A CHILD'S SERMON.
A writer once told how a little child preached a sermon to him.
"Is your father at home?" I asked a small child at our village doctor's doorstep.
"No," she said, "he's away."
"Where do you think I could find him?"
"Well," she said, with a considering air, "you've got to look for some place where people are sick or hurt, or something like that. I don't know where he is, but he's helping somewhere."
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A SLEEPING CHILD.
How happy are thy days! How sweet thy repose! How calm thy rest! Thou slumberest upon the earth more soundly than many a miser and worldling upon his bed of down. And the reason is—that thou hast a gracious God and an easy conscience. A stranger to all care, thou awakest only to resume thy play, or ask for food to satisfy thy hunger.