THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKER: PN 4231 .C5 Copy 1 COMPRISING PIECES SOITABIE FOB iBiay-Si* wk i Festivals. COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY O. AUGUSTA CHENEY. 819 WASHINGTON BOSTON. Price, oO cts. | LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I I • -"* 1 S J -Jut ! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! ■f 'jfl THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKEE: C05IFRISING PIECES SUITABLE FOB SUNDAY-SCHOOL CONCERTS AND FESTIVALS. COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY O. AUGUSTA CHENEY. O LOEING, Publisher, 319 Washington Street, BOSTON. ^ c-\- ^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by A. K. LORING, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Masachusetts. Rockwell & Rollins, Printers and Stereotypers, 122 Washington Street, Boston. THE MEMORY OF MRS. P. R. WOODBURY, Under whose direction many of the pieces contained in this collection were - selected and prepared for use in the Sunday School, JJt in safclg bebicattir BY 03TE WHO HAS NOT CEASED TO LAMENT HER LOSS. PREFACE So much difficulty is experienced by Sunday School Superin- tendents and Teachers in finding pieces suitable to be spoken at Sunday School Concerts that I have been induced to form the collection which is presented in this little volume. It has been drawn from a wide variety of sources, and the pieces have near- ly all been used with acceptance on similar occasions. Where- ever the author's name has been ascertained due credit has been given. I can hardly hope that the present collection will be found ful- ly adequate or complete, but it may do something to supply a want which has been felt in many quarters, and add to the attrac- tiveness of the Sunday School Concert, which is steadily grow- ing in favor, and has already become an established institution in many Sunday Schools. * The large number of beautiful selections which the compiler has been enabled to include in this little volume leads her to hope, that, apart from its use as a Sunday School Speaker, it may be considered as a safe and suitable gift from a parent or Sunday School Teacher to a child. O. A. C. * INDEX. PAGE The Heavenly Home, Dialogue, « . 11 A Good Rule, 12 Sunshine, 12 Child's Hymn, *12 Little Efforts, 13 Unfading. Garden, Dialogue, .14 Little Willie and the Apple, 15 Christ and the Little Ones, 16 What says the Clock ? 18 Youthful Offerings (close with chant), 19 The Peacemaker, Dialogue, .......... 20 Harvest Fields of Time, 21 Golden Hair, ............. 22 Jesus ever near 23 Something to do in Heaven, . 24 Little Servants, 24 The Bird in the Storm, 25 Willie and the Birds, 26 Ballad, ........ 27 Hymn of Praise (close toith singing), 29 Ellen and Mary, Dialogue, 30 Piece for three Boys, Dialogue, 31 The Child's Prayer, 33 Whatsoever ye ask, 34 The Child and the Sceptic, 37 Maggie reading her Testament, 38 The Little Guide, 40 Love one Another, 31 My Shepherd, 42 Lost Margery, 43 The Open Door, .44 The Little Orphan, 45 The Golden Crown, Dialogue, . 46 Katie's Treasures, 47 Sandalphon, 49 The Lent Jewels, 51 The Mother's Prayer, . . 52 VIII INDEX* PAGE THe Book of Thanks, Dialogue, ......... 54 The Rain Lesson, ....;...... 55 I never will grow old, # 57 I will be beautiful, • . . 57 Every-day Religion, Dialogue, 58 The Immortal Crown, . .60 Waiting for a Blessing, . 62 The Home Temple, . 63 Jesus of Nazareth, . . . , , 64 Compound Interest, 66 The Beggar, . . . . * 66 Carving a Name, 68 The Shadows of Twilight, 68 The Christian and hfe Echo, Dialogue, 69 Drawing Water, 71 The Street called Straight, 71 The Sister Land, Dialogue, .......... 72 Gradatim, 76 Whom not having seen we love, 77 The Lost Pocket-book, Dialogue, • 79 Jerusalem tlfe Golden, 82 Emir Hassan, 83 My Name, * . . 84 Uplifted Hands, 85 Peace, , • . • 86 The Two Recording Angels, Dialogue, 88 The Vaudois Teacher, 89 Nearer Home, 91 Fadeless is a Loving Heart, 92 Hymn, To Thee, our heavenly Father, .93 " Adeste Fideles ! » 94 Impressions — Tintypes, Dialogue, .95 The Sultan's Lesson, 100 Honor thy Father and thy Mother, Dialogue, 101 PIECES FOR MAY. Introductory Poem for May Festival, 102 The Flower Girl (close with singing), ........ 104 The Seasons, Dialogue, 105 The May Queen, 106 Origin of the Moss Rose, 7 107 The May Queen, 107 May, 108 The Little Child and the Robins, .109 May, 110 The Seasons, Dialogue, 110 INDEX. IX PAGE The Wild Rose, 112 A June Shower, , 113 The Seasons, Dialogue, 114 The Flowers of May, Dialogue, 115 The May Festival, Dialogue, 119 PIECES FOR CHRISTMAS. Santa Claus' Speech, 123 The Greeting {close with singing), . 125 The Christmas Stocking, 125 The Crown of Life, . 127 The Christmas tree, . . . . 127 Christmas, ^ 128 Little May's New-Tear Wish, 129 A Christmas Picture, ........... 130 A Lesson, .............. 131 Bertha's Christmas Vision, Dialogue, 131 'A Christmas Greeting, 134 A Merry Christmas Greeting, . . .... . ' • . • . .135 Christmas Hymn, 136 An Old Legend, . 137 The Snow, Dialogue, 139 *£he Fairy's Address, Dialogue, 140 The Poor Boy's Prayer to St. Nicholas, '144 The Christmas Tree, 145 The Angels of the Seven Planets, Dialogue, . .146 Christmas, 148 Mabel's Wonder, 149 The Birds, Dialogue, 150 The Pretty Pictures, ............ 153 The Children's Church, . \ 154 My Lambs, . . • . . , . .155 An Angel of Patience, ........... 158 Scenes on Jordan's Strand, 159 Living Waters, 160 Over tlie River, 161 Coming, .............. 163 The Burial of Moses, 166 The Sleep, 169 Perpetual Adoration, 171 The Watcher on the Tower, 172 The Child and the Mourners, 174 INDEX. OCCASIONAL PIECES. PAGE On the Death of a Teacher, . 176 Presentation of a Vase of Roses, . . 177 The Bitter Cup Sweet, 177 The First Concert in a New Church, .178 On Presenting a Teacher with any Gift, . • 0. • • • .179 Gone, .* . 179 On the Death of a young Schoolmate, ........ 180 Exhibition Hymn, ............ 181 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER, oJ * " And if you'll just send me a plenty to eat, With a dress (a blue one), a cloak, and a hood (And some stockings and shoes to put on my feet), I'll be very thankful, and try to be good. " I won't ask this time for a doll or a book, And will thank you so much for other nice things ! And I'll keep wide awake all night, and will look Till I see, through the dark, an angel's bright wings. " An angel will come with the things, I suppose, I should love to look in its beautiful face ; So I'll open the door, though cold the wind blows, And sit close beside it to show the right place. " And I shall be glad, oh, so glad, for I'll know That whatsoever we ask you truly will do, And I'll tell the poor folks wherever I go, So they can have plenty to eat and wear too." Ah, poor little Grace ! through all the long night She waited and watched for the angel to come ; But only sleep came with the dawning of light, And no other angel had entered the room. Her young heart grew sad ; disappointment severe Had robbed her of faith in the mercy of God. Shenvaited and watched through nearly a year, Then her spirit's frail casket was hid by the sod. Ah, dear little Grace ! there are many to-day Whose bosoms, with bright hopes as false as yours, thrill ; They toil and they suffer, then yearningly pray, But know not prayer ever must be " as God will." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 37 THE CHILD AND THE SCEPTIC. A little girl was sitting beside a cottage door ; And, with the Bible on her knee, she conned its pages o'er, When by there passed a traveller, that sultry summer-day, And begged some water, and a seat, to cheer him on his way. " Come in, sir, pray, and rest awhile," the little maiden cried ; " To house a weary traveller is mother's joy and pride." And while he drank the welcome draught, and chatted mer- rily, She sought again the cottage door, the Bible on her knee. At length refreshed, the traveller, a sceptic he, uprose : " What, reading still the Bible, child ? your lesson, I suppose." " 'No lesson, sir," the girl replied, " I have no task to learn; But often to these stories here with joy and love I turn." " And wherefore do you love that book, my little maid, I pray, And turn its pages o'er and o'er the livelong summer-day ? " "Why love the Bible, did you ask? — how angry, sir, you look! I thought that everybody loved this holy, precious book." The sceptic smiled, made no reply, and, pondering, travelled on, But in his mind her answer still rose ever and anon : " I thought all loved the holy book," — it was a strange reply ; " Why do not I, then, love itgtoo? " he whispered with a sigh. He mused, resolved, examined, prayed; he looked within, above ; He read, acknowledged it — the truth, and worshipped Him — the love. A nobler life from that same hour the sceptic proud began, And lived and labored many a year a Bible-loving man. 38 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. MAGGIE READING HER TESTAMENT. Mamma, when our Lord was a dear little child, Do you think he was loved as you love me ? Do you think he played, and prattled, and smiled, And loved to climb on his mother's knee ? Did she clasp him close, and hold him long, And call him her own, her heavenly boy, And, softly humming, sing over the song That the angels sang on that night of joy ? Did he say his prayers when he went to sleep, Asking God's care for friends who are dear? Did he ever grieve ? did he ever weep ? Did he ever wish ? did he ever fear ? Was he always thinking, I wonder, of God ? Was he always praying and never gay ? Was he always reading the Holy Word ? Was he not ready sometimes to play ? His playmates, too, I wonder about, — What were their games when all together? I cannot think he would run and shout As other boys do in the pleasant weather ! Who taught him, I wonder, hi% letters to know, — Those letters that look so strange and hard ; I wonder if he to school did go, And how early he learned to read the Word. Did he understand what the prophets meant F Did he always feel sure that he was the Lord ? Did he always know that he had been sent To open the straight and narrow road ? THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 39 He had brothers and sisters, the Bible says, — James, and Joses, and Simon, and Jude : I suppose when they quarrelled, one look of his Would make them feel sorry and try to be good. How did he look ? I sometimes say ; And would he have spoken had I been there ? Spoken, and not have sent me away ? Of his notice allowed me a little share ? At night, I suppose, when all were asleep, The angels came and talked with him long ; Bade him his faith and his courage keep ; Sang him to sleep with a heavenly song. " Woman," he said, — and that seems so hard ! " Mother" no more after Cana's wine ; Did he want her to know him thenceforth, as the Lord ? To forget her son in the Christ divine ? He lived at Nazareth on the hill ; Do you think he gazed at the sunset glow, And sighed at the glory so bright and still, And the toil in the carpenter's shop below ? Thirty long years he waited apart ; Thirty to wait for three to teach ! All of that time was he searching his heart So long getting ready to heal and to preach? I shall sometime know ; for mow above, Where the golden gates in splendor shine, The Lord of light and the Lord of love, He sits in a glory all divine. All divine, and with nought of earth Save the glorious form which he took away; Yet I'm sure he remembers his lowly birth, And I know that he hears when children pray. 40 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. And when to his heavenly home I go, And am face to face with the angels mild, I will ask them to tell me all they know Of our Lord on earth as a little child. Mrs. Sarah B. Henshaw. THE LITTLE GUIDE. - A little child went out from home One pleasant summer day, And, wandering about alone, She sadly lost her way. • ' Twas on a prairie bleak and wild, With naught to guide her right, She wandered, weeping, sorrowing child Until the hush of night. With aching heart and throbbing head, She sat her down and cried, Thinking of that low trundle-bed, With mother at its side. In keen despair she called aloud, " O mother, mother, come ! I'm lost, I'm lost ! with grief I'm bowed ; O come, and take me home ! " But, hark ! a sudden sound she hears, And, starting to her feet, She quickly wipes away her tears, A little lamb to meet. Quite opposite to hers, its course, Bleating, it onward bound ; She gently followed where it led, And soon her home she found. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 41 Dear children, we are wanderers, We are going all astray, Until the precious Lamb of God Doth meet us on the way : Guiding our footsteps ever right, • We follow him in love, To blessed mansions, pure and bright, In our Father's house above. Family Treasure. LOVE ONE ANOTHER. A little girl, with happy look, Sat slowly reading a ponderous book, -All bound with velvet, and edged with gold, And its weight was more than the child could hold ; Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o'er, And every day she prized it more, For it said, as she looked at her dear little brother, It said, " Little children must love one another." She thought it was beautiful in that book, And the lesson home to her heart she took ; She walked on her way with a trusting grace, And a dove-like look on her meek, young face r Which said, as plain as words could say, The Holy Bible I must obey ; So, mamma, I'll be kind to my darling brother, For " Little children must love one another." I'm sorry he's naughty and will not pray, But I'll love him still, for I think the way To make him gentle and kind to me Will be better shown, if I let him see 42 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. I strive to do what I think is right ; And thus, when I kneel to pray to-night, I will clasp my arms around my brother, And say " Little children must love one another." The little girl did as the Bible taught, And pleasant indeed was the change it wrought, For the boy looked up in glad surprise To meet the light of her loving eyes ; His heart was full, he could not speak, He pressed a kiss on his sister's cheek ; And God looked down on the happy mother, Whose little children loved each other. MY SHEPHERD. Great Shepherd of the sheep, Who all thy flock doth keep, Leading by waters calm ; Do thou my footsteps guide, To follow by thy side ; Make me thy little lamb. I fear I may be torn By many a sharp-set thorn, As far from thee I stray, — My weary feet may bleed ; For rough are paths which lead Out of thy pleasant way. But when the road is long, Thy tender arm and strong The weary one will bear ; And thou wilt wash me clean, And lead to pastures green, Where all the flowers are fair. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 43 Till, from the soil of sin Cleansed and made pure within, Dear Saviour, whose I am, Thou brin ge st me in love, To thy sweet fold above, A little snow-white lamb. LOST MARGERY. Oh, where has the little one fled, The child with the innocent eyes, With the ready smile and the springing step, And the merry, quick replies ? She was always so gay and so bright That I miss her when she is gone ; Is she out at her play in the garden there ? Do you think she would leave me alone ? Perhaps she is hunting the flowers That come when the snow melts away, — The crocuses, starting up purple and white, Or the violets, children of May. Or perhaps she is out with the birds, Teaching robin and sparrow to sing ; Or dancing along with the glad little stream, Set free by the touch of the spring. Oh, why are your eyes so sad ? Have you never a word to say ? Did the angels lean from their heavenly heights And beckon my darling away ? Has she gone through the gates of pearl ? Has she Crossed the jasper sea? She cannot be lost whom the angels have found, But she will not come back to me. Louise Chandler Moulton. 4:4 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. THE OPEN DOOR. Within a town of Holland once A widow dwelt, 'tis said, So poor, alas ! her children asked One night in vain for bread. But this poor woman loved the Lord," And knew that he was good: So with her little ones around, She prayed to him for food. When prayer was done, her eldest child, A boy of eight years old, Said softly, " In the Holy Book, Dear mother, we are told How Gocl, with food by ravens brought, Supplied his prophet's need." " Yes," answered she ; " but that, my son, Was long ago indeed." 5 But, mother, God may do again What he has done before ; And so to let the birds fly in I will unclose the door ! " Then little Dick, in simple faith, Threw ope the door full wide, So that the radiance of their lamp Fell on the path outside. Ere long the burgomaster passed, And, noticing the light, Paused to inquire why the door Was open so, .at night. " My little Dick has done it, sir," The widow, smiling, said, That ravens might fly in to bring My hungry children bread." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 45 " Indeed," the burgomaster cried ; " Then here's a raven, lad : Come to my home, and you shall see Where bread may soon be had." Along the street to his own house He quickly led the boy, And sent him back with food that filled His humble home with joy. The supper ended, little Dick Went to the open door, Looked up, said, " Many thanks, good Lord!" Then shut it fast once more ; For though no bird had entered in, He knew that God, on high, Had hearkened to his mother's prayer, And sent the full supply. Tract Journal. THE LITTLE ORPHAN. Out in the night, on a hard gray stone, A poor little beggar girl knelt alone ; And, clasping her hands in the quiet air, She softly whispered her evening prayer. *' O God, thou knowest I have no home ; But if thou wilt tell thine angels to come And keep their watch o'er me, I'll not fear Though I lay me down on the earth so drear. " In all this world I have no kind face, No eye to pity, no arm to embrace ; But Jesus can look on me from above, And I shall not want any other love." 46 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. The child gazed into the far-off height, Where myriads of stars were gleaminof bright ; And nearer and nearer the glory came, Till the earth around her seemed a-flame. And the faces of father and mother were there, And visions of angels filled the air, And the voice of Jesus said to her, " Come ! You are wanted in your eternal home." The morning sun arose and shone On a little form by the hard gray stone ; But the beggar's soul had cleft the skies, And was happy and free in Paradise. Child at Home. THE GOLDEN CROWN. [This dialogue is to be spoken by two girls, one considerably older than the other.] Elder. Over the river where loved ones wait, Just as you enter the pearly gate, There's a golden crown, my child, Begemmed with jewels, costly and rare, Woven with tenderest love and care, If you win the prize, my child. Younger. Will gold buy this treasure, sister dear? Ah ! ne'er could I get enough, I fear ; Are you sure it is for me ? And who hath charge of this golden crown ? Do you think, sister, they'd send it down ? And have they one, too, for Minnie Brown? Are you sure they've one for me ? Elder. Gold cannot buy it, my darling child ; • Though far and wide it were upward piled, THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKEB. 47 All valueless dross 'twould prove. There's one for Minnie, Harry, and Bell ; And they who have charge e'er guard them well ; They cannot send them, my little Nell ; These sentinels none can move. Younger. Then how can I win this prize, sister, Since above my reach 'tis placed so far That the way seems very long? Gold cannot buy it, and, if it could, Indeed it would do me little good ; For I cannot have it, if I would, The guards are so stern and strong. Elder. Listen, my love, while I tell to you The old, old story, yet ever new, . Of the golden crown above, Guarded by angels, and kept for all, — For Nellie, Minnie, and Uncle Paul, Without distinction, both great and small, If they pay the price of love. True love and trust in the Saviour blest, Secure our pardon for sins confessed, And bring sweetest blessings down ; Then if my child will patiently wait Under the arch of the shining gate, Pass she early, or never till late, She will win the golden crown. Child at Home. KATIE'S TREASURES. In the soft October sunshine, 'Neath the forest's golden eaves, Roamed a merry band of maidens, In a crimson rain of leaves ; 48 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. But 'mid ringing bursts of laughter, Fluttering through the misty air, All their young hearts' cherished treasures Each with other did compare. " I dwell in a lordly mansion," Cried a pair of scarlet lips ; " In the carpet's tufted roses, Deep my lightest footstep dips. Oh, the curtains, and the pictures ! But, more beautiful than all, You should see the western sunlight Creep along the painted wall." " Listen," quickly cried another, " Listen now, I pray, to me, — Years ago there was a necklace Borne across the deep, blue sea ; In its velvet-cushioned casket, Stars could not so brightly shine ; But this chain of prisoned rainbows By and by will all be mine." " I have not such wondrous jewels," Proudly spoke another voice, " But I'd rather have my father, If I had to take my choice. He has grown so very famous,. — People almost kiss his hand, And, in time, I'm very certain He'll be ruler of the land." Thus ran on the eager voices, As they gayly had begun, Till some tale of wondrous treasure Every child had told, save one. " She will not have much to tell us," Whispered they, " poor little thing ! " But with smiles said blue-eyed Katie, " I'm the daughter of a king ! " THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 49 Then they laughed: "O princess, tell us Where the king, your father, dwells ; Do your mighty palace portals Swing at touch of golden bells ? " Meekly answered gentle Kate, Pushing back a floating curl, " All the shining wall is golden, Every gate a single pearl. " And more glorious than the sunrise, Through the purple morning mist, Brightly glow the brave foundations, — Jasper, sapphire, amethyst; And within, — such wondrous treasures ! . "Oh, what happiness to see ! But, when home my Father calls me, He will give them all to me." Then the little maids grew thoughtful, And they looked with tender eyes, On the sweet-faced little Katie, Gazing upward to the skies. And they said, " O happy princess ! Listening for the great King's call, You have found the greatest treasure, You are richest of us all." SANDALPHON. Have you read in the Talmud of old, In the legends the Rabbins have told, Of the limitless realms of the air, — Have you read it, —the marvellous story Of Sandalphon, the angel of glory, Sandalphon, the angel of prayer ? 