The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1911, Page 19

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The Lutheran Pioneer.

19

“Christ Is My Sacrifice.”

An eye-witness relates the following: —

A farmer drove with two high-mettled horses
-into town. Stopping in front of one of the stores,
he was about to enter when his horses took fright.
He sprang in front of them, and heroically seized
the reins. Maddened by strange noises, the horses
dashed down the street, the man still clinging to
the bridles. On they rushed, until the horses, wild
with frenzy, rose on their haunches, and leaping
upon the man, all came with a crash to the earth.
When people arrived and rescued the bleeding body
of the man, and found him fatally wounded, a
friend, bending tenderly over him, asked, “Why did
you sacrifice your life for horses and wagon?”
He replied in a feeble voice, “Go and look in the
wagon.” ‘They turned, and there, safe in the straw,
lay his little boy. Then the friend said to him,
“God will be gracious to you for such a sacrifice.”
But the dying man feebly shook his head and whis-
pered, “Christ is my sacrifice.”

When they laid the mangled form of the Chris-
tian farmer to rest, the preacher spoke on the words
of the apostle: “Christ hath loved us and hath given
Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God.”

God is gracious to us for Christ’s sake only, and
we are saved, not by any sacrifices that we make,
but by the sacrifice which Christ made for us.
He put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself, Hebr.
9, 26.

Sie aie ae

Dying in the Lord.

Frances Ridley Havergal, a devout Christian
woman, who wrote many religious verses which
endeared her to her readers, was the daughter of
an English clergyman.
died in 1879. In her last illness, while suffering
intensely from a high fever, she said in patient
submission, “God’s will is delicious; He makes no
mistakes.”

Bidding one of her physicians good-bye, she
asked, “Do you really think I am going?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“To-day?” she inquired.

“Probably,” was the reply.

Then she exclaimed, “Beautiful, too good to
be true!” and looking up with a smile, added,
“Splendid to be so near the gates of heaven!” She
then spoke of ‘the Savior, whose blood cleanseth
from all sin, and who opened heaven for us.

She was born in 1837 and.

Later, as the time of her departure came, she
nestled down into the pillows, folded her arms upon
her breast, saying, “There — it is all over! Blessed
rest!” She tried to sing, but after one sweet note
her voice failed, and she was gone to see the King
in His beauty, of whom, in His sufferings, she wrote
on Good Friday, only a few weeks before her death:

Behold your King, with His sorrow crowned!
Alone, alone in the valley is He!

The shadows of death are gathering round,
And the Cross must follow Gethsemane.
Darker and darker the gloom must fall,
Filled is the cup,— He must drink it all!
Oh, think of His sorrow, that we may know
lis wondrous love in His wondrous woe!

— ——. >

. “Mother, I’ve Got It.”

A little Sunday-scholar in a small French village
was one day sent by his mother to the shop to buy
her a little soap. When the shopwoman had weighed
it, she was about to tear a leaf out of a large old
Bible which lay upon the counter, and to wrap the
soap up in it.

“What are you going to do?” said the little boy,
with a look of astonishment and indignation. “Do
you know that that is a Bible?”

“What of that?” answered the shopwoman; “it
will do very well to wrap up this bit of soap.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” replied the child, “you ought
not to tear up a Bible for such a purpose.”

“Why, child,” said the woman contemptuously,
“T bought it on purpose to use as waste paper.”

“Bought. the Bible on purpose to make waste
paper of it? Oh, that I had got it!’ I would take
good care not to make such a use of it.”

“Well, if you like to pay what it cost me, you
shall have it.”

“Qh, thank you, thank you! I will run to
mother and ask her for the money.” And darting
out of the shop, away he ran.

“Mother, mother !” he called out, “do give me
some money !”

“What for, dear?”

“9 buy a Bible. ‘The lady in the shop wanted
to tear one up, and I told her, indeed, she ought
not to do it; so she said I might buy it of her. Do,
dear mother; give me some ene, that I may save
it from being torn up.” A

‘My dear child, I cannot pay for it. I have no
money.” ‘The little fellow burst into cearey eaae ‘re
turned to the:shop broken-hearted.