The Caucasian. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1874-1875, 1875-02-20
THE LORDS PRAYER.
LEAFLET FROM TIE WAYSIDE OF
LIFE.

The man who in childhood has
never learned the Lords prayer, is
raised a Heather. There is moth
in. in poetry more poe,ical moth
ing in literature more classical
nothing in theology more sublime
and nothing in memory so sweet
But OF the millions who have learn
ell to lisp its words, we have met 81
read Of no tribute to it's influences,
SO touching as tho one we are about
to relate.
1t was that Of one from the Nortl,
who like thousands OF others came
to seek his fortune in tho South
Violent in temper and daring in
courage, he early acquired that rep.
utation which those traits acquired
whore the code of honor was writ
ten with the pistol and the sword.
Who that ever witnessed that tlar-
ing violence or heard it's imrious
profanity, ever dreamed that ben.
cath it all, there was 4 memory as
tOuchln" as u mothers love and Il
reverence that still worShippe'l ut
the shrine OF ''Ouc Father which
art in Heaven ?" None ever dream
cd or knew until .'death tapped
gently at his chamber door, and in
whose presence pride and revenge
and brave and bloody honor were
hushed into silence. We knew him
well, and it was Il cold November
morning in 1865, when he was
taken with fierce and violent fc-
yer and after the first day the
dreadful reality was revealed that
it WAS yellow fever of the most ia
tai type. On the third morning
the minister was sent for, and it
was from him we learned our story.
lie knew the sick man we'll and
what is more trying to q minister
than to stand by the dying bedside
OF one who never prayed /; who
never called upon tho name of God
except to blasplemc and whose
swift anger was ever ready to
avcngc. The minister asked, have
YOU ever prayed? All said the ly-
ing man there is one little prayer
which in all the long years of wick
edness | have never failed daily
to repeat. | am the only son of a
pions mother, now in Heaven, and
in infancy she taught me to knee
ut her knee, and repeat "Our Faith
or which art in IIcavcn;" and
Taught me that at those magical
words ; ministering spirits wonld
guard me from the pestilence that
wa!keth in darkness; that an un-
seen arm would rest beneath my pill.
low, and the wing of au angel would
fan me to sleep. In spite of long
years Of wickc,iness and fOrgerful-
ness, which have b.otted ont all
else Of God and Heaven, those
words have never lost their magic
power and | have never been able
to lie down to sleep without knecl-
ing ut my bedside, as in infancy at
my mothers kn,c and repeating
"Our Father which art in Heaven,
!Ia|lowed be thy name, thy King
dom come, and thy will be done on
earth as it is done in Heaven, said
the minister he repeated on to the
end, as one who was conscious that
he was praying in the presence of
God. Life hal been spent in eager
and fierce pursuit Of the world and
it's wealth, It's pleasures, and its
honors, but. as he stood in the an-
ii chamber Of the world to come,
this little prayer, the legacy of a
mothers love, WAS all that was
worth c1lling from its worthless
treasures aud its empty honors.
THE BART ABLE. This model
of Rec River Packets, in spite of
bad Weather, came to time on last