4 50 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. How, erect, at the outermost gates Of the city celestial he waits, With his feet on the ladder of light, That, crowded with angels unnumbered, By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered Alone in the desert, at night ? The angels of wind and of fire Chant only one hymn, and expire With the song's irresistible stress, — Expire in their rapture and wonder, As harp-strings are broken asunder By the music they throb to express. But, serene in the rapturous throng, Unmoved by the rush of the song, With eyes unimpassioned and slow, Among the dead angels, the deathless Sandalphon stands listening, breathless, To sounds that ascend from below, — From the spirits on earth that adore, From the souls that entreat and implore In the frenzy and passion of prayer, — From the hearts that are broken with losses, And weary with dragging the crosses Too heavy for mortals to bear. And he gathers the prayers as he stands, And they change into flowers in his hands, Into garlands of purple and red ; And, beneath the great arch of the portal, Through the streets of. the city immortal, Is wafted the fragrance they shed. It is but a legend, I know, — A fable, a phantom, a show THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 51 ♦ Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; Yet the old mediaeval tradition, The beautiful, strange superstition, But haunts me, and holds me the more. When I look from my. window at night, And the welkin above is all white, All throbbing and panting with stars, Among them, majestic, is standing Sandalphon the angel, expanding His pinions in nebulous bars. And the legend, I feel, is a part Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, The frenzy and fire of the brain, That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, The golden pomegranates of Eden, To quiet its fever and pain., Atlantic Monthly. THE LENT JEWELS. In schools of wisdom all the day was spent : His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent, With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the wife And two fair children who consoled his life. She, meeting at the threshold, led him in, And, with these words preventing, did begin: " Ever rejoicing at your wished return, Yet am I most so now ; for, since this morn, I have been much perplexed and sorely tried Upon one point, which you shall now decide. Some years ago, a friend unto my care Some jewels gave, — rich, precious gems they were, — But, having given them in my charge, this friend Did not afterwards, nor come for them, nor send, 52 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. But left them in my keeping for so long, That now it almost seems to me a wrong That he should suddenly arrive to-day To take those jewels which he left, away. What think you ? Shall I freely yield them back And with no murmuring ? — so henceforth to lack Those gems myself whichvE had learned to see Almost as mine forever, mine in fee." " What question can be here ? Your own true heart Must needs advise you of the only part ; That may be claimed again which was but lent, And should be yielded with no discontent, Nor surely can we find herein a wrong, That it was left us to enjoy it long." " Good is the word," she answered ; " may we now And evermore that it is good allow ! " And, rising, to an inner chamber led, And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed, Two children pale : and he the jewels knew, Which God had lent him, and resumed anew." Richard Ghenevix Trench. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. A mother's holy arms caressed A babe that laughed upon her breast. Then thus to Heaven she cried, in prayer : " Now even as his face is fair, " O Lord ! keep thou his soul within As free from any spot of sin," From heaven the Lord an answer made, " Behold ! I grant as thou hast prayed." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 53 Within her door the darkness crept, And babe and mother sweetly slept. The belfry rang the midnight bell ; The watchman answered, " All is well." Awaking at the cradle side, The mother knew the babe had died. With grief to set a woman wild, She caught and clasped the marble child, Until her heart against his own "Was broken, beating on a stone ! " O God ! " she cried, in her despair, " Why hast thou mocked a mother's prayer? " Then answered he, " As I have willed, Thy prayer, O woman ! is fulfilled ; " If on the earth thy child remain, His soul shall gather many a stain ; " At thy behest, I reach my hand To lift him to the heavenly land ! " The mother heard, and bowed her head, And laid her cheek against the dead, And cried, " O God ! I dare not pray, Thou answerest in so strange a way ! " In shadow of a taper's light She sat and moaned the livelong night; But when the morning brought the sun, She prayed, " Thy will, O God, be done ! " Theodore Tilton* 5* 54 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. THE BOOK OF THANKS. Albert. There, I feel so vexed and out of patience with Ben, that I really must — Clara. Do something to injure him ? Albert. Oh, no ; that is not what I was going to say, — but that I must look over my " Book of Thanks." Clara. Book of Thanks ! what sort of a book is that I would like to know ? Albert. Here it is {taking a small book from his pocket] , and I will read some from it if you would like to have me. Clara. I certainly should. Please read. Albert. " March 8th. — Ben lent me his new hat." " When I lost my shilling Ben found it for me." " June 30th. — Ben invited me to go and eat some cherries in his father's garden." So, after all, Ben is a pretty good boy. Clara. Why Albert, what do you write in your book ? Albert. All the acts of kindness that are ever shown me, — and you would wonder how many there are. " I find much good from writing them down. I do not forget them as I might do if I only trusted to my memory ; so I hope I am not often ungrateful ; and when I am cross, or out of temper, I almost always feel pleasant again if I only look over my book. % Clara. I wonder what sort of things you put down. Will you let me see it, Albert ? Albert. Certainly, Clara. {Passing the book."] Clara. {Takes it and reads.] " Amos Kindly asked me to spend the day with him, and did all he could to make my visit pleasant." "Mrs. Day gave me some nice peaches." 68 Freddie Churchill asked after me when I was sick, an 1 game to see me when I was getting better." And I see you put " father and mother " at the top of every page. Why is that, Albert? Albert. Oh, they are so good to me, and do so much for me, that I cannot put it all down, and so I just write their names to remind me of their constant care and goodness. I know THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 55 that I can never repay them. Read what I have put at the beginning of the book. Clara. {Reads.) " Every good gift is from above." Albert. That is to remind me that I owe thanks to God for all the blessings I enjoy. Clara. Well, Albert, I am much pleased with your book and its object. I will ask my mother to get a blank-book for me, and then I will keep a " Book of Thanks " too. THE RAIN LESSON. " Mother, it rains ! " and tears like rain fell down. " O little daughter, see the plants rejoice ; The rose-buds blush, and in your garden-bed The drooping violets look so gladly up, Blessing our God for rain. He knows what's best." " Yes, mother, he knows everything. And so He surely knows there's but one afternoon In all the week that I can have from sehool, And 'tis the third that I've had leave to go And play with Mary, if it did not rain, And gather wild-flowers in her father's grove, And now it rains again." The mother took The mourner on her knee, and kissed away The blinding grief. And then she told her tales Of the great Eastern deserts, parched and dry, And how the traveller, 'mid the burning sands, Watches for rain-clouds with a fainting gaze ; And showed her pictures of a caravan, And the poor camel with his outstretched neck Longing for water. 56 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. And she told her, too, Of the sad mother in the wilderness, And the spent water-bottle ; how she laid Her darling son among the shrubs to die, Bowing her head down that she might not see The agony of the long death from thirst; And how the blessed angel, when, she prayed, Brought water from the skies to save her child. And other stories, from the Book of God, Breathed that kind teacher to the listening one, Seated so meek beside her ; how there fell "No rain in Israel, till the grass decayed, And the brooks wasted, and the cattle died ; And good Elijah, with his earnest prayer, Besought the Lord till the consenting cloud Gave rain,. and thankful earth her fruits restored. And then they sang a hymn, and, full of joy, The baby, crowing from his nurse's arms, Came in and joined them, creeping merrily After his little sister, till, her pain Of disappointment all absorbed in love, She thanked her mother for the pleasant time, And for her tender lessons. So, that night, Amid her simple prayer, they heard her say Words of sweet praise to Him whose mercy gives The blessed rain. " For now I know, dear God, What pleases thee is best." O mother! seek Ever, through cloud and sunshine, thus to lead Thy little hearts to love him ; so the tear Shall brighten like the rainbow here, and gleam, At last, a pearl-drop in thy crown of life. Mrs. Sigourney. