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ABOUNDING IN THANKSGIVING.
(Continued from page two) are you praising the Lord for about that??" The colored man answered : I am praising the Lord because I've got my appetite left." There are a good man men who would give a good part of their fortune for an appetite, and the greatest thing of all to be thankful for is a spiritual appetite, for has not Jesus prom ised that, "Blessed are they who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled"? But that man was abounding in thanksgiving. And it is a great privilege. It is a duty, but it is a privilege, too, for it brings abundance of blessings on our souls. Gratefully dwelling on a gift multplies it and magnifies it. Thanksgiving enhances the joys for which we are thankful. Instead of complaining, let us learn from our soldiers who went overseas and "pack up our troubles." Charles Spurgeon, 1 think it was, stated that it is a pleasant sight to see anybody thanking God, because the air is heavy with the hum of murmuring and the roads are dusty with complaints and lamenta tions. A unique sugestion was once made by Dr. Maltbie D. Babcock, to the effect "that, in stead of having one day set apart for thanks giving, it would be better to set apart one day for complaining, and cram into it all our wor ries, leaving the rest of the year clear for grati tude." When the young students were in military training for positions as officers in the national army at Madison Barracks, New York, in the summer of 1917, the idea of community sing ing in the army was developed, and W. Stan ley Hawkins, of Rochester, directed this work. He said that the favorite song of the men was, "Keep the Home Fires Burning," but the next choice was, "Pack Up Your Troubles." Once when General Beaver, of Pennsylvania, was addressing a large audience, he flourished his crutch in the air, and with unmatched elo quence said, "I won that at Chancellorsville." "My hay crop is a failure," moaned a farmer to his neighbor. "But how about the pota toes?" asked the neighbor. "They are all right." "And your corn?" "A fine crop." "And your oats?" "An excellent yield." Then the neighbor said: "Why don't you mention your successes first, and put that fail ure in a parenthesis at the end?" General Beaver counted it an honor to leave a leg at Chancellorsville. The farmer raised four crops of produce and moaned because one was a failure. We can flourish our crutches or moan over them. We can moan over one poor crop or rejoice over three good ones. Which are we doing? There is real danger that this year's Thanks giving will prove to be Thanksgiving spoiled by our people's murmuring 'and complaints. If the people do work themselves up to a day of the formal rendering of gratitude to God, it will hardly be according to their present mood. A national mood that forgets God's benefits is a dangerous mood. We have been vouchsafed a thrilling victory, and yet how seldom do we hear any open praise for the divine aid which enabled the Allies to conclude so gloriously their late conflict with the Hun. Two tremendous legacies were left to the United States by the world war ? one a debt, the other of gratitude. The legacy of debt will probably amount to $25, 000,000,000. It will be paid. The other, the legacy of grati tude, is beyond all comprehension. We must have no failure in our appreciation of what the men who fought for the freedom of the world have accomplished, under God's good providence. And yet how common is it to hear only murmurings. We might well note the statements of an Old Testament prophet: "Je hovah heareth your murmurings which ye mur mur against him." It is recorded that Caesar once prepared a great feast for his nobles and friends. It happened that the day appointed was so extremely foul that nothing could be done to the honor of the meeting, whereupon he was so displeased and enraged that he commanded all who had bows to shoot up their arrows at Jupiter, their chief god, as if in defiance of him for that rainy weather. When they did this, their arrows fell short of heaven and struck their own heads, so that many of them were sorely wounded. So our murmurings, which are so many arrows shot at God, will return upon our own heads. They hurt not Him,, but will wound us. Let us as Christians, as far as our influence can extend, call people away from their murmurings. For murmurings are arrows upward shot that surely will fall, must fall, upon their own heads. Let us turn the people to thoughts of God's mercies, to gratitude, to the expression of gratitude for all God's goodness toward us ? and goodness all the more gracious because so greatly undeserved. Rev. G. B. F. Hallock. A LITTLE CHILD AND GOD By James Anderson. CHAPTER VI. Several more days passed during which George seemed to be having a severe mental struggle. His mind free from the fog of liquor, he lay on his back pondering in silence. He afterwards said, "I lay there sayin' tae mysel, 'What a fool ye hae been.' I had been blind