box of lead soldiers, ex-
actly like those he had seen in the show-windows.
After he had looked at them for several minutes
with beaming eyes, he slowly, timidly put out his
hand towards them until he finally touched them.
No sooner, however, had he touched them, than he
cried in tones of utmost surprise and delight, “Oh,
but there is no-glass between !” —

And what will our joy be when we shall once
be there where we shall also exultingly cry, “Oh, but
there is no glass between !”

Ah yes! Here there is always a glass between’
us and that which we hope and long for, between
us and Him on whose breast we wish to lie.

When we think of our loved ones who have gone
before, though we know that they are in eternal
bliss, yet we see them only through a glass, and™
that glass ofttimes quite thick and dark.

O the great bliss when nothing will longer sep-
arate us from our Savior and our loved ones!

Nothing! Nothing! No glass between!

The Mosque of St. Sophia in Constantinople.

Press dispatches from the Near, East, the seat
of the bloody war between the Balkan states and
Turkey, have made frequent mention of the Mosque
of St. Sophia, the former Church of St. Sophia, »
in Constantinople. No doubt, it will be of interest
to the readers of the Pronzer to read something of
this celebrated building, a picture of which we are
able to show them in this issue.

This truly celebrated church edifice was built
by Emperor Justinian from 552 to 557% at an’
alleged cost of over thirty million dollars, and was +”