Perhaps, If Christians Are Awake By That Time, Her
Grandchildren May Hear The "Story."
In that rustic cottage, half covered with jasmine, and shaded by a
royal palm, a child lies very sick.
Listen to its low, weak moaning
as we cross the threshold. The mother has procured a piece of tape,
the length of which, she says, is the exact measure of the head of
Saint Blas. This she has repeatedly put around her babe's head as an
unfailing cure. Somehow the charm does not work and the woman is
sorely perplexed. While we helplessly look on the infant dies!
Outside, the moon soared high, throwing a silver veil over the grim
pathos of it all; but in the breast of the writer was a surging
dissatisfaction and - anger, at his fellow - Christians in the
homeland, who in their thoughtless selfishness will not reach out a
helping hand to the perishing of other lands.
Would the ever-present Spirit, who wrote "Be ye angry" not
understand? Would the Master of patience and forbearance, who Himself
showed righteous anger, enter into it? Is the Great God, who sees
these sheep left without a shepherd, Himself angry? Surely it is well
to ask?
"Oh, heavy lies the weight of ill on many hearts, And comforters are
needed sore of Christlike touch."
In this village I made inquiries for another servant and guide, and
was directed to "Timoteo, the very man." Liking his looks, and being
able to come to satisfactory terms, I engaged him as my second
helper.
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