“She-was-a-good-wife-to-me. A good wife, God bless her!” The words were spoken in trembling accents over a coffin-lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life’s long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur, her hand was quick to reach out a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside; and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon companions deserted him, when fickle affect selfishly departed, when pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him.
“Come from your long, long roving, On life’s sea so bleak and rough; Come to me tender and loving, And I shall be blessed enough.”
That had been her love-song – always on her lips or in her heart. Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone – they were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning that had no noon. The she had comforted hom, sent him out strong and whole-hearted, while she stayed at home and – cried. What can a woman do but cry – and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to “bear up;” not to fret but to remember how happy they had been.
They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after all! “She – was – a – good – wife – to – me.” O man! Man! Why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gray-haired woman, whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning which so many women’s eyes reveal – to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the rose with the prodigality of your love? Now you would give worlds – were they yours to give – to see the tears of joy your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late.
“We have careful thoughts for the stranger, And smiles for the sometimes guest; But oft for our own, the bitter tone, Though we love our own the best.” – Sel.
On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but a few dollars, and when cold weather came he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter. The fall of 1874, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick and was unable to keep his fires going. So, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the mountain, John and his wife were in great straits.
Their entire stock of food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of potatoes; sugar, flour, coffee and tea had, early in December, given out; and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed. The snow-storms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even in the valley, were impassable, and no one thought of trying to open the mountain highways, which, even in summer, were only occasionally traveled; and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.
December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple was now reduced to a day’s supply, but John did not yet despair. He was a Christian and a God-fearing man, and His promises were remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was blowing, and the fierce snow-storm was raging, John and his wife were praying and asking for help.
In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well to do farmer fifty years old, who was known for his piety and consistent deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had gone to bed early, and, in spite of the storm without, were sleeping soundly, when with a start the deacon awoke, and said to his wife: “Who spoke? Who’s there?” “Why,” said his wife, “no one is here but you and me; what is the matter with you?” “I heard a voice,” said the deacon, “saying, ‘Send food to John.” ” Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Brown; “go to sleep. You have been dreaming.” The deacon laid his head on his pillow, and was asleep in a minute. Soon he started up again, and waking his wife, said “There, I heard that voice again, ‘Send food to John.'”
“Well, well! ” said Mrs. Brown. “Deacon, you are not well; your supper has not agreed with you. Lie down and try to sleep.” Again the deacon closed his eyes, and again the voice was heard: “Send food to John.” This time the deacon was thoroughly awake. “Wife,” said he, “whom do we know named John who needs food?” “No one I remember,” replied Mrs. Brown, “unless it be John Barry, the old charcoal-burner on the mountain.”
“That’s it,” exclaimed the deacon. “Now I remember, when I was at the store in Sheffield the other day, Clark, the merchant, speaking of John Barry, said: ‘I wonder if the old man is alive, for it is six weeks since I saw him, and he has not yet laid in his winter stock of groceries. ‘ It must be old John is sick and wanting food.”
So saying, the good deacon arose and proceeded to dress himself. “Come, wife,” said he, “waken our boy Willie and tell him to feed the horses, and get ready to go with me; and do you pack up in the two largest baskets you have, a good supply of food, and get us an early breakfast; for I am going up the mountain to carry the food I know John Barry needs.”
Mrs. Brown, accustomed to the sudden impulses of her good husband, and believing him to be always in the right, cheerfully complied; and after a hot breakfast, Deacon Brown and his son Willie, a boy of nineteen, hitched up the horses to the double sleigh, and then, with a month’s supply of food, and a “Good-bye, mother,” started at five o’clock on that cold December morning for a journey, that almost any other than Deacon Brown and his son Willie would not have dared to undertake.
The north-east storm was still raging, and the snow falling and drifting fast; but on, on went the stout, well-fed team on its errand of mercy, while the occupants of the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts and in the face of the storm. That ten mile’s ride, which required in the summer hardly an hour or two, was not finished until the deacon’s watch showed that five hours had passed.
At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor, trusting Christian man and woman were on their knees praying for help to Him who is the “hearer and answerer of prayer;” and as the deacon reached the door, he heard the voice of supplication, and then he knew that the message which awakened him from sleep was sent from heaven. He knocked at the door, it was opened, and we can imagine the joy of the old couple, when the generous supply of food was carried in, and the thanksgivings that were uttered by the starving tenants of that mountain hut. –Albany Journal.