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 57 I NEVER WILL GROW OLD; Oh, no, I never will grow old, Though years on years roll by, And silver o'er my dark-brown hair, And dim my laughing eye. They shall not shrivel up my soul, Nor dim the glance of love My heart casts on this world of ours, And lifts to that above. In the joy and grief of every one I'll seek to share a part, Till grateful thoughts and wishes fond Come thronging to my heart. The earnest praises of the young, . The blessings of the old, — I'll gather them in, I'll hoard them up, As a miser hoards his gold. Smile on, doubt on, say life is sad, The world is false and cold, — I'll keep my heart glad, true, and warm ; I never will grow old. I WILL BE BEAUTIFUL. "I will be beautiful," said May, Lifting her soft blue eyes to heaven ; " Dear Lord Jesus, thou art the way, — I will be gentle in all I say And pardon as I would be forgiven ; I'll strive to be purer, day by day, And in thy strength — pray. 58 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. I will be beautiful — in my heart ; Roses and lilies are fair but f adin'o* ; A chastened spirit is better than art . To give young faces sweet tint and shading. These for my beauty, — a voice whose tone Shall be to the sad like a sons: : An eye as ready to sparkle alone As when in the brilliant throng ; A smile as bright for the household few As the many in courtly hall ; For a smile, if 'tis happy, is always new, And a low voice pleaseth all. What matter if tresses or eyes grow dull, If the heart be holy 'tis beautiful. EVERY-DAY RELIGION. [Enter Charles and Henry.] Charles. Come, Henry, aren't you going to Sunday school? Henry. No ; my father said I needn't go any more, and you won't see me there again. Charles. Why not, Henry ? Henry. Because I don't want to go ! Charles. You used to like it. Henry. I like to hear the teacher read stories very well, when they are not too pious ; but I don't think much of the rest of his talk. What is the good of going ? Charles. What's the good of it ? Don't you want to under- stand your duty ? Henry. Of course I do. Charles. And when you understand it, you want to do it, — don't you ? Henry. To be sure I do. Charles. Well, then, the Sunday school will help you to understand and to do your duty. . THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 59 Henry. Pooh ! Do you think I don't know my duty now ? Charles. That is for you to answer, and not for me ! But do you feel as though you always did your whole duty ? Henry. Yes, I think I do. Charles. I am very glad that you understand and do your duty so well ; but, for my part, I don't know how I should get through the week if I did not go to Sunday school. Henry. What do you mean by that? Charles. It gives me strength to resist temptation. My teacher tells me of my duty to God and man, and he urges me so kindly and so earnestly to do my duty, that the lesson goes with me through the week as a kind of inspiration to keep me in the right path. Henry. He tells you not to tell lies, cheat, steal, or anything of that sort ; but I know all these things without any telling. Charles. So do I ; but the teacher tells me something more than merely not to do them. You wouldn't steal, Henry? Henry. Of course I wouldn't. Charles. Why wouldn't you steal ? Henry. Because I wouldn't. Charles. But why not? Henry. Why wouldn't I steal ? Well, that's a queer ques- tion. Why wouldn't I steal ? Charles. Why wouldn't you ? Please to answer me, Henry. Henry. Why, I should be sent to jail if I did steal. Charles. Then if it were not for being sent to jail you would steal? Henry. No, I don't know that I would. Charles. You don't know that you would ? Henry. You are pretty sharp with your catechism. Let me try a little. Would you steal if there were no punishment for it? Charles. I would not. Henry. Why not? Charles. Because it is wrong to steal ; because God, through Jesus Christ, commanded me to love my neighbor as myself; and I cannot love him and steal from him. A. boy that would . 60 TRE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. not steal, or do any other wrong act, because he fears the pun- ishment, isn't much better than a heathen. Henry. Oh, don't preach, Charles ! Charles. I don't preach ; I was only answering your ques- tion. I am afraid, if I had no better motive than the fear of punishment to keep me from sin -and wrong, I should be a worse boy than I am. Henri/. Don't you believe more folks would steal than do now if there was no punishment for it ? Charles. I am sure of it. And if more people carried their religion into their e very-day life, less people would steal than do now. And what is true of stealing is true of all kinds of sin and wrong. Henry. I never understood religion to mean such things as that. I always thought it meant reading the Bible, saying prayers, and singing hymns. Charles. It means all these things, for religion is the love of God and the love of man. If we love God, we must delight to read his Book, and to commune with him in prayer and song. In loving him we love our fellow-beings, for they are his children ; and, if we love them, we must deal justly and kindly with them. Henry. Somehow what you have said looks right to me, and I think I will go to Sunday school with you. I never thought religion had anything to do with every-day life. Charles. Everything ; but it is time to go, and we will talk more another time. \_Exeunt.~] William T. Adams. THE IMMORTAL CROWN. A crown for the blessed Saviour ! A crown for the sinless King ! Souls of the just and holy Are gems that the angels bring. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 61 Little innocent children Borne from our saddened view, — They are the shining Sapphires, Pure as the heavenly hue. Those who in life's dewy morning Willingly take death's hand, Turned without pang or murmur From earth to the better land, — Ever before death's summons Seeking the footprints of truth, — They are the Amethysts glowing With purple hopes of their youth. Those in a right cause falling, Pouring their blood like wine, — They are the sparkling Eubies Set by an artist divine. Souls of the fair and gentle Hovering between two worlds, Wounded, yet pleasantly singing, — These are the delicate Pearls. They who have met temptation And passed unpolluted by ; Who've kindly aided the erring, From sinful pleasures to fly ; Have been meek when clothed in power, And patient under the rod, — These are the priceless Diamonds, Filled with a light from God. Many, with lives all clouded, Silently filled up the hours With little good deeds unnumbered, Changing to beautiful flowers. 62 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. None but themselves saw the background, Serving to throw out the soul, — They are the pictured Mosaics, — Parts of a glorious whole. A crown for the blessed Saviour ! A crown for the sinless King ! Souls growing brighter and purer, Are we all striving to bring ? Monthly Religious Magazine. WAITING FOR A BLESSING. Sitting at the heavenly portal, Waits she day and night, Seeking from the tender Father Health and strength and light. Seasons coming, seasons going, Find her waiting there ; Year on year, successive rolling, Hears the earnest prayer. " Grant me, O thou gracious Parent," Pleads she day by clay, " Health and power once more to serve thee On my homeward way. " Gladly would I lay before thee Deeds of active love ; Thus, by service towards thy children, Love to thee would prove. " But if weakness still enthrall me, Give me heavenly light ; Through the paths of lowliest duty Guide my steps aright. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 63 • " Let me not despise the mission, Gentle words to speak ; Pit}' offering to the fallen ; Comfort to the weak. " Slighting not the humblest power Kindly lent me still, Like the starlight and the dew-drop, I would do thy will. " Thus may dust and ashes praise thee, Till new vigor come, Or this frame, its hold releasing, Send my spirit home." So she sitteth, watching, praying, At the heavenly gate, .Knowing that the good All-Father Blesseth those who wait. THE HOME TEMPLE. I sing no temple darkly grand, With classic arch and shrine, Around whose crumbling columns gray The mantling ivies twine. 'Tis not the proud cathedral, where, Through vaulted dome, uprise The organ's peal, and anthem's note, To reach the echoing skies ; Nor yet the simple village fane, Its altar decked with flowers, Whence the Creator's praise floats forth On the calm Sabbath hours. 64 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. • Not e'en the grove, beneath whose roof First rose the breath of prayer, With aroma of bud and leaf, Upon the incensed air. E'en than all these a holier spot, More sacred temple mine, — 'Tis the home-altar sending up Love offerings from its shrine. The parent priest, the sacrifice Of grateful, contrite hearts, Offers to Him who every good And perfect gift imparts. A youthful choir, their voices blend „ In songs of praise, and near, The holiest of confessionals, They find a mother's ear. The fairest, purest emblem this Of the celestial home, Where angel's voice and seraph's harp Blend round the Father's throne. Mrs. A. B. Fuller. JESUS OF NAZARETH. A little child, at early day Woke up with laughter, shout, and play ; A being for whose future years Were shadowed loves and toils and tears : Her song was soft and sweet and low, With meanings more than she could know ; Her lisping tongue could scarcely frame The tender chorus and the name, — " Jesus of Nazareth." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 65 The dew lay sunbright on the flowers, When from a maiden's garden bower There came, like gladdest trill of birds, A gush of song, a voice of words, Yet hoi}', reverent as the air That bears a spirits wing in prayer ; And, as my ear caught up the strain, I heard the child's most sweet refrain, — " Jesus of Nazareth." A mourner paused at noon to rest, With drooping eye and wounded breast ; The shade above, the stream beside, The desert traveller's want supplied. Then rose a note of wayside cheer, — The maiden's tones, subdued, yet clear. I listened to the blest repeat, Where praise and supplication meet, — " Jesus of Nazareth." The night fell with its shadows deep, Where lay a pilgrim down to sleep ; The staff dropped from her idle hand, Her sandals loosened on the sand, — The traveller's day of toil was past, The swan's good-night attained at last : A breaking tone, a shattered string, Still held the music murmuring, — " Jesus of Nazareth." The midnight came with chill and gloom, And sounds and odors of the tomb : But lo ! above a sepulchre There shone a glory light afar ; And as, beyond the morning stars, Were oped for her the crystal bars, The golden lyres let down their strain, — The saint's new song, the child's refrain, — " Jesus of Nazareth." 