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126

MRS. BINGHAM'S LETTER.

dwell upon the story of his sufferings and death, has not yet learned the simplicity and power of the gospel. All other motives are feeble compared with this. It is the all availing instrument, which God has given to subdue the power of sin in the heart."

Y. Z.

MRS. BINGHAM'S LETTER TO MRS. C.

MY DEAR AFFLICTED SOPHIA

Honolulu, Oahu, May 24, 1832.

The hand of the Lord hath touched you, my Sister. But let our souls say, blessed be his holy name-he doeth all things well" As for God, his way is perfect." Can I tell you how deeply I feel for you? Ah, no. And if I could, how little would it avail.

But there is one, my love, that does feel for you, and while he feels can sustain and comfort you.

Oh, there must be agonizing moments, when language can but feebly tel what the bleeding heart is suffering! But say, are you not sustained--are you not comforted-does not your sorrowful spirit turn to your blessed Savior?— Are there not many seasons, when, through his love and mercy, you are sweetly soothed-when you feel your Redeemer near, and heaven's everlasting calm but a little before you? My soul blesses God for the hope that it is So. Yes; I learn from your own hand what an emphasis these tender and solemn words have," Gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope unto the end."

It makes your soul pant after a meetness for the inheritance of the saints in light. The blessed Savior, who made your beloved husband what he was, and carried him tenderly and triumphantly through to the blessed mansions of rest, is more and more precious in your eyes. You feel more how much you owe to him for all the hopes you have. You long to bow to his holy will, do his work, and be released, that you may see him as he is, and join the redeemed ones who have gone before, in their never-ceasing, never-tiring anthems of praise.

"Sweet affliction, that brings Jesus to the soul." Yes, sister; sweet affliction. Though in your poor widowed heart there be such a blank, the love of Christ can fill it. Turn affectionately to him; he will not leave you, he will never forsake you. The conflict will not be long. Yet do not say, you have nothing more to do with earth. Rather ask your heavenly Master to show you what you have to do. It may be much, even though he should not keep you to tread your lonely way long in the wilderness. Be earnest, my dear, in seeking to know what it is, and earnest in seeking grace to accomplish it.

It affords me a tender and melancholy pleasure to cast a retrospect over the way in which the Lord hath led you. It has been no ordinary way-strongly marked with mercies and judgments--in covenant love I hope.

How great the mercy, no heart can adequately conceive, if prepared by any discipline for the glory which shall be revealed in the humble disciples who suffer affliction with patience.

MRS. BINGHAM'S LETTER.

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Though you were young, you remember well, I doubt not, the sorrowful night when we four orphan sisters returned from the interment of our most tender mother, and found ourselves emphatically alone. But O, how have we, from that hour, been taken up! I would have my soul melted within me, in view of what has been done for us. True, our sorrows, since that sad hour, have been many and varied; but what tenderness, what divine compassion, have predominated in all. Is it not a comfort to think the time will come when we shall, in a manner above what we have ever done, render to our glorious Savior praise and thanksgiving for all these things?

My thoughts turn mournfully to you. I look at my own precious husband and my little ones, and I feel. But I am comforted. Ah, we do indeed mingle tears; but we will not complain. God has done it; and again and again we will say, "As for God, his way is perfect."

I had comfort in the assurance that your mind had been kept free from distressing anxiety as to the future. I pray that it may continue to be. Those sweet, fatherless babes! Oh! commit them affectionately, constantly, and without any reserve, to the care of our blessed Master. You may safely leave this burden with him; he kindly offers to take it for you. Can we not feel as if he did graciously promise his servant, when he took him home, that he would take the charge of his fatherless ones, as they were going through the wilderness? Jesus will be a good guide, a gracious provider.

