THE WINGED WORSHIPERS. 111 LESSON LXI. THE WINGED WORSHIPERS. Addressed to two Swallows, that flew into a church during religious service. GAY, guiltless pair',» What seek ye from the fields of heaven' ? Ye have no need of prayer', Ye have no sins to be forgiven. Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their maker bend'? Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend'? Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep`? Blessed wanderers of the upper deep. To you 't is given' To wake sweet nature's untaught lays`; Then spread each wing', Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands', In you blue dome', not reared with hands': Above the crowd, On upward wings, could I but fly', 'T were heaven, indeed', LESSON LXII. VARIOUS SINS OF THE HEART. CHILDREN are often very much tempted to sin with the heart', and sometimes with the heart alone. When your parents command you to do something which you do not like to do', such as learning a longer lesson than you think you ought to learn', or sewing more than you wish to sew',—or if they wish you to stay at home', when you want to go out with some of your friends for the purpose of taking a walk', or visiting where they do not like to have yo go'; or if they think that you had better not read a book which you deem a very interesting and harmless one'; or if they send you to bed earlier than you think the proper time',in these, and a thousand other similar cases', how hard is it for you to keep from feeling wrong! How hard it is to save your heart from sin! Sinful feelings will come. Fretfulness', impatience', even resentment' against your kind parents,-selfish', ungrateful' resentment against them' for doing what they honestly intend for your good'. In fact, there are a great many sins committed, when a child is put out with his father or mother. VARIOUS SINS OF THE HEART. 113 You want very much to go and see a cousin of yours', or some neighbor's children', to spend a winter evening with them', and your father and mother think that you had better stay at home'; you tease them till you find they are determined', and then you go and take your seat by the fire', displeased and out of humor'; and you look disconcerted and sullen all the evening', answering every question in a morose' and fretful manner', and doing all you can' to make the whole family circle uncomfortable. The temptation to feel and act thus is, in such a case', very strong', and yet how very great a sin it is. It is a sin of the heart', and yet how many sins are all comprised by it. There is pride'; you, who know so little of the world, and of life', and are so helpless and dependent that you must live in your father's house, and be always under his care',-utterly unable to find for yourself food and clothing for a single day',-yôu pretend to know better than thêy in respect to what is safe and proper for you, and are angry because they will not lay aside their wisdom', and be guided by your inexperience and folly. What pride! There is ingratitude too'; for your father and mother have always been kind to you', and you know perfectly well that they love to gratify your wishes when they can do it safely; and yet here, when a sense of duty forces them to deny you', solely for your own good', yoù, in return for it', make them all the trouble you can. What ingratitude! There is disobedience'; for all the time that your heart is in this unsubmissive state', you are, in heart, disobeying them', and you would disobey them in deed if you durst. There is selfishness'; you are so much occupied with your own wishes',-your own present selfish wishes', that the disappointment of them makes you willing to be a source of trouble and pain to all around you. You do not seem to take their happiness at all into the account. What selfishness'? And lastly, there is rebellion against God. Yes', there is actual rebellion against God',-for who, do you think, appointed your parents to their guardianship of you? Who, do you think, gave your father and mother the right to command you', and made it their duty to take care of you-and required you faithfully, and carefully', and pleasantly', to obey them'? It was God. And every child knows this. At least, every Christian child knows it; and, consequently, when you disobey a parent', you disobey God's officer. Did you ever think of this? It is true', certainly', whether you ever thought of it or not. And consequently, whenever your heart is in rebellion against your father', or your mother', it is, in fact, in rebellion against God. LESSON LXIII. FALSEHOOD AND REPENTANCE. AN AFFECTING STORY. A MAN, who is now a minister of the gospel, gave me the following account. I tell it to you in order to show you what repentance is. "I had one of the kindest and best of fathers`; and when I was a little white-headed boy, about six years old, he used to carry me to school before him on his horse', to help me in my little plans', and always seemed trying to make me happy'; and he never seemed so happy himself as when making me happy. When I was six years old, he came home, one day', very sick. My mother, too, was sick`; and thus nobody but my two sisters could take care of my father. In a few days he was worse', very sick', and all the physicians FALSEHOOD AND REPENTANCE. 115 in the region were called in to see him. The next Sabbath morning, early, he was evidently much worse. As I went into the room, he stretched out his hand to me and said', 'My little boy', I am very sick. I wish you to take that paper on the stand', and run down to Mr. C.'s', and get me the medicine written on that paper.' I took the paper, and went to the apothecary's shop', as I had often done before. It was about half a mile off; but when I got there, I found it shut`; and as Mr. C. lived a quarter of a mile further off, I concluded not to go to find him. I then set out for home. On my way back, I contrived what to say. I knew how wicked it was to tell a lie', but one sin always leads to another. On going into the room to my father, I saw he was in great pain`; and though he was pale and weak', I could see great drops of sweat standing on his forehead', forced out by the pain. Oh, then I was sorry that I had not gone and found the apothecary. At length he said to me', 'My son has got the medicine, I hope', for I am in great pain.' I hung my head, and muttered', for my conscience smote me. 'No, sir', Mr. Carter says he has got none'!' 'Has got none'! Is this possible'?' He then cast a keen eye upon me', and seeing my head hang', and probably suspecting my falsehood', said, in the mildest, kindest tone', 'My little boy will see his father suffer great pain for the want of that medicine'.' I went out of the room, alone', and cried. I was soon called back. My brothers had come, and were standing',-all the children were standing',-round his bed', and he was committing my poor mother to their care', and giving them his last advice. I was the youngest'; and when he laid his hand on my head, and told me that in a few hours I should have no father'; that he would in a day or two be buried up'; that I must now make God my father', love him, obey |