The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1907, Page 44

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The Lutheran Pioneer.

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Gen. Robert E. Lee’s Prayer Books.

General Lee asked me if I ever had calls for
prayer books among the soldiers. I told him that I
frequently had, and he replied: “Well, you would
greatly oblige me if you would call at my quarters
and get and distribute a few which I have. I bought
a new one when in Richmond the other day, and
upon my saying that I would give my old one,
which I had carried through the Mexican war and
had kept ever since, to some soldier, the bookseller
offered to give me a dozen new prayer books for
the old one. I, of course, accepted so good an
offer; and now I have a dozen to give away in-
stead of one.”

I called at the appointed hour; the general had
been called away from his quarters on some im-
portant matter, but he had (even amid his pressing
cares and responsibilities) left the prayer books
with a member of his staff, with directions concern-
ing them. In each one he had written, in his own
well-known handwriting, “Presented to
by R. E. Lee.” Had I been disposed to speculate,
I am quite sure that I could easily have traded each
one of these books containing the autograph of our
great chieftain for a dozen others, and I know that
the soldiers to whom I gave them have treasured
them as precious mementos, or handed them down
as priceless heirlooms. I saw one of these books
several years ago in the hands of a son whose father
was killed on the retreat. It was not for sale. In-
deed, money could not buy it.

Rev. J. William Jones.

A Pillow for Jesus.

A little boy read from his Testament the words:
“The Son of man hath not where to lay His head.”
He sobbed aloud. His mother asked him what was:
the matter. At last, as well as his sobs would let
him, he said:

“If I had been there, I would have given Him
my pillow.”

“Why, my dear,” replied the mother, “you can
give a pillow or any other thing to Jesus, if you,
out of love to Him, give it to the needy among His
disciples. Just look up Matt. 25, 40, and read what
Jesus there says.”

The boy looked up the passage and read:

“Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.”

Next Sunday Night.

The following sad story we heard some years
ago from the pastor of a large city church.

A Christian lady one day came to the pastor
weeping in her sympathy with a sorely afflicted
friend. This friend was, a few days ago, the happy
wife of one of the most successful merchants in
the city. They were blessed with two beautiful
little girls, and they lived wholly for the enjoyment
of this world. Like thousands of others, they never
attended any church, but were entirely and in-
tensely occupied with the pursuit of wealth and
pleasure.

It seems, however, that the wife’s conscience
must have troubled her, for in answer to her Chris-
tian friend’s earnest invitation, she had promised
to listen to the Word of God next Sunday night.
She had also spoken to her husband about it, and
he had agreed to go with her. But before next
Sunday night, while in the possession of perfect
health and in the strength of young manhood, he
was suddenly attacked by a violent pain in the
chest, and was taken in a carriage from his place
of business to his house. <A doctor was called, but
he could not do much for the sufferer, who soon
fell into a stupor, in which he did not even recog-
nize his wife and children, and from which he never
recovered. In three short days he was a corpse.

The pastor was asked to visit the stricken
widow, and it was a sorrowful scene that met his
gaze as he entered the desolate home. The crushed
young wife was lying upon her couch, and her
hands were literally quivering from the agony that
was rending her heart. Beside her were kneeling
two sweet children, weeping bitterly. Scarcely had
the pastor taken his seat when the mother almost
shrieked, “O if he had only lived till next Sunday
night! but he is dead, dead, dead !”

Yes, the young man who had risen rapidly in
the business world and had gained much wealth
and worldly. honor, was lying dead in the elegantly
furnished drawing-room, and the terrified wife was
like a bruised reed, without strength and comfort,

“Hasten, O sinner, to return,
And stay not for the morrow’s sun,

For fear thy lamp should fail to burn,
Before the needful work is done.”

Om

Ir we just thanked God for every mercy and
pleasure’ received, we should find no time to com-
plain of our ills.