AUGUST is the harvest month; and, as I write the words, I almost seem to hear a chorus of voices reminding me, that the long-looked-for school holidays are here at last. Lessons are over, and school-books and slates lie idly on the shelves of the book-case, The grain is ripe, and ready for removal. Let us go into the corn-fields, for harvest-time is a busy season, and when there is so much to be done, so much to be learned, there is no need for us to stand mere careless on-lookers.
“Lord of the harvest, once again
We thank Thee for the ripened grain;
Nor vainly from Thy word we ask
For lessons from the reapers' task.”
Shall we try to find out what some of these lessons are. A field of yellow corn is always an attractive sight, dotted as it often is with blue corn-flowers, and scarlet poppies. As the grain sways gently to and fro in the light summer breeze, the poppy sways with it, as if to say, "We are all of one family, we all share the sunshine and the shower; we all draw our life from the goodness of the soil." Ah, but how different! the ripened corn is a proof of the unchanging goodness and mercy of God; the poppy, though beautiful to the eye, is not only useless but poisonous, when the corn is cut, and carried to the garner, the poppies will be left behind to wither and die.
Only a few more days, and we shall hear the song of the reapers. The corn will be cut, bound, into sheaves and carried to the barn. All this should remind us that the “Coming of the Lord draweth nigh" (James 5:88Be ye also patient; stablish your hearts: for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh. (James 5:8)), when His Own will be caught away to meet their Lord in the air; and the unsaved left for judgment. Would YOU, dear young friend, be glad if He were to come this very day?
Harry B—was a very small boy, not more than four or five years old. In the quiet of a Lord's-day evening, his mother who loved the Lord Jesus, had been telling him in very easy words, about the Coming of the Lord to take His own away. For some time Harry paid great attention, but, suddenly he slid from his chair and ran to the door. “Where are you going, Harry?"his mother asked; “Father won't be home from the preaching for quite half an hour." “I’ve just a few things I want to finish before the Lord comes," was Harry's answer.
We smile and say, “Oh, but he was such a very little boy!" True, but are we older people, who, when we hear about the return of the Lord, say, ' Oh, yes, we believe it all, ready to meet Him with joy? If we knew Him better as a Real, Living Person, we should, I feel sure, have more desire for His return.
But, perhaps, just one who will read this little book is saying, “But I am afraid that I have never been converted. I have often wished to be a Christian, and sometimes when I have heard others speak of knowing their sins forgiven, I have gone away, all by myself, and cried because I could not say the same.”
Your sorrow and unrest, is just the still, small voice of the Lord Jesus, speaking to YOU; saying, “Come unto Me;—and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:2828Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28).) Cannot you take Him at His word, as really as you would any earthly friend. Trust Him as simply as a little girl whose story I heard the other day, trusted her father.
Nellie Roberts was an American girl, who attended a day school at some distance from her home. She was not very strong, so her father very often drove over in his trap or sledge, and called for her when school was over. One winter's day they came in sight of the school-house, he told her that he had made an appointment with a gentleman to meet him on business in a town several miles away, so might not be able to call for her as early as usual, but said, as he kissed her good-bye, "Don't be afraid to wait for me Nellie. I will call for you before dark.”
School was over, and as the girls put on their hats and warm wraps, they noticed that Nellie had not even taken hers from the peg, but sat quietly down by the fire. “Why don't you get ready, Nellie?"asked the last girl. “I’m waiting for father; he may be late, but he'll be here before dark; he told me so," was Nellie's reply.
“But it will be dark pretty soon, and you won't like waiting here all by yourself, I wouldn't, I know.”
“Father’s sure to come," said Nellie. The teacher came in saying, "I am sorry to leave you here alone, Nellie, but I promised to meet a friend at the cross roads, so I really must go. Good bye, Nellie." “Father said he would come before dark, and he always keeps his word," was again her confident reply.
It was beginning to get dark, and, left alone in the large empty school-room, Nellie certainly did feel a trifle lonely. She put on her wraps and going to the door, looked down the long, straight road, she could see for more than a mile, but her father was not in sight. It was getting nearly dark when she heard the sound of sledge bells. “Father’s coming now,"she said to herself; but it was not her father, but a neighbor, who, on seeing her, called out, “What are you doing here, Nellie?" “Waiting for father; he won't be long now." “But it's nearly dark, you had better jump on my sledge, and let me take you as far as our house.”
