We cannot urge too strongly upon the young, in these days of intense activity, the vital importance of ballast. A conscience seems to be an encumbrance—an obstacle to prosperity. But it is a safe thing to have on board. It steadies the soul. It keeps it from careening when the winds drive it into the trough of the sea. If the "Escambia" had taken less wheat and more ballast, it might be afloat today. And this is true of many a man now in prison or in the gutter. The haste to be rich, the impatience of restraint, alas! how their wrecks lie just outside the world's golden gates.—Selected.
Reflex Influence
The artist Hoffmann, it is said, became
In features like the features that he strove
To paint,—those of his Lord. Unconsciously
His thoughts developed in his face that which
He sought upon the canvas to portray;
And with the walls about him covered o'er
With pictures he had made, he toiled and thought
And gave the world his ideal of the Christ,
Becoming more and more like him.
And thus
May we by thinking o'er and o'er again
Christ's thoughts, and dwelling on his love, become
In heart as he, all undefiled and pure,—
Perfect within. The beauty sweet and joy
Of holiness, communion with our God,
The prayer of faith, the song of praise, and all
The peace and uplift grand that Jesus knew
May be our own, our very own, to give
Unto a world made sick and sad by sin.
ELIZA H. MORTON.
INFLUENCE OF A GOOD BOOK
I lost my Christian mother when I was a youth, but not before the instruction I had received from her beloved lips had made a deep impression upon my mind, an impression which I carried with me into a college (Hampden, Sidney), where there was not then one pious student. There I often reflected, when surrounded by young men who scoffed at religion, upon the instruction of my mother, and my conscience was frequently sore distressed. I had no Bible, and dreaded getting one, lest it should be found in my possession.
At last I could stand it no longer, and requested a particular friend, a youth whose parents lived near, and who often went home, to ask his excellent mother to send me some religious books. She sent me "Alleine's Alarm," an old black book, which looked as if it might have been handled by successive generations for a hundred years.
When I received it, I locked my door and sat down to read it, when a student knocked at the door. I gave him no answer, dreading to be found reading such a book, but he continued to knock and beat the door until I had to open it. He came in, and seeing the book lying on the bed, seized it, and examined its title. Then he said, "Why, Hill, do you read such books?"
I hesitated, but God enabled me to be decided, and to tell him boldly, but with much emotion, "Yes, I do."