Not long ago there lived an old bed-ridden saint, and a Christian lady who visited her found her always very cheerful. This visitor had a lady friend of wealth who constantly looked on the dark side of things, and was always cast down although she was a professed Christian. She thought it would do this lady good to see the bed-ridden saint, so she took her down to the house. She lived up in the garret, five stories up, and when they had got to the first story the lady drew up her dress and said, “How dark and filthy it is!” “It’s better higher up,” said her friend. They got to the next story, and it was no better; the lady complained again, but her friend replied, “It’s better higher up,” At the third floor it seemed still worse, and the lady kept complaining, but her friend kept saying, “It’s better higher up.” At last they got to the fifth story, and when they went into the sick-room, there was a nice carpet on the floor, there were flowering plants in the window, and little birds singing. And there they found this bedridden saint—one of those saints whom God is polishing for his own temple—just beaming with joy. The lady said to her, “It must be very hard for you to lie here.” She smiled, and said, “It’s better higher up.” Yes! And if things go against us, my friends, let us remember that “it’s better higher up.”
Moody's Anecdote

Let me ask you a question. Do you think that those gamblers, thieves, harlots, and drunkards who are trampling the ten commandments under their feet, they who have never given any respect to God’s Word or to His instructions—do you think they will be swept into the kingdom of heaven, against their will? Do you think those antedeluvians who were so sinful that God could not let them live on the earth would be swept into Paradise and Noah left to wade through the deluge? Do you think that these people, too corrupt for earth, would go there? As I have said before, an unregenerated man in heaven would make a hell of it. An unregenerated man couldn’t stay there. Why, some of you cannot wait an hour here to listen to the Word of God. Before the hour expires you want to go out. Some of you just wish it was over so that you could go and get a drink in some of those saloons. I tell you, from the very depths of my heart, I believe heaven would be a hell to an unregenerated man. “I don’t want to be here,” he would say. My friends, heaven is a prepared place for prepared people, and no one will ever see the kingdom of God without being born of God.

Moody's Anecdotes.

I remember going into a young converts’ meeting in Philadelphia, where I heard a story that thrilled my soul. A young man said he had been a great drunkard. He had lost one situation after another; till finally he came to the very dregs. He left Philadelphia, and went first to Washington, and then to Baltimore. One night he came back to Philadelphia. He had lost his key and could not get into his home. He was afraid to go into the house while the people were stirring, so he staid outside watching till all had retired. He knew that after that there would be at least one who would hear him and come to the door. He went to the door; he knocked; when he heard the footsteps of his mother. “O Edward,” said she, “I am so glad to see you.” She did not reprove him; did not rebuke him. He went up stairs and did not come down for two days. When he came to, the servants were walking about the house very softly—everything was quiet. They told him that his mother was at the point of death. His brother was a physician, and he went to him and asked him if it was so. “Yes, Ned,” said he, “mother can’t live.” He immediately went up stairs, and asked his mother’s forgiveness, and prayed to his mother’s God to have mercy upon him. “And God,” said he, “my mother’s God, heard my prayers,” and the tears trickled down his face and he said: “God has kept me straight these four years in the face of all trials.” O sinner, ask for His grace and might; do not turn Him away.

Moody's Anecdotes

Look at that rum-seller. When we talk to him he laughs at us. He tells you there is no hell, no future—there is no retribution. I’ve got one man in my mind now who ruined nearly all the sons in his neighborhood. Mothers and fathers went to him and begged him not to sell their children liquor. He told them it was his business to sell liquor, and he was going to sell liquor to everyone who came. The saloon was a blot upon the place as dark as hell. But the man had a father’s heart. He had a son. He didn’t worship God, but he worshiped that boy. He didn’t remember that whatsoever a man soweth so shall he reap. My friends, they generally reap what they sow. It may not come soon, but the retribution will come. If you ruin other men’s sons some other man will ruin yours. Bear in mind God is a God of equity; God is a God of justice. He is not going to allow you to ruin men and then escape yourself. If we go against his laws we suffer. Time rolled on and that young man became a slave to drink, and his life became such a burden to him that he put a revolver to his head and blew his brains out. The father lived a few years, but his life was as bitter as gall, and then went down to his grave in sorrow. Ah, my friends, it is hard to kick against the pricks.