a' thae years, an' though I prized my wife highly, my conduct had brocht oot her brilliance like the grindin' o' a diamond. When she cam intae the room I couldna speak ? my heart griped me. Ae mornin' she brocht my gruel an' I hadna steekit myeen a' nicht. When I saw her smilin' face an' the tears in 'er een I fairly broke doon, an' I took 'er hand, an' cried, 'O Margaret, my wife, what a madman I hae been. What deils possessed me. Will ye, can ye ever forgi'e me?' What dae ye think she did? Never a word tae me, but she fell on 'er knees an' wi' tears rinnin' doon 'er cheeks, only said atween 'er sobs, 'Lord, thank ye; Lord, thank ye.' " During the next few weeks George Talbert wrestled with the great problem of life. In youth he had been well read in the Bible and knew that it called him to repentance and faith. He now bitterly repented; but he would not be a coward to accept salvation until he had in some way atoned for the sins of his life. In that quagmire he stuck. The thought of death intervening before he had time to do anything did not disturb him. He would rather be lost a hero, than saved a coward. One Sabbath after Sabbath school, Annie went into her father's room, taking with her Jeames Broon's little girl, Betty, and she kissed her father. He asked them to sing one of their hymns, and they sang, "I think when I read that sweet story of old," and others. He then asked what they had learned at Sabbath school, and she answered, "O father, sic a bonnie text we had. 'Except ye receive the kingdom of God as a little child, ye shall not enter therein.' The teacher said that faithers an' mithers an' folks had tae become little children. Disna it look funny-like? ? auld men and women cheengi' tae bainrs," and the two children laughed. George Talbert started so that it pained him. "A little child"! and he was planning to become a great hero. What was this new doctrine? For the first time he called for a Bible and poured over it. For days he studied the subject: "A little child." Finally he com muned with himself thus: Would a little child take his positon of obstinacy? If Annie disobeyed him and he was willing to forgive her, would she refuse forgiveness until she could make amends for her misconauct ? What was he in the sight of the Almightj that he should presume to dictate terms for his own surrender? Would it not be more honor ing to God to accept his terms as a little child, than to earn his way into God's favor, even were that possible, by becoming the hero he had planned to be? Even if he had the op portunity he wished for to make atonement for himself and demonstrate his reformation, what certainty was there that he should suc ceed? All the arguments he could conjure up pointed to the step he should take, but some thing continued to hold him back, and he re mained a prisoner in doubting castle. The prisoners in this castle are manacled by chains forged in the pit. Human will-power, worshipped by many as an omnipotent detiy, is powerless to break those chains. Oftimes words from the mouths of babes have severed the fetters, and a little child has led the prisoners to freedom. The seed sown by little Annie had secured a safe lodgment and was fructifying, and George Talbert 's mind was a veritable maelstrom. Thoughts of various shades were seething, raging, surging wildly in that human mental vessel, giving no rest day or nght. The battle was incessant, and continued even in the visions of the night, until, finally, the forces of sin were routed and the victory was won. One morning, after the sun had risen in all its effulgent glory, George awoke and hastily called his wife. When she entered he said, "My wife, its a' richt noo. I've yielded. I'm a little child." "O, Geordie," Margaret said, "I kent it would come sometime. I thocht I'd been hear in' the rum'le o' His chariot wheels. We can spend eternity thegither noo, praise the Lord, the hearer an' answered o' prayer." After a time he told her of a dream he had. He said, "I thocht that I was at Derby se'in' a stirk cut up. The flesher took the hert tae the trough an' let the water rin ower it. Syne I saw, juist like rats frae their holes, queer shaped craters jumpin' oot o' the hert wi' tags on them. Ane was marked 'Disobedi ence,' anither 'Pride,' anither 'Intemperance,' I forgot the ithers, but I wasna bothered till nae mare would come oot, an' the flesher wrapped the hert in a piece o' clean paper an' wrote on the paper 'A Little Child.' " "Wi' a start an' a scream I cried, 'That's me,' an' I woke up shiverin' an' cryin', 'My hert; my h"ert; that's where the trouble is,' an' I prayed, 'Lord gi'e me a clean hert.' When I had time tae think I kent I had cheenged, an' ever since I've been sayin', as ye did the ither nicht, 'Lord, thank ye; Lord, thank ye.' " Margaret's heart was too full for words, but at that moment Annie's voice was heard from the kitchen singing, "Then in a nobler, sweeter song I'll sing thy power to save, When this poor, lisping stamm'ring tongue Lies silent i$ the grave."