The value of a praying mother Part 4

_In the gentle hush of evening, When the sun sank in the west; When the little bird was nestling In its quiet, sheltered nest; When the stars were brightly s.h.i.+ning From the lofty sky above, Bessie learned the lovely secret Of her Savior's perfect love._

_In the twilight's deep'ning shadows, At her loving mother's feet, Sat she often on a ha.s.sock, Hearing words of counsel sweet.

Sacred season was this hour To the twain in waiting there, Each the burden of the other Sought to know and ofttimes share.

As the loving mother listened To the record of the day, To the questions of her daughter-- Spoken oft in childish way, She in tenderness instructed With the wisdom of the Lord, Gained by prayer and careful study Of his precious, holy Word.

There the character was strengthened; Bessie's heart was made to feel Greater love for her Creator, For his work a deeper zeal.

And she saw G.o.d's plan for pardon, To the feet of Jesus came, And was able, like her mother, Full salvation then to claim._

_Ah! fond mother, learn the secret That will win thy children dear; Draw them gently to thy bosom, Ever seek their hearts to cheer.

From thy home exclude all worry, Fretful cares, and sad'ning gloom; But G.o.d's suns.h.i.+ne bid a welcome, Let it s.h.i.+ne in ev'ry room_.

_As a spring within a desert, Thou mayst water each plant small; But the plant itself must blossom-- Thou canst tend it, that is all.

Tiny human plants will flourish In an atmosphere like this, And will yield good, fruitful blossoms That will bring true happiness_.

_Children always thirst for knowledge, And ere long 'tis surely gained; If not from a faithful mother, 'Tis from evil source obtained.

Blameless never is the mother Who will not the trouble take To instruct her precious children, Close companions of them make_.

_Like a florist wise and zealous, Guard thou well each blossom fair, Lest the perfume and the sweetness Vanish for the lack of care.

Choose thou then some place at even When the daily toils are done, Where life's many cares and blessings May be numbered one by one.

G.o.d will give thee wisdom, mother, To supply thine ev'ry need, As thou givest wholesome knowledge, When the childish voices plead.

Their young minds, so pure, unfolding, Will reveal the secret fair That will prove how great the value Of a mother's love and pray'r._

CHAPTER XIII.

BLESSING AND TRIAL.

Now that Bessie had learned the secret of a Christian life, she longed to see others enjoying the love of G.o.d. She felt the greatest burden for her father. Oh, if she could see him enjoying salvation! She often poured out her desire in prayer, with childlike trust and confidence.

G.o.d heard her prayers.

One morning as she was pa.s.sing the barn on her way to school, she heard some strange sounds. Peering through a window, she beheld a sight that made her wonder if she saw aright. There stood her beloved father, great tears streaming from his eyes, his countenance beaming with heavenly peace and joy, and praises to G.o.d pouring from his lips. What did it mean? In a weak voice she said, "Papa dear, what is the matter!"

Turning he exclaimed: "Oh, Bessie, G.o.d has saved me! I am so happy! Run quick and tell your mother!" Bessie ran to the house to tell the glad news, but her father was there nearly as soon, saying, "Oh, I'm saved!

You're right, wife. I know now that you're right, and I see things just as you do! I'm so happy and feel so different. Oh, help me to praise the dear Lord."

Let us leave them in their happiness and follow Bessie to school. Her father's words rang as sweet music in her ears. How good the dear Lord was to answer her in her father's behalf! She felt that no good thing would be withheld from them that walk uprightly. But Bessie was soon to meet a severe and unexpected trial.

Her mother had made her a school-dress. Though neat and pretty, it was of a material commonly used for men's s.h.i.+rts. Bessie knew this, but thought nothing of it until some of her schoolmates gathered round her at recess and said, "O girls, Bessie has a new dress like her father's s.h.i.+rt." Another said, "Perhaps it is his s.h.i.+rt." The remarks were certainly unkind, and Bessie felt them keenly; but she laughed and said, "Yes; I know it." Nothing more was said. But oh, that dress! How she disliked to wear it! At times she could hardly start to school with it on; but then she would think, "I know Mama thought it was pretty when she got it for me; and I thought it was nice until the girls made those remarks. I will try to like it for Mama's sake."

With such thoughts in her mind she returned home from school one evening. When she reached the house, she saw that no one was at home; but, knowing where the key was kept, she easily gained admittance.

Finding herself alone in the house, she thought: "Now is the time to learn to like my dress, and I'm going to do it. Mother shall not know how I have felt about it." She hastened into the parlor and stood before a large mirror.