Moody's Anecdotes

There was a man whom I knew who was an inveterate drinker. He had a wife and children. He thought he could stop whenever he felt inclined, but he went the ways of most moderate drinkers. I had not been gone more than three years, and when I returned I found that that mother had gone down to her grave with a broken heart, and that man was the murderer of the wife of his bosom. Those children have all been taken away from him, and he is now walking up and down those streets homeless. But four years ago he had a beautiful and a happy home with his wife and children around him. They are gone; probably he will never see them again. Perhaps he has come in here to-night. If he has, I ask him: Is not the way of the transgressor hard?

Moody's Anecdotes

In London, when I was there in 1867, I was told a story which made a very deep impression upon me. A young French nobleman came there to see a doctor, bringing letters from the French Emperor. The Emperor Napoleon III. had a great regard for this young man, and the doctor wanted to save him. He examined the young man, and saw there was something on his mind. “Have you lost any property? What is troubling you? You have something weighing upon your mind,” said the doctor. “Oh, there is nothing particular.” “I know better; have you lost any relations?” asked the doctor. “No, none within the last three years.” “Have you lost any reputation in your country?” “No.” The doctor studied for a few minutes, and then said, “I must know what is on your mind; I must know what is troubling you.” And the young man said, “My father was an infidel; my grandfather was an infidel, and I was brought up an infidel, and for the last three years these words have haunted me, ‘Eternity, and where shall it find me?’” “Ah,” said the doctor, “you have come to the wrong physician.” “Is there no hope for me?” cried the young man. “I walk about in the day time; I lie down at night, and it comes upon me continually: ‘Eternity, and where shall I spend it?’ Tell me, is there any hope for me?” The doctor said: “Now just sit down and be quiet. A few years ago I was an infidel. I did not believe in God, and was in the same condition in which you are in.” The doctor took down his Bible and turned to the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah and read: “He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.” And he read on through this chapter.

When he had finished, the young man said: “Do you believe this, that He voluntarily left heaven, came down to this earth, and suffered and died that we might be saved?” “Yes, I believe it. That brought me out of infidelity, out of darkness into light.” And he preached Christ and His salvation and told him of heaven and then suggested that they get down on their knees and pray. And when I went there in 1867 a letter had been received from that young nobleman, who wrote to Dr. Whinston in London, telling him that the question of “eternity, and where he should spend it” was settled, and troubled him no more. My friends, the question of eternity, and where we are going to spend it, forces itself upon everyone of us. We are staying here for a little day. Our life is but a fibre and it will soon be snapped. I may be preaching my last sermon. To-night may find me in eternity. By the grace of God say that you will spend it in heaven.

Moody's Anecdotes

The Young French Nobleman and the Doctor.
In London, when I was there in 1867, I was told a story which made a very deep impression upon me. A young French nobleman came there to see a doctor, bringing letters from the French Emperor. The Emperor Napoleon III. had a great regard for this young man, and the doctor wanted to save him. He examined the young man, and saw there was something on his mind. “Have you lost any property? What is troubling you? You have something weighing upon your mind,” said the doctor. “Oh, there is nothing particular.” “I know better; have you lost any relations?” asked the doctor. “No, none within the last three years.” “Have you lost any reputation in your country?” “No.” The doctor studied for a few minutes, and then said, “I must know what is on your mind; I must know what is troubling you.” And the young man said, “My father was an infidel; my grandfather was an infidel, and I was brought up an infidel, and for the last three years these words have haunted me, ‘Eternity, and where shall it find me?’” “Ah,” said the doctor, “you have come to the wrong physician.” “Is there no hope for me?” cried the young man. “I walk about in the day time; I lie down at night, and it comes upon me continually: ‘Eternity, and where shall I spend it?’ Tell me, is there any hope for me?” The doctor said: “Now just sit down and be quiet. A few years ago I was an infidel. I did not believe in God, and was in the same condition in which you are in.” The doctor took down his Bible and turned to the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah and read: “He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.” And he read on through this chapter.

When he had finished, the young man said: “Do you believe this, that He voluntarily left heaven, came down to this earth, and suffered and died that we might be saved?” “Yes, I believe it. That brought me out of infidelity, out of darkness into light.” And he preached Christ and His salvation and told him of heaven and then suggested that they get down on their knees and pray. And when I went there in 1867 a letter had been received from that young nobleman, who wrote to Dr. Whinston in London, telling him that the question of “eternity, and where he should spend it” was settled, and troubled him no more. My friends, the question of eternity, and where we are going to spend it, forces itself upon everyone of us. We are staying here for a little day. Our life is but a fibre and it will soon be snapped. I may be preaching my last sermon. To-night may find me in eternity. By the grace of God say that you will spend it in heaven.