I know there must be moments, doubtless sometimes sudden and unexpected, when your fond heart flutters over them as if they remained to the charge of yourself alone. But do you not find your fluttering spirit kindly, and sometimes quickly composed again? This is of God's goodness. O thank him for it, and give no place to distrust. It will dishonor God. Rather say with that dear, departed saint, your blessed husband, "Why should I? Our Savior lives, and we shall live also, in the best sense." I admire the providence that dietated that as his last thought penned for you. I look upon those few lines as a rich legacy-rich, because we have reason to think such was truly the feeling of his heart; and that to this dear Savior he did then, and habitually, commend you and those little ones. And considering the faithfulness and loving kindness of this divine friend, in whom he trusted, and to whom he committed this precious charge, what have we not to hope?

O! let it comfort you, Sophia, while you yourself take hold anew of God's everlasting covenant, and go forward, leaning on him. "As thy day, so shall thy strength be." Precious promise!

"In this world of sin and sorrow,

Compass'd round with many a care,
From eternity we borrow

Hope that can exclude despair."

What is earth, or the best that earth contains, as a portion? What love was that which purchased for us the hope of better things! How it should constrain us to the most cheerful, unreserved consecration of all we have!

I stand wondering and amazed at myself-laid under such infinite obligation, and yet so little devoted! I do feel as if my soul panted after holiness, and sometimes as if I could welcome any thing, if so I might attain to it. But

126

THE CHILD'S MORNING HYMN.

0,1 am often readier to say, shall I ever attain so as to be prepared for that blessed state, where holiness alone shall enter? Were it not for the hope that Jesus pleads my cause, I had nothing before me but despair. But he lives, an intercessor, a divine surety; and, forever blessed be his name, through him we hope to live also.

It is a comfort to me to find you safely returned to Utica. I doubt not you would have found much Christian kindness and sympathy in C, but it is some satisfaction to me to think of you and the little ones somewhere in the circle of those I know and love. It is a comfort to hear from you through the medium of Dr.'s friends, who speak of you with an interest and tenderness which is affecting and comforting to me. I love to think of you so under the wing, as it were, of dear Mr. H- 's family. I love to think of you where my beloved Canandaigua friends, and others, when traveling, may sometimes call upon you and drop a word of Christian condolence, and encourage you to bear up unto the end. I love to think of you in a portion of our country so blessed of the Lord as that in which you now dwell. But above all, my dear S., do I love to think of you as the kind charge of our ever blessed Jesus, whose compassion and tenderness will never fail; whose love knows neither bound nor end. I love to think of you as sojourning here, but bound to that blest world where he will, at length, gather together all that are his, in one glorious family. O, shall I meet you there? How great the grace that will prepare such hearts as ours for such society, and for such a place! Let us yield ourselves to it, rejoicing, if, through any discipline, we be made meet for that "glorious hour, that blest abode," where

"We shall be near, and like our God."

Very tenderly and affectionately, your sister,

S. M. BINGHAM.

MRS. W.-Not having in my possession a morning hymn adapted to very young minds, I composed the following entirely for the practical benefit of my own little ones. Finding it comprehended by them at a very early age, I have been induced to offer it for the Mother's Magazine. O✶ ✶ June 29, 1833.

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SCRIPTURE EXERCISES.

SCRIPTURAL EXERCISE,

FOR THE NEXT QUARTERLY MEETING OF THE UTICA MATERNAL ASSOCIATION.

LESSON III.-HISTORY OF CAIN AND ABEL.

Gen. iv.

How

many children had Adam?

129

What were their names?

What does each of these names signify? What was Cain's occupation? What offering did Cain make unto the Lord? What was Abel's occupation? What offering did he make? How old were Cain and Abel at this time? What necessity was there for offerings, or sacrifices?

Had God commanded them how and what they should offer?

What circumstance renders it probable that they did it in obedience to a divine command, though not recorded?

Were these the first offerings made?

What was the nature of Cain's offering? What that of Abel?

How did God manifest his acceptance of Abel's offering, and rejection of Cain's?

Why was the one accepted and the other rejected? Heb. xi. 4, 6.

Was the sacrifice he offered expiatory, and how?

Lev. xvii. 11.

In what respect did the life and death of Abel, and their consequences, resemble those of Christ?

