of the all-conquering Christ.

A SCENE AT ALLENTOWN.

These words are being written in the city of Allentown, Pa., where the
writer is spending ten days in a series of Pentecostal services. Last
evening we saw a symbol of the rest Christ gives. We strolled along the
east bank of the Lehigh River about half an hour after sunset. All the
western sky was beautiful with an afterglow. The water of the river,
silver near the shore and golden toward the west, was as still as the
face of a mirror. The trees on the shore leaned over perfect pictures
of themselves. The hills, which fell back gracefully from the valley,
were covered with cloaks of gold and vermillion and emerald, and not a
leaf stirred in the evening air. Far up the river the tiny bell of a
canal-mule tinkled drowsily. On the veranda of a little cottage a young
mother crooned a lullaby to a slumbering child, and a little bird in a
thick grove called, "Peace! Peace!"

CALM.

If God can make so beautiful a scene in the physical world, what can He
not make in the spiritual? Thank God! He can excel anything the natural
eye ever beheld. He can hang the soul with paintings and turn the
"River of Life clear as crystal" through it, and fill the chambers of
the heart with lullabies and the song of birds crying, "Peace!" If
there are times when we are awed and charmed by

"All the beauty of the world"

let us remember that what we see is only a type of the grandeur and
glory and splendor He will put in our spirit-nature if we but permit
Him to sanctify us and cast out the storms and tempests.

THE PAIN OF SYMPATHY.

While we may possess and enjoy "the second rest" here and now, we need
not forget that another is promised to us. We get weary physically
sometimes here. The days frequently seem long and trying. There are
hours and hours of labor, and nights and nights of toil, but, thank
God! we can say at each sunset, "I am one day nearer rest." For while a
sanctified man is always at rest spiritually, he can not rest
physically to much satisfaction. In his dreams he can see the white,
drawn faces of the doomed, and hear the wild uncouth shriek of the
tormented. He remembers with horror that one hundred thousand souls are
rolled off into Eternity while the earth makes one revolution! He
thinks of cheerless homes, and torn and bleeding hearts, and wives
waiting for the sound of unsteady steps, and children friendless and
hungry, and figures leaping from bridges,