Moody's Anecdotes

A soldier, wounded during our last war, lay dying in his cot. Suddenly the deathlike stillness of the room was broken by the cry, “Here! Here!” which burst from the lips of the dying man. Friends rushed to the spot and asked what he wanted. “Hark,” he said, “they are calling the roll of heaven, and I am answering to my name.” In a few moments once more he whispered, “Here!” and passed into the presence or the King.

GOLD.

— The way to heaven is straight as an arrow.

— Heaven is just as much a place as Chicago. It is a destination.

Moody's Anecdotes

There was a man came from Europe to this country a year or two ago, and he became dissatisfied and went to Cuba in 1867 when they had that great civil war there. Finally he was arrested for a spy, court-martialed, and condemned to be shot. He sent for the American Consul and the English Consul, and went on to prove to them that he was no spy. These two men were thoroughly convinced that the man was no spy, and they went to one of the Spanish officers and said, “This man you have condemned to be shot is an innocent man.” “Well,” the Spanish officer says, “the man has been legally tried by our laws and condemned, and the law must take its course and the man must die.” And the next morning the man was led out; the grave was already dug for him, and the black cap was put on him, and the soldiers were there ready to receive the order, “Fire,” and in a few moments the man would be shot and put in that grave and covered up, when who should rise up but the American Consul, who took the American flag and wrapped it around him, and the English Consul took the English flag and wrapped it around him; and they said to those soldiers, “Fire on those flags if you dare!” Not a man dared; there were two great governments behind those flags. And so God says, “Come under my banner, come under the banner of love, come under the banner of heaven.” God will take care of all that will come under His banner.

Moody's Anecdotes

I remember when out in Kansas, while holding a meeting, I saw a little boy who came up to the window crying. I went to him and said: “My little boy, what is your trouble?” “Why, Mr. Moody, my mother’s dead, and my father drinks, and they don’t love me, and the Lord won’t have anything to do with me because I am a poor drunkard’s boy.” “You have got a wrong idea, my boy, Jesus will love you and save you and your father too,” and I told him a story of a little boy in an Eastern city. The boy said his father would never allow the canting hypocrites of Christians to come into his house, and would never allow his child to go to Sunday-school. A kind-hearted man got his little boy and brought him to Christ. When Christ gets into a man’s heart he cannot help but pray. This father had been drinking one day and coming home he heard that boy praying. He went to him and said: “I don’t want you to pray any more. You’ve been along with some of those Christians. If I catch you praying again I’ll flog you.” But the boy was filled with God and he couldn’t help praying. The door of communication was opened between him and Christ, and his father caught him praying again. He went to him. “Didn’t I tell you never to pray again? If I catch you at it once more you leave my house.” He thought he would stop him. One day the old tempter came upon the boy, and he did something wrong and got flogged. When he got over his mad fit he forgot the threats of his father and went to pray. His father had been drinking more than usual, and coming in found the boy offering a prayer. He caught the boy with a push and said, “Didn’t I tell you never to pray again? Leave this house. Get your things packed up and go.” The little fellow hadn’t many things to get together—a drunkard’s boy never has, and went up to his mothers room. “Good-by, mother.” “Where are you going?” “I don’t know where I’ll go, but father says I cannot stay here any longer; I’ve been praying again,” he said. The mother knew it wouldn’t do to try to keep the boy when her husband had ordered him away, so she drew him to her bosom and kissed him, and bid him good-by. He went to his brothers and sisters and kissed them good-by. When he came to the door his father was there and the little fellow reached out his hand—”Good-by, father; as long as I live I will pray for you,” and left the house. He hadn’t been gone many minutes when the father rushed after him. “My boy, if that is religion, if it can drive you away from father and mother and home; I want it.”

Lift your voice to heaven, and the news will be carried up to heaven, “He prays.”

— The drunkard, the open blasphemer, the worst sinners, are precisely the ones that need Jesus most. The well don’t need Him at all

— There is many a gem in these billiard halls that only needs the way pointed out to fill their souls with the love of Christ.

Moody's Anecdotes.

