His companions gather around him with boisterous mirth, and the
"older hands" feel a certain pride in him, as wringing his hand they know
he ranks among themselves, the means of an honest living at his disposal,
one of God's great army of working men. A few hours passed and another
bell resounded upon our ears. We listened, for that bell had a sad and
solemn sound. Ah, another "Apprentice was out of his time." We knew
something of how he had fought, not with rough iron, but with "the waves
of this troublesome world." We knew how in every day life he strove to do
his duty to his Lord and Master. Dismayed, how often? Discouraged, how
frequently bearing the taunt, the sneer? But he too had overcome. His
companions gather around him, but all mirth is hushed, tears fill their
eyes, and choking words are whispered as they file round the casket, and
look upon the calm dead face, that no more on earth will meet them with
its wonted smile, and the pale hands that have done all their rough
earthwork. His welcome we did not hear. Ah, it is well that the sound of
harps and the silvery peals from the chiming bells of the city of God
reach us not, or perchance we should "stand all the day idle." For are we
not all entered Apprentices in this strange world of ours? Are we not all
"serving our time?" How are we learning our trades? Are we likely to prove
"workmen that need not be ashamed," or are we through fear or negligence
hiding in the earth our Lord's money? Our indentures bear the blood-red
seals of Calvary, our Covenant is "ordered in all things and sure.
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