The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1897, Page 3

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‘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.”’

———~<cmmeor eo

Wishes.

It was near the New Year and a group of
young people sat talking by an open fire one
evening. There were two or three sets of
cousins, and one or two neighbors. Aunt
Maria, who had lately come to visit the rela-
tives, sat in an easy-chair knitting, listening,
and smiling on all around.

‘*What did you like best of your Christmas
gifts?’’ ‘‘What would you like most to have
the coming year bring you?’’ were some of
the questions asked; and how the wishes flew
about onthe wings of words! One expressed
a wish for this thing and another for that, and
the wishes were as different as the persons.

When all who did not belong to one house-
hold were gone, Aunt Maria put away her
knitting and looked around on the little group
of nieces and nephews that remained.

“Thank you,’’ she said pleasantly, ‘‘for
telling me so much about yourselves as you
have to-night, all of you.’’

“Why, auntie,’ exclaimed Phabe, ‘‘we
weren’t talking about ourselves at all! We
were telling what we would like to have,
nearly all the time.’’

‘Yes, [ know. You were expressing your
wishes. That was what told me so much.
It is easy to judge people, in many ways, by
their wishes. I know every one of you far
better than I did this morning ; and, my dears,
if you would like to become acquainted with
yourselves, just notice the character of your
wishes, for they grow out of your own char-
acters—be sure of that.’’ ;

—————~_+ o~<a ¢ be

Safe in Jesus.

In a palace at Florence hangs a picture
which represents a stormy sea, with wild
waves, and black clouds, and fierce lightnings
flashing across the sky. Wrecks float on the
angry waters, and here and there a human
face is to be seen. Out of the midst of the
waves a rock rises, against which the waters
dash in vain. It towers high above the crest
of the waves. In a cleft of the rock are some
tufts of grass and green herbage, with sweet
flowers blooming, and amid these a doye is
seen, sitting on her nest, quiet and undis-
turbed by the wild fury of the storm, or the
mad dashing of the waves below her. The
picture fitly represents the peace of the Chris-
tian amid the sorrows and trials of the world.
He is hidden in the cleft of the Rock of Ages,
and nestles securely in the bosom of his
Saviour. He is safe in Jesus.