*SEVEN LEADERSHIP PRINCIPLES TO LEARN FROM AN EAGLE*

1. Eagles fly Alone and at High Altitudes.
They don't fly with sparrows, ravens, and other small birds.

MEANING; Stay away from narrow minded people, those that bring you down. An Eagle flies with Eagles. Keep good company.

2. Eagles have an Accurate Vision. They have the ability to focus on something as far as 5km away. No matter the obstacles, the eagle will not move his focus from the prey until he grabs it.

MEANING; Have a vision and remain focused no matter what the obstacles and you will succeed.

3. Eagles do not Eat Dead things. They Feed only on Fresh Prey.

MEANING; Do not rely on your past success, keep looking for new frontiers to conquer. Leave your past where it belongs. In the past.

4. Eagles Love the Storm.
When clouds gather, the eagle gets excited, the eagle uses the storms wind to lift itself higher. Once it finds the wind of the storm, the eagle uses the raging storm to lift itself above the clouds. This gives the eagle an opportunity to glide and rest its wings. In the meantime, all the other birds hide in the branches and leaves of the trees.

MEANING; Face your challenges head on knowing that these will make you emerge stronger and better than you were. We can use the storms of life to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid of challenges, rather they relish them and use them profitably.

5. When a Female Eagle Meets a Male Eagle and they want to mate, she flies down to earth, picks a twig and flies back into the air with the male eagle in hot pursuit. Once she has reached a height high enough for her, she drops the twig and let it fall to the ground while she watches. The male eagle chases after the twig and catches it before it reached the ground, then bring it back to the female eagle. The female eagle grabs the twig and flies to a much higher altitude and drop the twig again for the male eagle to chase. This goes on for hours with the height increasing each time until the female eagle is assured that the male eagle has mastered the art of picking the twig which shows commitment. Then and only then will she allow him to mate with her.

MEANING; Whether in private life or business, one should test the commitment of the people intended for partnership.

6. Eagles Prepare for Training;
They remove the feathers and soft grass in the nest so that the young ones get uncomfortable in preparation for flying and eventually flies when it becomes unbearable to stay in the nest.

MEANING; Leave your Comfort Zone, there is No Growth There.

7. When the Eagle Grows Old,
His feathers becomes weak and cannot take him as fast and as high as it should. This makes him weak and could make him die. So he retires to a place far away in the mountains. While there, he plucks out the weak feathers on his body and breaks its beaks and claws against the rocks until he is completely bare; a very bloody and painful process. Then he stays in this hiding place until he has grown new feathers, new beaks and claws and then he comes out flying higher than before.

MEANING; We occasionally need to shed off old habit no matter how difficult, things that burden us or add no value to our lives should be let go of.

YES, NEVER GIVE UP,*
BE AN EAGLE, NEVER EVER GIVE UP !!!

Copied from Coach Faith facebook post on the 26th of August 2016

There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them. [Isa. 6:2] There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands that have gone before us to that place; none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. [1 Thess. 4:16,17; Rev. 5:11] In a word, there we shall see the elders with their golden crowns [Rev. 4:4], there we shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps [Rev. 14:1-5], there we shall see men that by the world were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in the seas, for the love that they bare to the Lord of the place, all well, and clothed with immortality as with a garment. [John 12:25; 2 Cor. 5:4]

When before thy throne we kneel,
Filled with awe and holy fear,
Teach us, O our God! to feel
All thy sacred presence near.

Check each proud and wandering thought
When on thy great name we call;
Man is nought--is less than nought:
Thou, our God, art all in all.

Weak, imperfect creatures, we
In this vale of darkness dwell;
Yet presume to look to thee,
'Midst thy light ineffable.

O, receive the praise that dares
Seek thy heaven-exalted throne;
Bless our offerings, hear our pray'rs,
Infinite and Holy One!

While through this changing world we roam,
From infancy to age,
Heaven is the Christian pilgrim's home,
His rest at every stage.

Thither his raptured thought ascends,
Eternal joys to share;
There his adoring spirit bends,
While here he kneels in prayer.

Oh! there may we our treasure place,
There let our hearts be found;
That still, where sin abounded, grace
May more and more abound.

Henceforth our conversation be
With Christ before the throne;
Ere long, we eye to eye shall see,
And know as we are known.

O, what is life?--'tis like a flower
That blossoms and is gone;
It flourishes its little hour,
With all its beauty on:
Death comes, and, like a wintry day,
It cuts the lovely flower away.