5 E. L. E. 66 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. COMPOUND INTEREST. Ben Ahdam had a golden coin one day, .Which he put out at interest with a Jew; Year after year, awaiting him it lay, Until the doubled coin two pieces grew, And these two, four — so on, till people said, How rich Ben Ahdam is ! and bowed the servile head. Ben Selim had a golden coin that day, Which, to a stranger asking alms, he gave, Who went rejoicing on his unknown way, Ben Selim died, too poor to own a grave ; But when his soul reached heaven, angels with pride Showed him the wealth to which his coin had multiplied. Mrs. M. V. Victor. THE BEGGAR. A beggar through the world am I, From place to place I wander by ; Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me, For Christ's sweet sake and charity. A little of thy steadfastness, Rounded with leafy gracefulness, Old oak, give me, — That the world's blasts may round me blow, And I yield gently to and fro, While my stout-hearted trunk below And firm-set roots unshaken be. Some of thy stern, unyielding might, Enduring still through day and night Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, — THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 67 That I may keep at bay The changeful April sky of chance, And the strong tide of circumstance, — Give me, old granite gray. Some of thy pensiveness serene, Some of thy never dying-green Put in this scrip of mine, — That griefs may fall like snow-flakes light, And deck me in a robe of white, Ready to be an angel bright, — O sweetly mournful pine ! A little of thy merriment, Of thy sparkling,. light content, Give me, my cheerful brook, — That I may still be full of glee And gladsomeness, where'er I be, Though fickle fate hath prisoned, me In some neglected nook. Ye have been very kind and good To me since I've been in the wood ; Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; But good-by, kind friends, every one, I've far to go ere set of sun. Of all good things I would have part ; The day was high ere I could start, And so my journey's scarce begun. Heaven help me ! how could I forget To beg of thee, dear violet? Some of thy modesty, That blossoms here as well, unseen, As if before the world thou'dst been, Oh, give, to strengthen me. James Russell Lowell. 68 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. CARVING A NAME. I wrote my name upon the sand And trusted it would stand for aye, But soon, alas ! the refluent sea Had washed my feeble lines away. I carved my name upon the wood, And, after years, returned again; I missed the shadow of the tree That stretched of old upon the plain. To solid marble next, my name I gave as a perpetual trust ; An earthquake rent it to its base, And now it lies o'erlaid with dust. All these have failed. In wiser mood, I tuy,n and ask myself, " What then?" If I would have my name endure, I'll write it on the hearts of men, — In characters of living light, Of kindly deeds and actions wrought, And these, beyond the touch of Time, Shall live immortal as my thought. Horatio Alger, Jr. THE SHADOWS OF TWILIGHT. Slowly, slowly up the wall, Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; Evening damps begin to fall, Evening shadows are displayed, Round me, o'er me, everywhere, All the sky is grand with clouds ; THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 69 And, athwart the evening air, Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Shafts of sunshine, from the west, Paint the dusty windows red ; Darker shadows, deeper rest Underneath and overhead. Darker, darker, and more wan In my breast the shadows fall. Upward steals the life of man, . As the sunshine from j;he wall, From the wall into the sky, From the roof along the spire ; Ah ! the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher. Henry W. Longfellow. THE CHRISTIAN AND HIS ECHO. [To be spoken by two persons. The one who takes the echo must be con- cealed, and must imitate as much as possible the other speaker's tone,— though the echo should be given in a lighter voice.] Christian. True faith, producing love to God and man, Say, Echo, is not this the Gospel plan ? Echo. The Gospel plan. Christian. Must I my faith and love to Jesus show, By doing good to all, both friend and foe ? Echo. Both friend and foe. Christian. But if a brother hates, and treats me ill, Must I return him good, and love him still? Echo. Love him still. Christian. If he my failings watches to reveal, Must I his faults as carefully conceal ? Echo. As carefully conceal. 70 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Christian. But if my name and character he blast, And cruel malice, too, a long time last; And if I sorrow and affliction know He loves to add unto my cup of woe ; In this uncommon, this peculiar case, Sweet Echo, say, must I still love and bless? Echo. Still love and bless. Christian. Whatever usage ill I may receive, Must I be patient still, and still forgive? Echo. Be patient still, and still forgive. Christian. Why Echo, how is this ? Thou'rt sure a dove ! Thy voice shall teach me nothing else but love ! Echo. Nothing else but love. Christian. Amen ! with all my heart, then be it so ; 'Tis all delightful, just, and good, I know, And now to practise, I'll directly go. Echo. Directly go. Christian. Things being so, whoever me reject, My gracious God me surely will protect. Echo. Surely will protect. Christian. Henceforth I'll roll on Him my every care ; And then both friend and foe embrace in prayer. Echo. Embrace in prayer. Christian. Echo, enough ! thy counsels to mine ear Are sweeter than to flowers the dewdrop tear ; Thy wise, instructive lessons please me well ; I'll go and practise them. Farewell, farewell. Echo. Practise them. Farewell, farewell. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 71 DRAWING WATER. I had drunk, with lip unsated, Where the founts of pleasure burst ; I had hewn out broken cisterns, And they mocked my spirit's thirst : And I said, life is a desert, Hot and measureless and dry ; And God will not give me water, Though I pray, and faint, and die. Spoke there then a friend and brother, "Rise and roll the stone away; There are founts of life upspringing In thy pathway every day." Then I said my heart was sinful, Very sinful was my speech ; All the wells of God's salvation Are too deep for me to reach. And he answered, "Rise and labor, — Doubt and idleness is death ; Shape thee out a goodly vessel With the strong hands of thy faith." So I wrought and shaped the vessel, Then knelt lowly, humbly there, And I drew up living water With the golden chain of prayer. Phoebe Carey. THE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT. Can you see the beautiful street, The wonderful street called straight? At the end is the jasper gate ; The path is marked by the feet 72 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Of the saints and martyrs who marched On to the city of God ; O'er briers and thistles they trod, Through deserts sandy and parched, Till they found the beautiful street With trees of cedar and palm ; And their tremulous hearts grew calm When they saw the vision sweet. Pray that we, too, may find the street ; Oh, pray we may walk therein. With spirits unclouded by sin, May we kneel and the Master greet. Christian Inquirer. THE SISTER BAND. [Those taking part in this piece should all be dressed in white muslin. They should each wear a crown, on which their names Love, Joy, etc., are in- scribed in gilt letters. Or they may wear a ribbon passing from the waist, on the right side, to the left shoulder, where it is tied. On the front may be sewed, or pasted, letters cut from gilt paper forming the name of each. Whichever are used, crowns or ribbons, they should all be alike, — other- wise a bad effect is produced.] Love, Long-Suffering, Faith, Joy, Gentleness, Meekness, Peace, Goodness, Temperance. Love. I came the first of a radiant band ♦ Sent out on the earth by God's own hand ; I came, ere the breath of life was given To him who was made in the image of Heaven. But darkness rose, and the serpent's breath On the garden fell, with the scourge of death ! Our band was broken, — and since that hour We've met no more as in Eden's bower. Our meetings are short, and we find no home, But apart o'er the world our spirits roam, And the spirit of Love is ofttimes lone. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. [Enter Joy.] Joy. Not now alone, — thy sister is here, The next who came to this mortal sphere. We meet not oft, — the last was where Two hearts were pledged with vow and prayer; I tarried not long, — I might not stay When light and hope were passing away ! How long dost thou thy vigil keep, With hearts that niourn, and eyes that weep? Love. I stayed till the last low prayer, was said, And the living stood by the silent dead ; And our sister Peace, who cometh now, [Peace enters.] With her soft, bright eye, and holy brow, I left her there by the mourner's side To soothe the heart so sorely tried. [Turning toward Peace.] Sweet sister, oh, say, hast thou found a home ? Has the world a spot thou canst call thy own ? Peace. Sisters, we met at the infant's bed, O'er his rosy sleep my spirit I shed, And left ye there, and to manhood turned, — His cheek was flushed and his forehead burned ; Too much of earthly passion was there, And I turned where a maiden knelt in prayer, And I dwelt with her till her spirit fled, And the mortal frame lay still and dead. But 'twas not my home, and, sister sweet, I pined for a spot where we all might meet. Love and Joy. Long time we stood by that infant's bed ; O'er his rosy path our spirits shed, And scattered flowers around his way, And taught his little hands to play. 74 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. We watched him well till manhood came, And with it ardent hopes of fame ; Till his soul grew sick in his weary way, Till his heart almost forgot to pray. We left him then with his empty name, For Love and Joy dwell not with fame. » [Enter Long-Suffering.] Long- Suffering. Hail, sisters sweet ! we meet once more ; Have ye found a home, — are your wanderings o'er? For I fain would rest ; — I come from a scene, Where, my sisters sweet, ye all have been ; — A close, a darkened, a stifled room, Where sorrow and sickness have found a home, There's an aching brow, there's a breaking heart, There's a soul that longs from earth to part, Still bearing on, as it ever hast, Through all the woes of the bitter past, And, murmuring not, but in deepest trust, Awaiting the mandate, " Dust to dust ! n Twin sisters sweet ! I left ye there, — Has he met his God with trustful prayer P [Enter Gentleness and Goodness.] Gentleness and Goodness. He waiteth the summons ; And calmly he lies, As lieth the clouds In the sunset skies ; And calmly as sinketh The sun to his rest, So sinketh he now On his Master's breast. We have smoothed his pillow, And cheered his heart, And taken from death The bitterest smart ; We left him with Faith, THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. lb • [Enter Faith.] And she cometh now, With her beaming eye, And her glorious brow. Faith. He has gone to his God, — triumphant he passed ! Undimmed is his glory, —high trust to the last. I stpod t^r his side till the last look was given ; I stood by his side till his soul was in heaven. Why meet we here ? Can we find no home ? Hath the earth no place we can call our own ? Hath the world no spot where we all may dwell, And know not, and fear not, a sad farewell ? [Enter Meekness.] Say, sister meek, what tale dost thou bring, — Through what scenes hast thou passed, with thy gen- tle wing? Meekness. The gentle of earth My spirit loves best ; With the young and pure I find sweet rest. I soar not afar, — My flights are not high, — I dwell in a tone, In the glance of the eye, In the mother, who gazes With heartfelt joy, And watches the sports Of her infant boy. Faith. But sister, sweet sister ! I've met thee oft, — Thy voice is so low, and thy tone so soft, Thou art loved by all, and the glad and gay, Both welcome thy coming, and urge thy stay. But the last of our sister band is nigh, With her glad, free step, and joyous eye, As if she had brought whole realms at her feet, — Say, what are thy tidings, sister sweet? 