Year: 1867




Long years ago, in the land of the fig aud
pomegranate, on the eastern bank of the J or
dan, there was enacted scene of great cruel
ty. One who had bean consecrated to the
service of the Lord from his birth, the fore
runner of the Holy One, who had most faith
fully and zealOusly performed his work, fell
in the full vigor of manhood, a noble martyr
to the cause of truth.


The sOrrowing disciples ofthis distinguished
prophet, gathering around, gazed in speech
less grief upon the headless form of their be-
loved and hOnored teacher. Well did they
remember the thrilling eloquence which had
drawn thousands around him, as he preached
of that Light" which was to tighten the
world, and which even then illuminated his
own soul. Well, too, did they remember,
that through his agency they had been brought
to repentance; that led by his hand, they had
descended the liquid grave guided by his
faithful teaching, they had trOdden with
safety the narrow path. Nor did they deem
it unmanly to weep, as they knelt beside his
cold form, and remembered that he would
dwell with them no more on earth. With
tender, loving care, but in brokenness of
heart, they bore him to his narrow house and
laid him down to rest. Then, seeking CON.
fort where true comfort could only be found,
"they went and told Jesus.


MOuruer, clad in sable garments, and bend.
ing over the faded form of some cherished
one, learn lesson. Is thy heart crushed
and broken? Hast thou seen thy brightest
hopes wither ard decay? Are thy vacant
chairs around thy hearthstone? Has the
guide of life taken his departure, or the sweet
voices of childhood ceased their music in thy
house? Is thy house dreary wilderness, an
rid to al ~
Jesus. His ear is ever bent to listen, his
hand ever ready to heal Tenderly as a
mother cOmfOrteth her children will He COM
fort thee. He, himself, wept by the grave
of loved Lazarus. He will not chide thy
tears, but gently wipe them away.


Aged and way-wor pilgrim. art thou weary
with the burden and the toll of the long day
looking earnestly for the silver cord to be
lOosed, the golden bowl to be broken? Hast
thou Outlived friends and companions of by
gone days! Is there no kindred hand to
lead thee on the uncertain way-no smile of
loved ones to cheer thee whilst trembling
over the tomb? Art thou lonely and sad
longing for the quiet rest of the grave? Go
and tell Jesus. lie will lead thee-in His
bosom shalt thou be borne. In the place of
thy hOary hairs, He will crown thee with ey-
erlasting youth.


Aimless wanderer upon the shores of time,
has tempest after tempest swept over thee,
till the lips are white with the hearts des-
pair. and do the gatherings of hope strew thy
desolated path Has lover and friend be en-
put far away, and thy heart found no resting
place! Go and tell Jesus. In His sympa-
thizing ear pour forth thy sorrows He will
cheer thee; and, pointing upward, bid thee
strive to reach that land never invaded by
sorrows vile visitant-where hope knows no
withering blight, and love immortal reigns.


Oh blessed privilege. to be able to corfde
in such a friend, who knows the secret griefs
of every heart, and from whose eve can
naught be hid-who feels for US more than
the tender pity Of mother, and is touched
with the feeling of our infrmities


They went and told Jesus; Oh. wisdom indeed.


To go, in their anguish. so quickly to Him:


IIe, He Is the friend whom mourners most need.


His heart is O'eriOwing with pity for them.''