“No, thank you. I'll wait for father. I know he's coming for he told me so."The sledge and its driver went on. Five minutes later and Nellie was clasped in her father's arms. He had been detained in the town longer than he expected, and had left his business unfinished, that he might keep his promise to his little girl. “Did you think I was never coming, Nellie?" he asked, as he lifted her tenderly to the sledge. “No, father; for I knew I could trust you," said Nellie, with a happy smile. What a beautiful example of trust in an earthly father; yet Nellie's father had not done a hundredth part of what God has done for us.
In the green hedge that surrounds the corn-fields, we shall find the blackberry bushes in full bloom. And as we notice the pretty white-tinted blossoms we cannot fail to notice their likeness to the wild rose. They are a promise of fruit still to come, a promise that if the blossoms are allowed to be fulfilled, food for the wild birds, and a joy to the village school children, who, on half-holidays will have a good time black-berrying.
A reminder that all Christians should be fruit-bearers; for fruit can only be borne by the work of the Holy Spirit in our souls. It must be watered by the gentle dew of God's grace, and ripened in the sunshine of His love. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance, against such there is no law." (Gal. 5:22, 2322But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, 23Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. (Galatians 5:22‑23).)
The flowers do not all appear at the same season of the year, or unfold their petals in exactly the same way; they differ greatly in size, color and perfume; hardly less varied than the works of God in Creation, are the ways of God in grace. Some are suddenly aroused to a deep sense of need; with others the work of the Holy Spirit is "the still, small voice.”
I came upon some lines not long ago, that seem to tell the story of my own conversion. “You ask me how I gave my heart to Christ?
“You ask me how I gave my heart to Christ?
I do not know;
There came a yearning for Him in my heart,
So long ago.
I found earth's flowers would fade and die,
I wept for something that would satisfy,
And then—and then, somehow I seemed to dare,
To lift my heart to Him in prayer,
I do not know,
I cannot tell you how;
I only know
He is my Savior now.
You ask me when I gave my heart to Christ?
I cannot tell;
The day, or just the hour, I do not now
Remember well,
It must have been when I was all alone,
The light of His forgiving Spirit shone
Into my heart so clouded o'er with sin;
I think—I think 'twas then I let Him in.
I do not know,
I cannot tell you when,
I only know
He is so dear since then.”
But we have not taken our usual "Peep into Birdland;” and Nellie says that the Skylark is one of her special favorites; she not only loves to listen to its song, but to watch its upward flight, she has more than once tried to find its nest, but, though she thought she had marked the very spot from which the bird rose, she has never been able to do so.
Nellie is not the first of our young friends who has tried and failed in an attempt to find the nest of the skylark. In this case I would hardly suggest that "Try, try, again” should be taken as their motto; for, with the instinct God has implanted in the bird, it never seems to forget, that visitors who would not be welcome might call during its absence, so always goes to some distance before rising. The nest, when found, is usually in a slight hollow in an open field of hay or corn, sometimes almost covered by a stone, or tuft of thick grass. The skylark has a method of building all its own. The male bird does not build, but brings to the female bird dry grass and moss with which she builds to her liking, very fine grass, or horse-hair being used for the lining. The first eggs, four or five in number, are laid during April; their color is a dull green, spotted all over with brown. As soon as the young birds are able to fly, another brood is reared, and sometimes a third by the end of the summer.
“The bird that soars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade, when all things rest.
In lark and nightingale I see,
What honor hath humility.”
The Nightingale is a bird of passage, and generally arrives about the end of April; no time is lost in choosing summer quarters—a small wood, park, or shrubbery being a favorite place for building, though it likes, if possible, to be near a lake, or running water. The nest is rather roughly put together but more carefully lined. Four or five eggs of a deep olive-brown are laid in it. The nightingale sings during the day, as well as at night, but in the daytime its notes are so blended with the songs of other birds as to attract but little attention. About the middle of June the young birds are hatched; after that, the parents are so busy attending to their wants that they have little, if any, time for singing.