The Deaf Shoemaker

The Deaf Shoemaker
Philip Barrett

Philip Barrett

The Deaf Shoemaker / To Which Are Added Other Stories for the Young

PREFACE

My Dear Young Friends:

Encouraged by your kind reception of my former little volume, I have gathered together my scattered sketches with the earnest wish and heart-felt prayer that they may be instrumental in leading you to childhood’s best and truest friend – the blessed Saviour.

    Your attached Friend,
    PHILIP BARRETT,

Rural Retirement, Va.

JOHN McDONOUGH

“Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the raging billows roll,
While the tempest still is high.

“Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past
Safe into the haven guide;
O receive my soul at last.”

“John McDonough! who is he?” my young reader will doubtless exclaim.

It is true, his name is not written in golden letters on the pages of History, – no Senate chamber has resounded with his eloquence, – the conqueror’s wreath has never encircled his brow; but John McDonough has performed a deed which posterity, to the remotest generation, can never forget.

But a few weeks since, the steamer Northern Indiana was burned on one of the Northern lakes, and then and there it was, that this noble and gallant deed was performed.

You who have never seen a ship on fire can form no idea of the awful horror of such a scene. All was wild excitement and mad confusion. The flames spread like a whirlwind over the noble ship, and soon wrapt it in their withering embrace. Every heart was lifted to God in prayer; every voice was joined in supplication; mothers were clasping their infants to their bosoms; husbands endeavoring to save their wives; fathers encircling their sons in their strong and unfailing arms; the waters were a mass of living, immortal beings, struggling for life.

Amid the hissing of the flames, the pale glare of the atmosphere, and the wild shrieks of hopeless agony that arose from the sinking passengers, John McDonough might have been seen, calm and composed, struggling nobly with the swelling waves, and bearing in one hand life-preservers to the perishing souls scattered over the surface of the lake, which, to many, was destined soon to be the winding-sheet of Death.

How noble the action! How my heart swells within me when I think of the gallant and fearless conduct of such a man!

When despair clothed every brow, fear paled every cheek, and the wild cry – “Save, Lord, or I perish” – echoed in the ears of the drowning, his lofty brow showed no signs of fear, his eye beamed with hope. He still struggled on, and on, till many and many a soul was rescued from a watery grave.

I had rather be the brave, the dauntless, the self-sacrificing John McDonough – the humble laborer on the ill-fated Northern Indiana – than Alexander the Great weeping because there were no other worlds for him to conquer.

God bless thee, noble John McDonough!

Though no eulogy be pronounced at thy death, no booming cannon thunder over thy grave, no proud monument mark thy resting-place, yet there will be erected in the hearts of thy countrymen a monument more lasting than marble, more enduring than brass. May thy name live forever!

My young friends, do you not also see, concealed as it were by the terrible grandeur and painful horror of the scene, a beautiful and important truth displayed in the conduct of this noble-hearted man?

We are all embarked in a ship. The destination of that ship is Eternity. The voyage is tempestuous, and when we least expect it, the fires of hell may take hold upon us. But, thanks be to God, there is a Great Life-preserver always at hand. That Life-preserver I now extend to you: reject it if you dare; destruction is the consequence. Accept it; and you will soon be landed on the blissful shores of Heaven. That Life-preserver is

CHRIST

CHRIST THE ROCK OF AGES

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

“Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfil the law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone,
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

“Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Vile, I to the Fountain fly,
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

“While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my heart-strings break in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne, —
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”

MARY AND HER DRAWER;

OR, NOTHING MADE BY GETTING ANGRY.

I cannot curb my temper,
I might as well have tried
To stop, with little pebbles,
A river’s rapid tide.
My good resolves I hardly form,
When trifles raise an angry storm.

    Child’s Christian Year.
The church bells were sending forth their merry chimes, and hundreds of children were wending their way to the Sabbath-school. Mary was late that morning, and ran very quickly to her drawer, in which were kept her gloves, hymn-book, catechism, &c., and endeavored to jerk it open at once; but in so doing she got it crooked, and it would move neither way.