The other day I read the story, told by a brother minister, of the lighthouse keeper on Robbins' Reef off the rocky shore of New England. Jacob Walker, after years of faithful service of minding the light, caught a cold one stormy night and rapidly grew worse and died. His wife buried his body on the hillside above the shore, on the mainland, in plain view of the lighthouse upon the reef. Then she applied for and received the appointment as the keeper of the light. For twenty years she carried on alone, and then a New York City reporter went out to get her story. In the course of the interview she told him this: "Every evening I stand in the door of the lighthouse and look across the water to the hillside where my husband sleeps. . . . I always seem to hear his voice saying, as he often said when he was alive, 'Mind the light! Mind the light! Mind the light!'" Across the troubled waters and the crashing breakers of our time there comes another voice to us, a voice from that "green hill far away, without a city wall," a voice out of the blackness of earth's darkest day to us in the darkness and evil of our day. And the message of the Son of God is the same, "Mind the light! Mind the light! Mind the light!" And, God helping us, as Christian patriots, we will!—Christian Observer.
A gentleman was walking one day in the east end of the city of Glasgow. The streets were so narrow, and the houses so high, that little direct sunshine ever reached the houses on one side. The gentleman noticed a ragged, barefooted boy trying, with a small piece of mirror, to catch the sun's rays and direct them to a certain spot on one of the houses opposite. He became interested in the boy's earnest efforts. "What are you trying to do, laddie?" he asked. "Do you see yon window up there?" the boy replied. "Well, my wee brother had an accident two years ago, and is always lying on his back in yon room, and it is on the wrong side to get the sunshine, so I always try to catch the light in this wee glass and shine it into his room."—The Homiletic Review.
On the coast of Norway is a lighthouse where a keeper lived with his two children. One day he went to the distant shore for provisions. A storm arose, and he was unable to return. The time for lighting the lamp came, and Mary, the elder child, said to her little brother, "We must light the lamp, Willie." "How can we?" asked Willie. "We ain't big enough." But the two children climbed the long, narrow stairs to the tower where the lamp was kept. Mary pulled up a chair and tried to reach the lamp in the great reflector; it was too high. Groping down the stairs, she ascended again with a small oil lamp in her hand. "I can hold this up," she said to her little brother. She climbed on the chair again, but still the reflector was just beyond her reach. "Get down," said Willie; "I know what we can do." She jumped down, and he stretched his little body across the chair. "Stand on me," he said. And she stood on the little fellow as he lay across the chair. She raised the lamp high, and its light shone far out across the water. Holding it first with one hand, then with the other, to rest her little arms, she called down to her brother, "Does it hurt you, Willie?" "Of course it hurts," he called back, "but keep the light burning." Are we keeping the light of God's love burning in the world even though it hurts? Are we holding it up so that all nations may see its beams afar?—The S. S. Banner.
At church little Jane had listened to a sermon on "Let Your Light Shine." The only part she remembered was the text, but she didn't understand what it meant until her mother explained, "It means being good, obedient, and cheerful." In the afternoon there was trouble in the nursery, and Jane excused herself for being naughty by saying, "I've blowed myself out."—Church Business.
I cannot forget the confusion into which I saw a conceited young fellow thrown once when he turned to an old minister and, as if challenging discussion, said, "I am told you believe in the inspiration of the whole Bible." The good man replied quietly, "Oh, yes, my friend, what do you believe in?" A little laugh covered the defeat, but he continued, "But you certainly know what the great scholars say about it?" When again the calm answer met him, "Somewhat; but what do they say about your soul?" Now the inquirer grew restive. "They say you are leading men along with a farthing taper in your lantern." To this the aged preacher only said, "Do they say men would see any better if we would let them put the taper out?"—Sabbath Reading.
One night a motorist was run down by a train at a grade crossing. The old signal man in charge of the crossing had to appear in court. After a severe cross-examination, he was still unshaken. He said he had waved his lantern frantically, but all to no avail. The following day the superintendent of the line called him into his office. "You did wonderfully well yesterday, Tom," he said. "I was afraid at first that you might waver." "No, sir," replied Tom, "but I was afraid that old lawyer was going to ask me whether or not my lantern was lit!"—Sunday School Times.
A modern scientific discovery is of thrilling interest. The so-called death ray with which the French army experimented consists of a light of tremendous candle-power, a beam of which striking the eye causes a temporary paralysis. Troops advancing would be mowed into unconsciousness, later to recover in captivity. What an illustration of the power of light! "Let there be light: and there was light." M. de Christmas, inventor of this ray, believes that cities can be protected by a curtain of light which airmen could not face. "God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." What a symbol, this curtain of light, of the protecting care of God!—Sunday School Times.
Among the ancient Greeks the runner that won the race was not the man who crossed the line in the shortest time, but the man who crossed it in the least time with his torch still burning. We are so busy with life's activities that we are in danger of allowing the torch of our spiritual life to become extinguished. It was when Moses paused in his going that he heard the voice of God.—Doran's Ministers' Manual.
"Your new religion has spoiled you, Mary. You will never shine in good society now," said a worldly lady to her niece, who had been brought to decision for Christ a few months before, and who was manifesting the new life in a walk becoming the Gospel of Christ. "I am seeking grace to shine as a light for God in the midst of a dark and evil world, aunt, and I'll get into good society very soon—the society of saints and angels—in my Father's House on high," was the answer she gave. Yes, Christ spoils those who receive Him as Saviour and Lord, for the world's "society." There was no room in "society" for Christ, nor will there be for His followers.—The Milk of the Word.