A Christian wife, whose husband was an officer on a Mississippi steamer (which was burned), as she prayed that her husband would be preserved and saved, not knowing of the disaster, was assured that his life would be spared and that he would be saved.
When, the day following, she received a telegram, stating that her husband had perished, she folded it and said: ” It is not so. He is saved from the flames and waves, and shall be from his sins.” A few days later he arrived at home, and was soon converted. The faith of this Christian wife, after praying was earnest.
The Methodist Preachers’ Meeting of Boston was well attended last Monday, and W.N. Brodbeck, D.D., the pastor of the Tremont-street Church of this city thrilled the brethren with an address on “The relation of the ministers to revivals,” during which he pointedly referred to church fairs and festivals as barriers to revivals. He declared that some ministers and churches would never have a revival, because they would not do the hard work, and make the sacrifice essential to secure said results
At Urbana, Ohio, he began revival services, but at first only doubtful characters came to the altar, in whom the public had no confidence. Many were offended, and some said: “Do you know those people that are coming to the altar?
He replied: “Yes, I know them; they are immortal souls for whom Christ died.” When the meetings had run three weeks, one of his leading members came to him and said : ” I think it is time these meetings were stopped we have held them three weeks, and we want to hold a fair, and have some entertainments “
The pastor firmly and promptly replied: “You may do as you please, but these meetings will not stop.”
His heart was broken, and so was the heart of one of the devout women members. They expressed their feelings to each other and parted. They both spent the night in prayer, and at 10 o’clock the next morning, the pastor gained the evidence that his prayers were answered. After dinner he went out, and met the devout lady on the street, her face shining with the glory of God. She said: “The victory is coming.” “How do you know?”
“I got the evidence at 10 o’clock this morning, after spending a whole night in prayer.”
This was the very time that the pastor gained the evidence. That very night, while the pastor was preaching, a young man arose and came to the altar; others followed, so that the pastor had to stop preaching. God was among the people in power; the church was quickened, backsliders were reclaimed, hundreds of sinners were converted. Places of amusement and saloons were closed. The face of the community was changed, and 275 converts joined that one church, and the fair was not held. All because they refused to have the fair. Oh, for more nights of prayer! Oh, for more agony of soul for perishing sinners! Oh! For more of the mind of Christ! Then would revivals prevail, and thousands would be converted to God. — Christian Witness.
All dreams that make you better are from God. How do I know it? Is not God the source of all good? It does not take a very logical mind to argue that out. Tertullian and Martin Luther believed in dreams. The dreams of John Huss are immortal. St. Augustine, the Christian father, gives us the fact that a Carthagenian physician was persuaded of the immortality of the soul by an argument which he heard in a dream. The night before his assassination, the wife of Julius Caesar dreamed that her husband fell dead across her lap. It is possible to prove that God does appear in dreams to warn, to convert, and to save men. My friend, a retired sea-captain and a Christian, tells me that one night, while on the sea, he dreamed that a ship’s crew were in great suffering.
Waking up from his dream, he put about the ship, tacked in different directions, surprised everybody on the vessel — they thought he was going crazy — sailed on in another direction hour after hour, and for many hours, until he came to the perishing crew, and rescued them, and brought them to New York. Who conducted that dream? God.
In 1695, a vessel went out from Spithead for West India and ran against the ledge of rocks called the Caskets. The vessel went down, but the crew clambered up on the Caskets, to die of thirst or starvation, as they supposed. But there was a ship hound for Southampton that had the captain’s son on board. This lad twice in one night dreamed that there was a crew of sailors dying on the Caskets. He told his father of his dream. The vessel came down by the Caskets in time to find and to rescue those two dying men. Who conducted that dream? God.
