Selections from My Scrap Book.
Many of the selections given in this chapter were written by prisoners and given me by them. The others may not all be new to the reader, but I have thought them of sufficient value to thus preserve, as they may be reread with profit, and no doubt may be read here by many who have not seen them elsewhere. Such will surely feel the time it takes to read them well spent.
Many of the songs I have sung are not in print here, as they are familiar or may be found in popular books; others I thought might be copyrighted and I do not know the owner, etc. I have not meant to use any copyright selections without procuring the right to do so, but if through mistake any have been used I shall be glad to make due requital.
THE AUTHOR OF FLOWER MISSION DAY.
I once visited this sister, a saint, meekly lying upon her bed, and when I asked if she would like for Jesus to heal her, she said God could use her better in that condition.
E. R. W.
Jennie Cassady was born in Louisville, Kentucky, June 9, 1840. She came to earth through no royal line of ancestry. No booming cannon and flying flags proclaimed the birth of a princess. No jeweled hand beckoned her to a place of rank and title. Nothing in babyhood or girlhood distinguished her above what is visible in ten thousand homes to-day. But as she stepped over the threshold into womanhood, there fell upon her a great calamity—a cruel accident made her a cripple and an invalid for life. But in her afflictions she arose to a sublimity and sweetness of soul that has challenged the admiration of two continents. And out of the awful shadows that fell upon her she has gathered up the sunbeams of God's smiles and scattered them into the dark places of earth. Out of that one little darkened room in Kentucky there has gone forth an inspiration that has fired the heart of heroic Christian womanhood. And out of the darkness that smote her pathway leaped the lances of light that pierces the gloom of prison walls. A gleam from that radiant life touches the poet's fancy, and gives us these beautiful lines.
J. M. CROCKER,
Prison Chaplain.
FLOWER DAY AT THE PRISON.
Composed and read by F. L. Platt at the Iowa State Prison at Anamosa, June 9th, 1894.
In a cottage in Kentucky, In the years that have gone by, Was a woman, oh, so lonely, She'd been given up to die.
As she lay upon her sick bed, Ere the spark of life had flown, Neighbors called, and strangers also, Whom before she had not known.
They had heard of her misfortune, Day and night she lingered there; And to make her life more cheerful Seemed to be their every care.
Now they come, with noiseless footsteps, As the rose is kissed with dew, Each one bringing in some sunshine, In "these flowers I've brought for you."
As she looked into their faces, Realizing death had come, "Take these flowers," she said, "I'm dying," They will brighten other homes.
Take them, give them to the children Who in orphans' homes are found, Who have parents silent sleeping Underneath some grassy mound.
Take them, place them by the bedside Of some one whose life is drear; They will bring a ray of sunshine, They will drive away a tear.
Take them, bear them to the prison, Where the trembling convict stands; They'll encourage and they'll cheer him, And they'll help him be a man.
They will speak to him of Heaven, Of a home with God above; They'll dispel the gloom and heartache, They'll recall a mother's love.
They'll remind him of a sister, With youth's bloom upon her brow, With whom he used to gather flowers When life was bright as yours is now.
They'll recall some little sweetheart In the early spring of life, Who, when summer flowers were blooming, He had asked to be his wife.
Oh, that wife! may God's own blessing Rest upon her loyal head; Though he's caused her many a heartache, She would love him were he dead.
Then with all these sacred memories Welling in these hearts of ours, Who in all this land of sunshine Could forbid this gift of flowers?
Bring the flowers with sweetest perfume, This is flower mission day; Some forlorn, discouraged prisoner, "You may rescue, you may save."
Blest the home that knows no sorrow, Blest that wife, whose tears are joy, Blest that mother who in old age, Can lean upon her darling boy.
Men, look up, the clouds have gathered, Some of them are silver-lined; There's a day when all creation Will be marshalled into line.
When these prison walls are sundered; When the grave gives up its dead, All may march the streets of Heaven Who by Jesus Christ are led.
LINES BY A PRISONER TO HIS WIFE.
These lines were handed me by the author. I insert them here because of their clear testimony to the saving grace of God and the love they manifest for wife and children:
Dearest wife, you know I love thee,
Deep as yonder sky;
Know that love can never fade,
Affection never die.
Though in prison I am cast,
And cannot now return,
Yet on thee my love reclines,
For thee my heart will burn.
God has made us one indeed,
In ways the world can never know.
One, like drops of water found
Within the pure white snow.
God has made us one indeed;
Has joined us, hand and heart;
What God has joined together, wife,
Let no man put apart.
As well might men uproot the earth
As by their scoff or scorn
Think to accomplish parting us
Because our hearts now mourn.
Nay, dear wife, I feel for thee,
As ne'er I felt before,
Prizing thee with deeper strength
For pining sad and sore.
While there you wait my glad release,
The day that sets me free,
Await my coming home to wife;
Yes, wife and children three.
And I will come. Have patience, wife,
The time will wear away,
And day by day approaches near
That glad releasing day.
With little baby in your arms,
Two others at your knee;
I know, dear wife, your heart is sad
And longs to see me free.
To help you in your daily toil;
To earn for them their bread;
To clothe and help and comfort them,
And find a shelter for each head.
But cheer up, wife, and so will I,
As mankind surely may,
Till darkness fade in morning light
That ushers in the day.
And oh, what joy will visit us,
What peace in that glad hour;
Our home shall then renew its strength
In all its silent power.
Here as I lay me down to sleep,
In my narrow little cell,
I think of the happy times we've spent
In the shady wooded dell.
How we plucked the flowers beside our path,
And strolled along the stream,
Neither feeling aught of sorrow,
For life was like a pleasant dream.
But alas, my dear one, all is changed;
And we are parted now for years;
But well we know that God will come
And wipe away our falling tears.
Sin, dear wife, hast brought the change;
Sin has caused our grief and pain;
But now that I trust in Jesus
I will never fall again.
In my very darkest moments
Would you know what comforts me?
'Tis my living faith in Jesus,
In Him who died on Calvary.
He died on the cross for you, dear wife,
His precious blood was shed for me;
All our sins on Him were laid
When they nailed Him to the tree.
And now that blessed Saviour,
Who was born at Bethlehem,
Looks down from the heights of heaven
On the sinful souls of men.
His thoughts are full of mercy,
His heart is filled with love.
He is pleading with the Father
That we might come above.
So we will trust our Saviour,
And follow where He leads;
And say, in faith believing,
He'll provide for all our needs.
So we'll walk close beside Him
And let Him take our hand;
As He points, with face all shining,
To that bright and happy land.
And oft to others round us
The story we will tell,
How Jesus Christ saves sinners,
The heavenly hosts to swell.
You will tell them, wife, how He found me,
Sinful and all cast down,
And how through love He raised me up
And promised me a crown.
And when we see still others
Caught in Satan's snare,
We'll lead them on to Jesus,
And leave them in His care.
And when He treats them gently,
As He treats both you and me,
Other sinners, looking on,
To His bosom soon will flee.
For thus the world around us
For Christ could soon be won;
He'll end in glorious triumph
The work He has begun.
All glory then to Jesus!
Sing praises to His name!
He saved lost sinners years gone by,
And today He'll do the same.
In language very simple
I've told to you, dear wife,
My love to you, your love to me,
And the love of Jesus Christ.
So we'll just keep on trusting
In the Saviour God has given;
And He will fill with peace
Our journey on to heaven.
And we'll not forget the Father,
But give thanks for all He's done,
In giving us our Saviour,
In His own beloved Son.