With the Children on Sundays: Through Eye-Gate and Ear-Gate into the City of Child-SoulStall, Sylvanus
Religion
With the Children on Sundays: Through Eye-Gate and Ear-Gate into the City of Child-Soul
Stall, Sylvanus
Children -- Religious life; Children's sermons; Moral education
QUESTIONS.--What would the entire earth become if
there should be no rain? If all moisture were
removed from the atmosphere, what would be the
result? What is the average rainfall? What is the
weight of rainfall in a single square mile? How
many cars would it require to carry water for one
square mile? How does God accomplish this? How is
the water raised up from the sea and the rivers?
Can you explain it by the teakettle? Where does
God store this vapor? How do the clouds carry the
moisture to the places which need it? How does the
moisture in the clouds fall? Does God do all
things wisely and well? Is God ever unmindful of
our needs? Do you ever forget to thank Him? Do you
always remember to serve Him?
SNOW.
THE LESSONS WHICH IT TEACHES.
MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS: When God desired to set Job to thinking, among
other questions He asked him: Canst thou enter into the treasures of the
snow? (Job xxxviii: 22.) While coming to church to-day, when I saw you
frolicking and glad in the midst of the snow, which was falling all
about you, I wondered whether you had ever stopped to think much about
the snow. So I thought to ask you the question which God asked of Job
nearly thirty-five hundred years ago: "Hast thou entered into the
treasures of the snow?"
When you were all so glad on account of this first snowstorm of the
winter, did you stop to think that the snow comes from God? Now like
everything else which comes from God, the snow is wonderful. No
philosopher has ever yet been able fully to explain how the snow is
formed and to tell us all about it, and I do not suppose that all the
mysteries concerning it will ever be fully and perfectly solved. It is
wonderful, however, because it comes down so lightly and noiselessly. It
drops upon the earth almost like feathers, covering the ground, hanging
upon the limbs of the trees and shaping them into things of strange
beauty, piling up on the post by the side of your gate, until perhaps it
looks more like the white man from the flour mill than like that to
which people tie horses. Yet it comes down so noiselessly that we
scarcely notice it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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