December 1930
T h E
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
566
The packages were afterthoughts from the Thin Red Line. Three new books! Two boxes o f home made candy! They began to talk quite briskly of the children’s celebra- ' tion to take place that evening—the little brown-skinned children'of the'mission. They heard them, later on, sing: “ Yes f He is King,” John said to Harold, as the chil dren marched around the tiny tree, “ He is King! He is just away for a while. And it is ours to occupy till He comes.” * * * Bill the Brilliant had not been at his post very long. He still vividly Remembered his trip down the Red Sea from Port Said, and the five-hundred-mile trip by nar row guage railway to Addis Ababa. The dark-skinned people of this country with their vivid historical back ground had captured his imagination at once. But he had been eager to take the Gospel of which he felt himself a messenger, to the subject races of Abyssinia who are either Moslem followers or tree-worshipers—a needy people, a heathen people, a people ravaged by all sorts of disease. He felt that he had a soul cure, and a bodily ministry as well among them. “ Stay in the capital for the coronation,” they urged. “ It’s to be early in November, and a wonderful spectacle! A king descended from Solomon and the Queen o f Sheba!” ' But Bill had turned from all these allurements to the thorn-crowned One. . . “ He was a Prince of the house of David and Solomon delighted to call Him Lord. I cannot postpone the joy of service. But I do thank you! Good-by, sir!” And the old diplomat who had known Bill’s father did not soon for get those earnest eyes. Bill was thinking of all this on Christmas Eve. No cel ebration here yet! The work was too young. Tonight he was alone under the spangled heavens^—and yet not alone, for One was with him whom he had known for a long time. It almost seemed that he could put out his hand and touch Him. ‘‘And this is your royal birthday eve, Lord,” he was saying. ' “ On a night like this the wise men under the star were following on. On a night like this the shepherds heard the song and saw the glory. Over there, so close I can hear them, are some lost sheep. Lord, help me to shepherd them. Give me this people, Lord, for a Christ mas gift.” And Bill went peacefully to rest knowing that ' in time his prayer would be beautifully answered. * * H« Nikolai had forgotten that there was anything else in the material universe but snow. He had seen nothing but snow, felt nothing but snow, been conscious of noth ing but the coldness o f snow for so long now, that the outer world seemed to have definitely receded. He was surrounded by a curtain of falling snow. It was well! On looking through it, he would only discern a desolate earth. It was better to be absorbedly interested in these strange, beautiful snow crystals which'ocihsionallj sep arated themselves from the white mantle and drifted cas ually toward him. How perfect they were! Each so different from the other! That one on his coat sleeve was a marvelous pointed star. Over the star his thought hov ered until he recollected that this was the day before Christmas. “Hark, the herald angels sing, Glory to the new-born King.”
A Song of Sweetness B y F red S cott S hepard A song o f rare sweetness falls soft on the ear, Whose harmonies echo afar and anectr, A message o f joy to the souls that will hear, O f “ peace and good will unto men.” This song was a heaven-sent anthem o f praise, Which came to the earth in the long-ago days, Proclaiming “ good tidings” sad hearts to upraise, O f “peace and good will unto men.” 'This theme is still winging its way through the . earth, As thrillingly true as the day o f Christ’s birth," Make known the glad news in its fulness and worth, O f “ peace and good will unto men.” Subset was fading, and the great silver lamp that is called the evening star was hanging over the dusk of roses that lay in the west. Elise and Althea sat on, how ever. Althea was silent, deep in the memory of last year’s Christmas Eve, ,wh^n she would have gone too far for any return, but for the loving Hands that reached out to save her. Elise had gone on “ seeing round the world.” First, of course, there was the Island stop, with Harold and John Dowling! But she must needs travel on, praying as she went, to Bill the Brilliant away in dark Abyssinia, t'A' Nikolai somewhere in Russia,- to the Per sonage in troubled Jerusalem, and on around to the Princeling fighting the good fight of faith in Central Europe, and to Eleanor, the newest, raw recruit in New York. Pray on, true child of missionary faith! Obey the deep instinct which leads you into fellowship with that Spirit who maketh intercession for us with groanings that cannot be uttered! * * * “ The mail must be in,” remarked Harold. “ Yes,” replied John Dowling, shaking the sand out of his shoes. “ And though it seems as if we had already received all the fascinating packages that we can reason ably look for, marked “ not to be opened till Christmas,” still my greedy soul longs for just one more—or two, or three more, maybe!” They found five more, when they reached the post-, office.... Theyiiad walked there silently. Each knew .that the other was very homesick. Before they had left tha Beach, Harold had looked along the shining shore with? its long slow combers swinging in and subsiding on the sand into swirling foam. “ Elise and I built many a sand castle here in the old days,” he had said wistfully, “ and many a cloud castle of dreams, I guess, as well.” “ Come on, Hal!” John rejoined gruffly.
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