76 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. [Enter Temperance.] Temperance. Sisters, all hail ! and I am the last ! O'er all the world has my spirit passed. The work has begun, the mighty, the strong, And nations have Messed it ; and long is the song Which swells o'er the earth. The wicked hath turned From his wayward path ; and the heart that spurned At all that is good is a suppliant now*, And low at the feet of a Saviour must bow. Do we meet to rejoice ? Oh, there is deep joy When the mother weeps o'er her penitent boy ! Do we meet to mourn o'er the sins of earth ? Then gird on our armor, and go we forth, To soften the hearts of mankind by our power, For high is our gift, and glorious our dower ; — But which of our band, oh, say, can tell Where again we shall meet and not say farewell ? Faith. If we all meet again On the earth ne'er to part, Sweet sisters, 'twill be In the Christian's heart; But the home of our spirit On earth is not given ; It is with our God Mid the glories of heaven. N. T, Monroe. GRADATIM. Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; But we build the ladder by which we rise, From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit, round by round. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 77 I count this thing to be grandly true ; That a noble deed is a step toward God, Lifting the soul from the common sod, To a purer air and a broader view. We rise by things that are under feet, By what we have mastered of good and gain ; By the pride deposed and passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calls us to life and light ; But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night Our lives are trailing in the sordid dust. Wings for the angels, but feet for the men ! We may borrow the wings to find the way ; We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise, or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; But the dreams depart and the ladder falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit, round by round. J. G. Holland. WHOM, NOT HAVING SEEN, WE LOVE. It is easy to love when eye meets eye, And the glance reveals the heart, When the flush on the cheek can the soul bespeak, And the lips in gladness part ; 78 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. There's a thrilling of bliss in a loving kiss, And a spell in a kindly tone, And the spirit hath claims of tenderness To fetter and bind its own. But a holier spell and a deeper joy From a purer fountain flow, When the soul sends higher its incense fire, And rests no more below ; When the heart goes up to the gate of heaven, And bows before the throne, And, striking its harp for sins forgiven, Calls the Saviour all its own. Though we gaze not now on the lovely brow That felt for us the thorn ; Though afar from home we pilgrims roam, And our feet with toil are worn ; Though we never have pressed that pierced hand, It is stretched our lives above ; And we own his care, in grateful prayer, " Whom, not having seen, we love." We have felt him near, for many a year, When at eve we bent the knee • That mercy breath, that glorious faith, Dear Saviour, came from thee. When we stood beside the dying bed, And watched the loved one go, In the darkening hour, we felt his power, As it hushed the waves of woe. And still, as we climb the hills of time, And the lamps of earth grow dim, We are hastening on from faith to sight, We are pressing near to him ; - And away from idols of earthly mould, Enraptured we gaze above, And long to be where his arms enfold, "Whom, not having seen, we love." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 79 THE LOST POCKET-BOOK. Charles. [Walking along, reading slowly.'] " Columbus set out on 'his great enterprise to discover America, under the patronage of the crown of Spain, on the 3d of August, 1492. " [Closing his book.] Well, I've studied that history lesson about twenty times, and I don't believe I shall ever learn it. The fact is, studying doesn't agree with me. And what good it does any one is more than I can tell. I'm sure I don't care a* straw who discovered America. Sometimes I wish it never had been discovered, and I was in Patagonia or Ethiopia, where people don't bother themselves about such things. George. [Entering.'] So you would rather live in Ethiopia than Massachusetts, Charles? I can't say I admire your taste. Charles. Why, not exactly that ; but I should like to go to some place where no such thing as studying was ever heard of. George. Then I'm afraid you'd have to stay there, for you wouldn't feel very comfortable to come back, and find your- self in the midst of people so much better informed than you were. Charles. [Impatiently.'] I know you are willing to give up all your time to dry study, and I suppose you'll become a minister some day, but pray don't commence your preaching now. [Picks up a paper package, which he looks at with curi- osity.] George. [Smiling.] If I were going to do so, I think I should look for a more promising subject to commence with. But what have you found ? Charles. [Tearing off a bit of paper.] A pocket-book ; but I don't believe there's any money in it. [Takes off the paper, and opens it.] Yes, there is. [Counting.] Fifty, seventy-five, I a dollar. There's a dollar and a half, here, George. Aint I in luck ? George. Yes, I think you are. But you would be still more fortunate if you could find the owner. 80 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Charles. I shan't trouble myself about that. Whoever has lost it won't expect to find it again. And it isn't a large sum, any way. George. That depends on circumstances. It wouldn't be much for Mr. Conant, the storekeeper ; but Mrs. Lee, the seamstress, might be greatly distressed by its loss. Charles. Well, I think I shall keep it. I don't know of anybody that needs it more than I do. It's just about enough k to buy a nice four-bladed knife, down to Conant's. [Puts it into Ms pocket.'] George. But you wouldn't enjoy the knife much, if you had it, Charles, knowing that the money you paid for it didn't really belong to you. [Enter Gracie Lee, crying, and looking around,as if in search for something.'] George. What's the matter, Gracie ? What are you crying for? Grace. For my mother's pocket-book. I lost it somewhere near here. Have any of you boys seen it? Charles. What sort of one was it, Gracie ? And how much money was there in it ? Grace. It was a black one, and was wrapped in a piece of paper. There was a dollar and a half in it, that Miss Gould paid her for doing some work. Charles. What would your mother do if she shouldn't find it? Grace. [Bursting out afresh.] If I don't find it we shan't have any supper. It's all the money we had in the world. Mother said if I brought it home safe, she'd buy some nice, warm rolls to-night. But it's lost, and mother'll feci so bad about it. George. [Aside.] You'd better tell her, Charles. Charles. [Aside.] Not quite yet. [Turning toward Grace.] If you shouldn't have any supper to-night, would you be very hungry ? Grace. Yes, we should be very hungry, I know ; but maybe some sparrows might bring us food. Or, perhaps, it would THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 81 come down the chimney. Any way, I know God wouldn't let us starve. Charles, /found your pocket-book, Gracie. Grace. Did you? Did you, really, Charles? How happy I am ! Didn't I tell you God wouldn't let us starve ? Charles. [Handing her the pocket-book.'] Yes, here it is, and not a cent gone from it. Grace* Oh, thank you, thank you, Charles, I'm so glad. I'm as happy as Susy Fisher was, when she saw her father coming after her. Charles. How was that, Gracie ? Grace. Why, she hated to go to school, so she ran away in the woods, to live with the robins and the gay little squirrels ; but when night came, and the birds and squirrels had all gone to bed, she was glad enough to see her father coming to find her. But I must run home and tell mother the good news aboutJ:he money. Good-night, boys. Both hoys. Good-night, Gracie. [Exit Grace.] Charles. She seemed quite happy at finding the pocket- book again, didn't she ? George. Yes. How much better it was to restore the money to 'the rightful owner than to buy the nicest knife in Conant's store, and to feel all the time as if it didn't really belong to you. Charles. I know that was the right way. But then that knife was such a nice one ! George. I don't doubt it. But think how many things Mrs. Lee and Grace are obliged to do without, which they need far more than you need the knife. Charles. It must be terrible to be so poor. After all, I believe I'd rather Gracie should have the money. She's a nice little girl. George. And the feeling that you have returned the money to them, and thereby made- them happy, will give you great pleasure whenever you think of it. I am sure you will never regret doing this kind action, although you receive no more valuable reward than Grade's earnest thanks. 6 0. Augusta Cheney. 82 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN. Jerusalem, the golden, I languish for one gleam, Of all thy glory folden In distance and in dream. My thoughts, like palms in exile, Climb up to look, and pray For a glimpse of that dear country That lies so far away. Jerusalem, the golden, Methinks each flower that blows, And every bird a-singing, Of thee some secret knows. I know not what the flowers Can feel, or singers see ; But all the summer's raptures Are prophecies of thee. Jerusalem, the golden, When the sunset's in the west, It seems thy gate of glory, Thou city of the blest ! And midnight's starry torches, Through intermediate gloom, Are waving with their welcome To thy eternal home. Jerusalem, the golden, Where loftily they sing, O'er pain and sorrow olden Forever triumphing ; Lowly may be thy portal, And dark may be thy door, The mansion is immortal, — God's palace for the poor. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 83 Jerusalem, the golden, There all our birds that flew, Our flowers but half unfolden, Our pearls that turned to dew, And all the glad life music, Now heard no longer here, Shall come again to greet us, As we are drawing near. Jerusalem, the golden, I toil on, day by day : Heart-sore each night with longing, I stretch my hands and pray That 'midst thy leaves of healing My soul may find her rest ; Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. EMIR HASSAN. Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race, Asked, with folded hands, the Almighty's grace ; Then within the banquet-hall he sat, At his meal, upon the embroidered mat. There a slave before him placed the food, Spilling from the charger, as he stood, Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast, Drops that foully stained the silken vest. To the floor, in great remorse and dread, Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said : " Master, they who hasten to restrain Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign." Gentle was the answer Hassan gave : " I'm not angry." — " Yet," pursued the slave, 84 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. " Yet doth higher recompense belong To the injured who forgives a wrong." — " I forgive," said Hassan. " Yet we read," — So the prostrate slave went on to plead, — " That a higher seat in glory still Waits the man who renders good for ill." — " Slav§, receive thy freedom, and behold In thy hand I lay a purse of gold, Let me never fail to heed, in aught, What the prophet of our God hath taught." William Cullen Bryant. MY NAME. " After you have taken your new name among the angels." In the land where I am going When my earthly life is o'er, When the tired hands cease their striving, And the tried heart aches no more, — In that land of light and beauty, Where no shadow ever came To overcloud the perfect glory, — What shall be my angel name ? When the spirits who await me Meet me at my entering in, With what name of love and music Will their welcoming «begin ? Not the one so dimmed with earth-stains, Linked with thoughts of grief and blame, - No, the name which mortals give me ' Will not be my angel name ! THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 85 I have heard it all too often Uttered by unloving lips, — • Earthly cares, and sins, and sorrows, Dim it with their dark eclipse. I shall change it like a garment When I leave this mortal frame, And, at Life's immortal baptism, I shall have another name ! For the angels will not call me By the name I bear on earth ; They will speak a holier language Where I have my holier birth ; Syllabled in heavenly music, Sweeter far than earth may claim, Very gentle, pure, and tender, — Such will be my angel name. It has thrilled my spirit often In the holiest of my dreams ; But its beauty lingers with me Only till the morning beams. Weary of the jarring discord Which the lips of mortals frame, When shall I with joy and rapture Answer to my angel name ? Florence Percy. UPLIFTED HANDS. Before the throne of grace, what bands Are daily lifting up their hands ! How many e}'es are turning there, How many lips are moved in prayer ! The hoary-headed sage, the boy, Elate with dreams of manhood's joy ; 86 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. The matron, bowed with earthly care ; Th^niaiden with unfrosted hair ; The child whose little clasped hands rest Lightly against his mother's breast, As, kneeling on her knees, he prays, Following the simple prayer she says ; — All these uplift their hands, — all kneel, — To which wilt Thou thyself reveal ? Is the child's prayer more innocent Than that with older feelings blent ? * Not unto them whose worship goes No farther than these outward shows ; Not to the formalist or proud * Shall answering blessings be allowed. To him who kneels in lowliest trust, Most humbled in the deepest dust; Yet most exalted in his faith, Most shielded from the fear of death, — To him Thy presence shall be known, To him Thy favor shall be shown, Who brings Thee, knowing what thou art, Uplifted hands, uplifted heart ! Mary Ann Browne. PEACE. Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly crave, — Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And asked if Peace were there. A hollow wind did seem to answer, " No ; Go seek elsewhere." THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 87 I did ; and, going, did a rainbow note ; Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat ; I will search out the matter. But, while I looked, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower ; The Crown Imperial : " Sure," said I, " Peace at the root must dwell." But, when I digged, I saw a worm devour What showed so well. At length I met a reverend, good old man, Who, when for Peace I did demand, he thus began : " There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes. But, after death, out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat, Which many, wondering at, got some of those To plant and set. It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth ; For they that taste it, do rehearse That virtue lies therein, — A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth By flight of sin. Take of this grain which in my garden grows, And grows for you ; Make bread of it; and that repose 88 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. And peace, which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there." George Herbert. THE TWO KECORDING ANGELS. [To be personated by two young girls. It is more effective if both are dressed in white, and have wings. Whenever the book is spoken of, the eyes should be directed toward it, and whenever God is spoken of they should be raised upward. If a curtain is used, it should fall immediately after the last word is spoken.] [The Angel of Good Deeds with closed book.] O beauty of holiness, Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! O power of meekness, Whose very gentleness and weakness Are like the yielding, but irresistible air I Upon the pages Of the sealed volume that I bear, The deed divine Is written in characters of gold, That never shall grow old, But through all ages Burn and shine With soft effulgence. O God ! it is thy indulgence That fills the world with the bliss Of a good deed like this ! [The Angel of Evil Deeds, with open book.] Not yet, not yet Is the red sun wholly set, But evermore recedes, While open still, I bear The Book of Evil Deeds, To let the breathings of the upper air THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 89 Visit its pages, and erase The records from its face ! Fainter and fainter, as I gaze In the broad blaze, The glimmering landscape shines, And, below me, the black river Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! Fainter and fainter the black lines Begin to quiver Along the whitening surface of the paper ; Shade after shade The terrible words grow faint and fade, And in their place Euns a white space ! Down goes the sun ! But -the soul of one, Who by repentance Has escaped the dreadful sentence, Shines bright, below me, as I look. It is the end ! With closed Book To God do I ascend. From Longfellow's Golden Legend. THE VAUDOIS TEACHER. *' O lady fair, these silks of mine are beautiful and rare, — The richest web of the Indian loom which beauty's queen might wear; And my pearls are pure as thy own fair neck with whose radi- ant light they vie ; I have brought them with me a weary way, — will my gentle lady buy?" 90 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. And the lady smiled on the worn old man through the dark and clustering curls Which veiled her brow as she bent to- view his silks and glit- tering pearls ; And she placed their price in the old man's hand, then lightly turned away ; But she turned at the wanderer's earnest call, — " My gentle lady, stay ! " > " O lady fair, I have yet a gem which a purer lustre flings Than the diamond flash of the jewelled crown on the lofty brow of kings, — A wonderful pearl of exceeding price, whose virtue shall not decay, Whose light shall be as a spell to thee, and a blessing on thy way ! " The lady glanced at the mirorring steel where her form of grace was seen, Where her eye shone clear, and her dark locks waved their clasping pearls between : — " Bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, thou traveller gray and old, And name the price of thy precious gem, and my page shall count thy gold." The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, as a small and meagre book, Unchased with gold or gem of cost, from his folding robe he took! " Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price ; may it prove as such to thee ! Nay — keep thy gold — I ask it not, for the word of God is free!" The hoary traveller went his way, but the gift he left behind Hath had its pure and perfect work on that high-born maiden's mind, THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 91 And she hath turned from the pride of sin to the lowliness of truth, And given her human heart to God in its beautiful hour of youth. And she hath left the gray old halls where an evil faith had power, The courtly knights of her father's train, and the maidens of her bower ; And she hath gone to the Yaudois vales, by lordly feet untrod, Where the poor and needy of earth are rich in the perfect love of God. John G. WJiittier. NEARER HOME. O'er the hills the sun is setting, And the eve is drawing on ; Slowly drops the gentle twilight, For another day is gone, Gone for aye, — its race is over, Soon the darker shades will come ; Still 'tis sweet to know at even We are one day nearer home. One day nearer, sings the mariner, As he glides the waters o'er, While the light is softly dying On his distant, native shore. Thus the Christian on life's ocean, As his light boat cuts the foam, In the evening cries with rapture, I am one day nearer home. Nearer home ! Yes, one day nearer To our father's house on high, — To the green fields and the fountaJtJS Of the land beyond the sky. 92 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. For the heavens grow brighter o'er us, And the lamps hang in the dome, And our camps are pitched still closer, For we're one day nearer home. FADELESS IS A LOVING HEART. Sunny eyes may lose their brightness ; Nimble feet their lightness ; Pearly teeth may know decay ; Kaven tresses turn to gray ; Cheeks be pale, and eyes be dim ; Faint the voice, and weak the limb ; But though youth and strength depart, Fadeless is a loving heart. Wealth and talents will avail, When on life's rough sea we sail ; Yet the wealth may melt like snow, And the wit no longer glow : But more smooth we'll find the sea, * And our course the fairer be, If our pilot, when we start, Be a kindly, loving heart. Grant me, Heaven, my earnest prayer, Whether life of ease or care Be the one to me assigned, That each coming year may find Loving thoughts and gentle words Twined within my bosom's chords, And that age«may but impart Riper freshness to my heart ! THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 93 HYMN. [The following hymn can be either recited, or sung to the tune of the " Mis- sionary Hymn."] To thee, our heavenly Father, We bend in Jesus' name, To thank thee for