The Dr Bushnell, in his marvelous book, entitled “Nature and the Supernatural,” gives the following that he got from Captain Yount, in California, a fact confirmed by many families: Captain Yount dreamed twice one night that one hundred and fifty miles away there was a company of travelers fast in the snow. He also saw in the dream rocks of a peculiar formation, and telling his dream to an old hunter, the hunter said ” Why, I remember those rocks those rocks are in the Carson Valley Pass, one hundred and fifty miles away.” Captain Yount, impelled by this dream, although laughed at by his neighbors, gathered men together, took mules and blankets, and started out on the expedition, traveled one hundred and fifty miles, saw those very rocks which he had described in his dream, and finding the suffering ones at the foot of those rocks, brought them back; to confirm the story of Captain Yount. Who conducted that dream? God
God has often appeared in dreams to rescue and comfort. You have known people –perhaps it is something I state in your own experience — you have seen people go to sleep with bereavements inconsolable, and they awakened in perfect resignation because of what they had seen in slumber. Dr Crannage, one of the most remarkable men I ever met — remarkable for benevolence and great philapthropics — at Wellington, England, showed me a house where the Lord had appeared in a wonderful dream to a poor woman. The woman was rheumatic, sick, poor to the last point of destitution. She was waited on and cared for by another poor woman, her only attendant. Word came to her one day that this poor woman had died, and the invalid of whom I am speaking lay helpless upon the couch, wondering what would become of her. In that mood she fell asleep. In her sleep she said the Angel of the Lord appeared, and took her into the open air, and pointed in one direction, and there were mountains of bread, and pointed in another direction, and there were mountains of butter, and in another direction, and there were mountains of all kinds of worldly supply. The Angel of the Lord said to her: “Woman, all these mountains belong to your Father, and do you think that he will let you, his child, hunger and die?” Dr. Crannage told me, by some Divine impulse he went into that destitute home, saw the suffering there, and administered unto it, caring for her all the way through. Do you tell me that that dream was woven out of earthly anodynes? Was that the phantasmagoria of a diseased brain? No; it was an all-sympathetic God addressing a poor woman through a dream.
Furthermore, I have to say, that there are people in this house who were converted to God through a dream. John Newton, the fame of whose piety fills all Christendom, while a licentious sailor on shipboard, in his dream, thought that a being approached him and gave him a very beautiful ring, and put it upon his finger, and said to him, “As long as you wear that ring, you will be prospered; if you lose that ring, you will be ruined.” In the same dream another personage appeared, and by a strange infatuation persuaded John Newton to throw that ring overboard, and sank into the sea. Then the mountains in sight were full of fire, and the air was lurid, with consuming wrath. While John Newton was repenting of his folly in having thrown overboard the treasure, another personage came through the dream, and told John Newton he would plunge into the sea and bring the ring up if he desired it. He plunged into the sea and brought it up, and said to John Newton: “Here is that gem, but I think I will keep it for you, lest you lose it again;” and John Newton consented, and all the fire went out from the mountains, and all the signs of lurid wrath disappeared, from the air; and John Newton said that he saw in his dream that that valuable gem was his soul; and that the being who persuaded him to throw it overboard was Satan, and that the one who plunged in and restored that gem, keeping it for him, was Christ. And that dream makes one of the most wonderful chapters in the life of that most wonderful man.
A German was crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and in his dream he saw a man with a handful of white flowers, and he was told to follow the man who had that handful of white flowers. The German, arriving in New York, wandered into the Fulton street prayer-meeting, and Mr. Lamphier — whom many of you know-the great apostle of prayer meetings, that day had given to him a bunch of tube roses. They stood on his desk, and at the close of the religious services he took the tube roses and started homeward, and the German followed him, and through an interpreter told Mr. Lamphier that on the sea he had dreamed of a man with a handful of white flowers and was told to follow him. Suffice it to say, through that interview and following interviews, he became a Christian, and is a city missionary preaching the gospel to his own countrymen. God in a dream!
John Hardock, while on shipboard, dreamed one night that the day of judgment had come, and that the roll of the ship’s crew was called except his own name, and that these people, this crew, were all banished; and in his dream he asked the reader why his own name was omitted, and he was told it was to give him more opportunity for repentance. He woke up a different man. He became illustrious for Christian attainment. If you do not believe these things, then you must discard all testimony, and refuse to accept any kind of authoritative witness. God in a dream! — T. DeWitt Talmage
This is my personal collection of thoughts and writings, mainly from much smarter people than I, which challenge me in my discipleship walk. Don't rush by these thoughts, but ponder them.
Milo 