MY little sister captured a large, brown

worm early in the fall, and put him in a cage,

feeding him for some time with fresh leaves

from the grape-vine on which she found him.

For a while he seemed to thrive in his 

confinement; but afterward he grew 

discontented in his close quarters, and sought

 to escape, refusing to eat the dainty fare 

provided for him.

Soon when we looked at him, his brown body

appeared faded, and the white spots that

showed so plainly on his sides were almost

gone. Now he is wound up in a soft white

ball, fastened to the twigs on the bottom of

his cage. Shake him about, and there is no

motion or life.

Why do we keep him? Why don't we

throw him away? Listen a moment and I

will tell you why. Very soon, now that the

spring brings life to everything else, our poor

worm, lying shriveled and bound up on the

bottom of his cage will awaken. What! And

be a live worm again? Oh! No, dear little

friend, not an ugly, brown worm, crawling

about, and eating grape leaves, but a bright,

beautiful butterfly, flitting about the garden,

instead of hanging all day on a leaf or crawling

about a cage as he has done all his life.

Do you know what it has made me think

of, dear children, as I have passed near our

worm in my work this afternoon? Have any

of you ever seen a little child, one of Christ's

lambs, your own little brother or sister, perhaps,

taken away from life, its active limbs

shrunken and cold, the eyelids drooping over

the bright eyes that used to sparkle so when

they saw you coming, the cheeks that used to

be red like peaches, all white, thin, and cold?

You would hardly have known him if father

had not lifted you up beside the small coffin,

and said, "Look at little brother once more

before he is carried away." Perhaps you hid

your face on father's shoulder, feeling 

frightened; and if you awakened in the night, you

may have thought of the little white face, and

cried softly to yourself in the dark. But, dear

little one, do you remember what I said about

the worm's being dead and shriveled in his

cage? He will wake sometime a beautiful

butterfly; and if God does not forget to wake

this ugly worm, do you suppose he will forget

to wake the little form in the coffin that we

were talking about? Sometime, and not very

long first, Jesus will come, and your little

brother, or sister, or playmate, that you have

seen laid away in the ground, will wake again

out of sleep, and if they were God's little ones

while alive, with you will roam about among

the sweet flowers under the beautiful trees in

the new earth. Their eyes will never grow

dim there, their faces never pale with sickness,

no sorrows chill their little hearts; and,

best of all, Jesus, our dear Jesus, who died

the cruel death on the cross that we might

enjoy all this, will be there. Will we all be

there, little friends? Are we all trying to be

God's dear children here? Have we made

the blessed Jesus our friend, and are we asking

ourselves every day, as we go about our

work or our play, Does Jesus want me to do

this? or will he be grieved at that? Do we

ask him every day and every hour in the day

for help to do right? If we do, he will surely

help us; and if we are lying asleep in Jesus

when he comes to call his people, we shall

rise with them, to be with him. But if we do

not remember him, if we do not try to do as

he bids us, or are ashamed to have others

know we are trying to be God's children, and

keep his commandments, he will let us sleep

on till he calls the wicked dead from their

graves to receive their dreadful punishment.

O children, let us remember this.


Malone, N. Y.

 Nearing The Other Shore.

WHEN, after the weary voyage that I first

made across the ocean, sick and loathsome, I

arose one morning and went upon the deck,

holding on, crawling, thinking I was but a

worm, I smelt in the air some strange smell, and

I said to the captain, "What is that odor?"

"It is the land-breeze from off Ireland." I smelt

the turf, I smelt the grass, I smelt the leaves,

and all my sickness departed from me; my

eyes grew bright, my nausea was gone. The

thought of the nearness of the land came to

me. And when, afar off, I saw the dim line

of land, joy came and gave me health, and

from that moment, I had neither sickness nor

trouble; I was coming nearer to the land.

Oh! Is there not for you, dear reader, a land-

breeze blowing from off Heaven, wafting to

you some of its sweetness? Behold, the garden

of the Lord is not far away. I know from

the air. Behold, the joy of home! Do I not

hear the children shout? The air is full of

music to our silent thought. Oh! How full of

music when our journey is almost done, and

we stand upon the bound and precinct of that

blessed land! Hold on to your faith. Believe

more firmly. Take hold by prayer and by

faith. Away with trouble and buffetings. Be

happy; you are saved. In a few hours the

vision of God and all the realities of the eternal

world shall be yours, and you shall be

saved with an everlasting salvation. 

The Standard