the blessings That from thy mercy came ; For thou hast strewed our pathway, Through all the summer days, With flowers of truth and wisdom, And filled our hearts with praise. We thank thee for the Sabbaths, — Sweet days of holy rest, — When, earthly cares forsaking, We sought the Saviour blest, And learned the path of duty, Of faith, and hope, and love, And heard the glorious promise To dwell with him above. O Father ! may this season Of Sabbaths passed away, Be to our souls the seed-time Of some fair harvest day, When faith and hope shall blossom, % And bear their hundred-fold ; O Father ! speed the hardest Of treasures yet untold! William T. Adams (Oliver Optic) 94 THE 'SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. "ADESTE EIDELES!" [This poem can be recited, or sung to the tune of the " Portuguese Hymn."J Attend, all ye faithful, your Leader's command ! His trumpet is sounding on sea and on land ; The cross in his banner is blazing afar ; His armies are marshalled for labor and war. Put on then, ye faithful, the arms of the Lord, — Salvation your helmet, the Spirit your sword ; With truth and the gospel your sinews be steeled ; Be justice your breastplate, and faith be your shield. • What soldier of Jesus shall shrink from hisffcide, By armies though threatened, by perils though tried ? Our Captain we'll follow to conflict and death, And shout in his triumph while yielding our breath. The hosts of the alien with terror shall view The ranks undismayed of his followers true ; His anthems of glory our shouts shall begin, While charging resistless the legions of sin. • And when to our prowess each traitor shall yield, And, laden with spoils, we return from the field, To Jesus our laurels we'll gratefully bring, Exalting the name of our conquering King. ifear Captain, triumphant, we offer to thee The heart of the faithful, the arm of the free : Thy word be our guide *in thy warfare below, And ours be the glory thy promises show ! William Ev&rett. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 95 IMPRESSIONS — TINTYPES. [Characters. — Six girls: Sarah, Mary, Hannah, Lizzie, Phcebe, and Anna.] Scene. — - Sarah and Mary on the stage. [Enter Hannah.] Sarah. We have been looking for you this half hour. Have you just returned from town ? Hannah. Yes ; I stayed to let the children get their tintypes taken. Mary. Why didn't they come back with you ? Hannah. They waited for the pictures, and are coming next car. How wonderful it is that we can get such good little pictures so easily ! Sarah. And the price ! One hundred for a dollar. I do not wonder so many are taken ! Mary. Neither do I. The last time I was in town I hap- pened to be passing along Main Street by the photograph rooms where those frames full of tintypes hang. Sarah was with me, and exclaimed, " Oh, what a mass of faces ! " as we glanced up at them. I almost shuddered. Hannah. I know what the feeling was. Mary. There were only a few hundred in each frame, I suppose ? Hannah. No, and if one is overwhelmed by the massing of a few hundred pictures like those, what would it be to us if we could see at one glance all the faces in the world ? Mary. I have often thought of that when I have seen a large crowd. We should be like the Queen of Sheba when she sa^t the glory of King Solomon, " And there was no more spirit iiL her." Then to think of all that have ever been ! Sarah. It is like trying to comprehend the length of eternity to think of so many ! Mary. Yes, what a multitude ! Hannah. What a lot of comical faces there would be among them ! 96 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Sarah. What a lot of ugly ones ! Mary. What a lot of handsome ones ! Hannah. Of funny ones ! Mary. Of grave, serious ones ! Sarah. Of benevolent and kind ones ! Hannah. Of brilliant and dull ones ! Sarah. Of stupid and wise ones ! Mary. Of sorrowful and glad ones ! Hannah. Of gentle and meek ones ! Mary. Of savage and cross ones ! Hannah. Oh, dear, there would be no end of them ! Mary. And what a picture-gallery they would make ! Sarah. But, girls, according to what I have read, there is just such a picture-gallery. There is a theory, held by some distinguished men, that impressions are made of all we do, say, and know, and of course of all that we are, on the things about us, on the clouds, and on the ground, and on everything. Mary. Yes, I have read it, and perhaps in the future life we shall see all these pictures. Angels will see them, and God will. Hannah. Perhaps that is God's Book of Remembrance spoken of in the Bible. I think I've heard somebody say so. Mary. We get almost lost thinking of these things. [Enter Phcebe, Anna, and Lizzie, with tintypes.] Lizzie. We've got home. Where's mother? Phoebe. We've come. Here are my tintypes. [Holds them up. 3 Anna. [With a long breath.'} Such a good time] Where's mother ? Lizzie, Phoebe, Anna. We've come. Hannah. I should think we might know you'd come without any formal announcement of it. Lizzie. The cars were crowded full ! Phoebe. So full I had to stand up all the way. Anna. Yes, crowded full, and a man, in trying to go out, stepped right on my foot. Lizzie. Here, see my tintypes. [Shows them.'] THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 97 Phoebe. Look at Anna's first. Anna. He put my head up so I think my chin sticks out. Plioebe. See mine, Sarah. Lizzie. [Looking hers over.'] One of mine's got scratched* Mary. I think they are very good. Anna, I don't think that your chin " sticks out," as you call it. It is a sweet pic- ture of you. [Kisses her.] Phoebe. I wish I could take pictures. Don't ladies ever learn to take them ? I mean to be a tintype-taker. Sarah. You take more pictures than you are aware of now. Hannah. And have more taken of you than you know about, if what we have been talking about is true. Phoebe. Well, I should like to know how it is done. Say*ah. Do you know how these pictures were taken ? Anna. 7 do. The artist got the tincard ready, and put it in the instrument, and then we sat down and he placed us right. Then he slipped up the slide, and in a moment we were took. He slipped down the slide, and carried the picture into his closet to finish it. Sarah. You have left out the most important part. Hannah. Your getting took was what Sarah meant you should explain. Anna. Oh, I don't know how that was! Do you, Han- nah? Hannah. Yes, the tincard was prepared so that light would change the chemical on it, and a lens placed so as to concen- trate the rays of light reflected from your face. This changed the chemical, and left your image. He put xlown the slide so as not to let any more light on it, and took it into his dark closet to wash it over and make the impression stay. Phoebe. Well, I should like to know how the light from my whole face could steer right into the little round hole in the box of his instrument. I should think it would scatter all over the room around me. Hannah. It does go all over the room, but light never scat- ters. It goes in direct lines, and when these rays get to the lens, that brings them together so as to form an image. 98 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. Mary. If there were arranged instruments all around you, the rays of light from your face would make an image in every one of them. [During this Lizzie and Anna are looking closely ifi each others'' eyes.'] Lizzie. I can see a tintype of me in each of Anna's eyes ! Sarah. Pick it out. Mary. Both of you shut your eyes, and tell me if you can- not then see a picture of each other. [Shut eyes.] Lizzie and Anna together. No, I can't. Mary. What, Anna, can't you tell me just how Lizzie looks ? It isn't a minute since you saw her. You can tell me alnlbst as well as if you were looking at her. Anna. Oh, yes, I can do that ! She has her hair combed up, and has a ribbon over her net. I can tell just how she looks. Mary. Well, Lizzie, can't you see just how Anna looks ? Lizzie. Yes, I can see her hair, and her eyes, her red cheeks, and her lips ; I can think just how she smiles with her eyes shut up, and her tintypes in her hand. Anna. And I can see your eyes shut up. I can s.ee your dress and all. Mary. Well, then, you have pretty good photographic in- struments in your minds, haven't you ? [Open eyes.] Lizzie and Anna. I never thought of that. Anna. But, Mary, the pictures won't stay. Mary. Oh! but they do stay as long as you remember. Shut your eyes again. [They do so.] Can't you see it all again ? Anna and Lizzie. Yes. Mary. Well, then, the pictures stay. Only as we forget do they fade out. Phoebe. And so everybody that sees us and remembers us has got a photograph of us in his brain ! How funny ! Hannah. Yes, and work clone there is very much like the artist's work. The eye has a lens, and makes the picture on the retina, which is like the tincard. If that were all, the pic- ture would disappear when the object was taken away, as the photograph would if the artist did not take it to the dark closet THE SUNDAY SCHOOL SPEAKER. 99 to finish it. But the nerve of the eye takes the»picture, and carries it into the brain, as an artist to his dark closet. It is there made permanent, and this is memory. Phoebe. How is it when we forget? Mary, The picture fades out, as our photographs do, when the artist does not finish them up well. Sarah. So pictures of us are being taken all the time. Yes, every moment, when we are cross, and when we are pleasant- looking ; and this shows us the importance of having on a pleas- ant expression, not once in a while, but always. Hannah. We are always careful to have on a neat dress when we go to have our pictures taken, and we want to put on our best looks.- Anna. Yes, the artist tells us, when he is ready, "Now put on your pleasantest expression.'" Sarah. A picture made on a card or plate will last long after we are dead, and it is dreadful to think of leaving a pic- ture that has on it a cross or ugly look ; but how, much more to think we are making hundreds and hundreds of pictures on the minds of others that will last perhaps forever ! I think this is a reason why we should always try to look our best. Mary. Yes, and in order to look our best it is necessary to feel our best, for the artist always tells us to look natural too. We cannot always be sure of looking our best unless we have within us good tempers, sweet dispositions, and pleasant feel- ings. Lizzie. I never thought of that before. Phoebe. I went to school feeling cross this morning, and I presume I made more than twenty pictures on peoples' minds, looking just so. Lizzie. And I " got mad " at recess, and there must be ever so many pictures of me, just as I looked, on the minds of the girls ! Anna. Mary Brown made a good one. Her mother was too poor to give her money to go with us and get her tintypes taken ; but I saw her, after school tnis morning, comforting little Freddie Jones, who had fallen down and hurt him, and she had such a pleasant expression ! I have