What wicked temper did Cain manifest after the offering?

What warning did God give him?

In what manner do children manifest the same temper?

Can you mention any examples?

Does it appear that Abel made any resistance when attacked by his brother? What curse did God pronounce upon Cain?

What reply did he make? What became of Cain?

Is it probable that Cain ever repented? What prevented his being murdered? What was the character of his posterity, and where did they live?

Had Abel any children?

Mention some of the motives presented for following the example of Abel, and avoiding that of Cain?

HYMN ALTERED FOR A MATERNAL ASSOCIATION.

Thou who didst, with love and blessing,

Gather Zion's babes to thee;

Still a Saviour's love expressing,
These the babes of Zion see;
Bless the labors

That would bring them up to thee.

Smile upon the weak endeavor,
Vain, if thou thy smile deny;
Lo! they rise to live for ever;
Train, O train them for the sky;
Ne'er may Satan
Plunder Zion's nursery.

Let no self-applauding feeling,
Nought of praise from mortals won,
O'er the heart infectious stealing,
W........n,

Poison what our hands have done?
Raise the motive,

Sink the pride of every one.

Lord, with humble fervor bending,
We thy blessing would entreat;
On our children's heart's descending
Make the toils of mothers sweet;
Straight to Zion

Lead our tender infants' feet.

Then, when long we both have slumber'd
Side by side in common dust,
With thy ransom'd people number'd,
With th' assembly of the just,
Children, Mothers,

Saviour, own our humble trust.

MONICA.

130

THE DYING MOTHER'S PRAYER.

For the Mother's Magazine.

THE DYING MOTHER'S PRAYER.

The wife of a clergyman in Connecticut was smitten with a languishing and fatal disease. She was the mother of three children, the youngest a babe of only a few months old. Whenever they came near her bedside, it was observed that she was commending them in prayer to her covenant God. Submission to his will seemed to gain the ascendancy over the ardor of her earthly affections, so that she peacefully surrendered to him the objects of her fondest regard. She often repeated with emphasis,

""Tis joy enough, my all in all,

Thus at thy feet to lie;
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly."

"It makes but little difference," she said, " when or where we leave this little speck called earth, if we are prepared to go. I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. I contemplate lying down in the grave with composure, and peace, and joy." She had early known and loved her Savior, and the reward of her consistent piety, was such a richness of faith as took the sting from death. At the age of seven she was deeply impressed with the importance of religion, and at fourteen became a member of the church. When about to pass down into the dark valley, with all the serenity of one who carried quenchless light within the soul, she laid her cold hand upon her little son, and prayed audibly, and earnestly for his salvation,

I heard the voice of prayer-a mother's prayer—
A dying mother for her only son-

Young was his brow and fair.

Her hand was on his head--
Her words of love were said-
Her work was done.

And there were other voices round her bed,
Sweet, bird-like voices--for their mother dear
Asking with mournful tear.

Ah! by whose hand shall these sad tears be dried?
For when some few brief days are fled,
Hers must be pulseless laid, low with the silent dead.

Yes, there was death's dark valley, drear and cold,
And the hoarse dash of Jordan's swelling wave;
Alone she treads-Is there no earthly hold,

No friend, no helper, no strong arm to save?
Down to the fearful grave,

In the firm courage of a faith serene,

That meek one prest;

And as she drew the cord

That bound her to her Lord,

More closely round her breast,

The white wing of the waiting angel spread

More palpably, and earth's bright things grew pale;
Even fond affection's wail

Seemed like the far-off sigh of spring's forgotten gale.

And so that mother's prayer,

So often breathed above

In agonizing love,

Rose to high praise of God's paternal care:

On his strong arm her infant charge she laid,
And with a trusting eye

Of martyr constancy,

Confiding in her blest Redeemer's aid,

She taught the much loved band,

Who round her couch of pain did stand,
How a weak woman's hand

Wrestling with sorrow and with sin,
Might from the king of terrors win

The victory.

Hartford, Conn. August 1, 1833.

L. H. S.

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