# Der Lutheraner_St. Louis Missouri_1853 03 15_S95
# AI translation — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

95

wishing them God's blessing, say our heartfelt thanks.

W. Hells, Pastor.
Centreville, the 26th of February 1853.

For my support I have received from Mr. Joh. Heinr. Nordmann $2.00; from Mr. Fried. Wilh. Meier $1.00; from Mr. Rudolph Burbing $0.25.

May the gracious God richly bless the kind givers for their generous gifts, both bodily and spiritually.

Otto Hanser.
Concordia College at St. Louis,
the 28th of Feb. 1853.

With thanks I received from members of the congregation at Fort Wayne through Pastor Kühn $2.00; from Mr. Frosch through Pastor Kühn $2.00; from Pastor Kühn $3.00; from Dr. Sihler $1.00; from the same $3.00; from Mrs. Maria Trier $1.00; from the Young Men's Society at Cleveland $7.00.

God keepeth the kindnesses of a man like a signet ring, and the good works like the apple of the eye. Sirach 17, 18.

Heinrich König.
Fort Wayne, the 17th of Feb. 1853.

Praise of God in the Evening in the Alps.

In some districts of the Alps in Piedmont and Savoy, in which the inhabitants dwell scattered as shepherds, there prevails a beautiful, pious custom, which affords the shepherds some compensation for the social life in their solitude. When the sun has left the valley, and its last rays still faintly gild the snowy summits of the mountains, the shepherd whose hut lies on the highest point takes his Alpine horn and calls, as through a speaking-trumpet: "Praise ye the LORD!" All the neighboring shepherds, standing at the door of their huts, repeat the sound in turn, just as they hear it, and so for a quarter of an hour the echo resounds from rock to rock, from depth to depth, losing itself in ever more distant reaches: "Praise ye the LORD!" A solemn stillness follows the last tones of the horn, and then all the shepherds fall upon their knees with uncovered heads. And when at last darkness enshrouds the mountains, the horn sounds once more with a friendly "good night!" and in peace the shepherds now withdraw to their lonely dwellings, to rest from the toils of the day.

It is a good thing to give thanks unto the LORD, and to sing praises unto Thy name, O Thou Most High! Ps. 92, 2.

Two Christian Anecdotes.

Aug. Hermann Francke was walking one day with Dr. Anton when they heard a praying voice in the field. They went nearer and saw behind a bush two boys on their knees, one of whom prayed aloud,—with true edification they listened. "Say," said the boy, when he had finished, to his comrade, "did I not pray quite beautifully?" Painfully cast down, both clergymen went away; at last Dr. Anton said: This boy speaks out of the hearts of us all; we old ones are only ashamed to ask so loud. Have we not also often begun in humility and ended in secret self-satisfaction?

The Grand Duke of Tuscany (I believe, the later Emperor Leopold) was so philanthropic that he himself went onto the galleys to converse with the malefactors. But all whom he asked about their crimes protested their innocence. Quite at the last he came to one who freely confessed that he had deserved the just punishments by his great sins. "Away with this one from the galleys!" said the Grand Duke to the commandant who accompanied him, "the wretch might corrupt all these innocent men for me." And he received his freedom.

(Volksblatt.)

John 11, 3.

A sick man knew nothing of the love of the Savior. But his sins had brought him into great misery; he had lost his freedom and his good name, lay in prison and (as the physician intimated to him) on his deathbed. Now all at once his inner ear opened to all the complaints and reproaches of the awakened conscience. The sins of his past life stepped forth as witnesses against the frightened soul. The cold, pitiless bailiff, Death, stood before the door, and in despair the sick man tossed on his bed to and fro. But beside him lay one of his fellow prisoners, who had come to know the Savior of sinners and had found grace and peace with Him. He told the sick brother of Jesus; but for that this man's ear was not yet opened, for he saw nothing but his sins, death, judgment and eternal damnation. At last, however, it occurred to him to seek comfort in the Holy Supper. To the clergyman, when he saw the sick man, there came into his heart the word: "Lord, behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick!" (John 11, 3.) He therefore told him of Lazarus, Mary and Martha, how the Lord Jesus had been at home with them, but just at the time of need had kept Himself far off, and for that reason the sisters of the sick brother had sent the message: "Lord, behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick!" Thereupon the sick man looked at the clergyman as if he would say: "Why do you speak to me of this? I am indeed deathly sick like Lazarus, but yet no Lazarus." But the clergyman went on: "You poor sick man! The Lord Jesus loves you also, although you have not cared about Him at all, nor opened the door to Him, however often He knocked at it. You wonder at this love, and it is also to be wondered at, how He can love men, sinners, so. That seems incredible to you, and yet it is as certainly true as you are a sinner. For this He came into the world, to save sinners; for the forgiveness of sins He shed His blood! If you think you cannot believe what you hear, then believe what you see. Behold, bread and wine, that is His body, given for you into death, that is His blood, shed for your sins! Here He gives you to see and to taste His love!" In this manner the pastor went on speaking, then let the sick man make his confession of sins and gave him the Holy Supper. Then tears flowed over the pale cheeks of the sinner, he had to cry out: "Now I know that the Lord loves me!" The words of life had breathed life into his dead heart, he could lay hold of Christ in faith; his soul was healed. Now he was willing to die gladly. For several days this sweet enjoyment of the love of his Lord lasted, when all at once he felt himself thrust down as from heaven into hell. Once more his sins stood before his soul, and no Savior beside them. Fear of death fell upon him; he was once more near despair. "Do you not know any more," the clergyman asked him, "that Jesus loves you?" "My sins are too many!" answered the sick man. "But if they were as many as the sand of the sea," said the clergyman, "you should yet not despair!" "I have made it too bad!" sighed the sick man. "Yes, you have made it bad, that is true; but I will tell you of One who made it still worse and yet found grace!" The clergyman told him the story of the pardoned thief and then asked: "Do you now believe that Christ in His glory is still as mighty and gracious as once in His deep humiliation on earth, to give to poor sinners who take refuge with Him not merely a remembrance but Paradise itself?" "Yes," answered the sick man, "that I do believe!" "But do you also believe," continued the clergyman, "that He is just as gracious to you, since you are indeed lost without Him?" — It was some time before the man answered: "Yes, I believe!" "Well, what then?" asked the clergyman, rejoicing over the smoking flax of faith. "I believe that the Lord is gracious to me also!" said the sick man. "Then hold fast with prayer and watchfulness only to the word of His grace," concluded the clergyman, "even if you do not taste its sweetness. Blessed are they that have not seen and feel not, and yet believe, as if they saw and felt." A quiet joy now entered the soul of the sick man. The thought of his sins humbled him deeply, but made him no more despair, for he believed in Christ. To be sure, the fear of death still returned also; but he believed, and the peace of God could no more depart from his heart. And behold! the physician of his soul became to him also a physician of his body! For his sickness was not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.

(Stader Sonntagsblatt.)

The Fourth Commandment.

On the 23rd of August 1813, in the battle at Gross-Beeren, a Prussian regiment advanced against the enemy. It was still fairly