Now, Bessie knew that she did not have a pretty face, and she had gained the victory over that; but she did want to feel that her clothes looked well on her, and that was the battle she meant to fight that evening. As she slowly turned from side to side viewing herself intently, she liked the dress better and better. At last she thought it very pretty and becoming, and she knelt down and thanked G.o.d for giving it to her. As she changed it for her work-dress, she wondered why she had allowed the children's remarks to affect her so much and had not appreciated the dress more. No more remarks were ever made about the dress, and Bessie continued to admire it until it was worn out. No one but herself and the Lord knew of the struggle through which she pa.s.sed.

Through the trial concerning the dress, Bessie learned several valuable lessons: first, the less notice one takes of unkindness, the better; second, G.o.d's grace can keep in time of temptation; third, one should not murmur because of persecution; and, last, and best of all, G.o.d usually gives his children some great blessing before a severe trial, and the close relations.h.i.+p between the two makes them almost one in effect. She could now say with real appreciation:

_A little trial often tries, But proves a blessing in disguise.

Just as the rough rock holds the gem, The trial holds my diadem_.

But a still greater trial was awaiting her. Bessie had a thirst for knowledge. She was doing well in school and wanted to do better. Instead of taking exercise during the daily intermissions, she often spent them in hard study. Her system, naturally frail, could not stand the strain.

She contracted a fever and for three months despaired of life. In the third month dropsy of the chest set in; and, on account of smothering spells, she had to be bolstered up in bed with pillows.

One day as Mrs. Worthington stood beside her child she felt that G.o.d wanted to heal her. Kneeling beside the bed, she prayed, "Dear Lord, heal my child, and grant that she may be spared to work for thee." From that time Bessie began to improve. She had no more smothering spells, and before long she was well and strong.

Bessie found a blessing even in this trial. She saw that, had she been able to push ahead as she had desired, she might have lost sight of Jesus, and she now understood that her Savior cared for her body as well as for her soul.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SURPRISE PARTY.

As soon as Bessie was strong enough to go out, she was invited to stay all night with a friend. She supposed she was to be the only guest, but found that a surprise had been planned for her. A goodly number of her friends and schoolmates were present.

The young folks spent a few hours very pleasantly in playing games, and Bessie enjoyed that part of the evening very much. But late in the evening some one proposed dancing, and the boys began to choose their partners. A very strange feeling came over Bessie when some one asked her to dance. She shook her head and said, "No; I do not know how to dance." Several urged her to try, but she said, "No; I would rather not."

She was the only one that did not dance. As she sat watching the others, she wondered if it were right for boys and girls to act as these were acting. She had never heard that it is wrong to dance, but it did not look or seem right to her. She decided that on reaching home she would ask her mother.

When Bessie got home the next morning, her mother asked, "Well, dear, did you have a good time?"

"Oh, yes," answered Bessie; "most of the time I did." Then she told about the surprise party and about all that had happened, and concluded by asking, "Mama, is it right to dance?"

"I have been thinking for a long time, Bessie, that I ought to have a talk with you about dancing and tell you of some of the evils to which it leads," answered her mother. "Dancing is an amus.e.m.e.nt that many girls consider very attractive. When asked why they think so, they hardly know what to answer, but generally speak of the music and the graceful motions."

"Oh, Mama, the motions they made at the party last night were anything but graceful. I know you wouldn't have allowed me to do as they did, and I don't want to. It wasn't modest. I never want to go to a dance again."

"I'm so glad, Bessie, you feel as you do about dancing; but, dear, to those who learn, there is something very fascinating about it. Some girls have said they would rather dance than eat; and, with a great many, I believe it is true.

"Men of low character and of evil inclinations regard the dance-hall as a favorable place to betray unsuspecting girls and frequent it for that very purpose. Their victims are usually the sweetest and most trusting girls. Their beauty attracts undesirable attention, and their ignorance makes them an easy prey. O Bessie, there are so many unprincipled men in the world who love to win and betray the confidence of young innocent girls.

"Philosophers tell us that 'perfect happiness comes only from a pleasure attractive to our moral nature in its purity and perfection. If we delight in pleasures of the other sort, our moral natures are degraded.'

"You have noticed the immodest positions taken by those who dance, and you feel a deep sense of shame for them. Should you try to partake of their pleasure, your moral nature would be degraded, and you would in time lose that sense of shame and be as eager for the pleasure as any of the others. Thus yielding, one step at a time, you would cease to look upon the dance as immodest and would find real enjoyment in it, and perhaps would be led into greater sin. It is in this way that many girls lose their virtue. Then they are shunned by their old a.s.sociates, who are really but a step higher in morality. Forsaken by friends, hopeless as to their future, deserted even by those who wrought their downfall, these poor girls sink lower and lower, and lead lives of shame and misery.

"No spiritual-minded person will take part in worldly amus.e.m.e.nts, for he can not enjoy them. Christians who indulge in dancing turn away from G.o.d and seek fellows.h.i.+p with the world. Such are sure to lose the grace of G.o.d from their hearts."

CHAPTER XV.