O, what is life?--'tis like the bow
That glistens in the sky:
We love to see its colors glow;
But, while we look, they die:
Life fails as soon:--to-day 'tis here;
To-morrow it may disappear.

Lord, what is life?--if spent with thee
In humble praise and prayer,
How long or short our life may be,
We feel no anxious care:
Though life depart, our joys shall last
When life and all its joys are past.

"If I could only have your faith, gladly would I—but I was born a skeptic. I cannot look upon God and the future asyou do."

So said John Harvey as he walked with a friend under a dripping umbrella. John Harvey was a skeptic of thirty years standing and apparently hardened in his unbelief. Everybody had given him up as hopeless. Reasoning ever so calmly made no impression on the rocky soil of his heart. Alas! it was sad, very sad!

But one friend had never given him up. When spoken to about him— "I will talk with and pray for that man until I die," he said; "and I will have faith that he may yet come out of darkness into the marvelous light."

And thus whenever he met him (John Harvey was always ready for a "talk,") Mr. Hawkins pressed home the truth. In answer, on that stormy night, he said: "God can change a skeptic, John. He has more power over your heart than you, and I mean still to pray for you."

"Oh, I have no objections, none in the world—seeing is believing, you know. I'm ready for any miracle; but I tell you it would take nothing short of a miracle to convince me. Let's change the subject. I'm hungry and it's too far to go up town to supper on this stormy night. Here's a restaurant: let us stop here."

How warm and pleasant it looked in the long, brilliant dining saloon!

The two merchants had eaten, and were just on the point of rising when a strain of soft music came through the open door—a child's sweet voice.

"'Pon my word, that is pretty," said John Harvey; "what purity in those tones!"

"Out of here, you little baggage!" cried a hoarse voice, and one of the waiters pointed angrily to the door.

"Let her come in," said John Harvey.

"We don't allow them in this place, sir," said the waiter, "but she can go into the reading-room."

"Well, let her go somewhere. I want to hear her," responded the gentleman.

All this time the two had seen the shadow of something hovering backwards and forwards on the edge of the door; now they followed a slight little figure, wrapped in a patched cloak, patched hood, and leaving the mark of wet feet as she walked. Curious to see her face—she was very small—John Harvey lured her to the farthest part of the great room where there were but few gentlemen, and then motioned her to sing. The little one looked timidly up. Her cheek was of olive darkness, but a flush rested there, and out of the thinnest face, under the arch of broad temples, deepened by masses of the blackest hair looked two eyes whose softness and tender pleading would have touched the hardest heart.

"That little thing is sick, I believe," said John Harvey, compassionately.
"What do you sing, child?" he added.

"I sing Italian or a little English."

John Harvey looked at her shoes. "Why," he exclaimed, and his lips quivered, "her feet are wet to her ankles; she will catch her death of cold."

By this time the child had begun to sing, pushing back her hood, and folding before her her little thin fingers. Her voice was wonderful; and simple and common as were both air and words, the pathos of the tones drew together several of the merchants in the reading-room. The little song commenced thus:

  "There is a happy land,
  Far, far away."

Never could the voice, the manner, of that child be forgotten. There almost seemed a halo around her head; and when she had finished, her great speaking eyes turned toward John Harvey.

"Look here, child; where did you learn that song?" he asked.

"At the Sunday School, Sir."

"And you don't suppose there is a happy land?"

"I know there is; I'm going to sing there," she said, so quickly, so decidedly that the men looked at each other.

"Going to sing there?"

"Yes, sir. Mother said so. She used to sing to me until she was very sick. Then she said she wasn't going to sing any more on earth, but up in heaven."

"Well—and what then?"

"And then she died, sir," said the child; tears brimming down the dark cheek now ominously flushed scarlet.

John Harvey was silent for a few moments.

Presently he said: "Well, if she died, my little girl, you may live, you know."

"Oh, no, sir! no, sir! I'd rather go there; and be with mother. Sometimes I have a dreadful pain in my side and cough as she did. There won't be any pain up there, sir; it's a beautiful world!"

"How do you know?" faltered on the lips of the skeptic.

"My mother told me so, sir."

Words how impressive! manner how child-like, and yet so wise!

John Harvey had had a praying mother. His chest labored for a moment— the sobs that struggled for utterance could be heard even in their depths—and still those large, soft, lustrous eyes, like magnets impelled his glance toward them.

"Child you must have a pair of shoes." John Harvey's voice was husky.

Hands were thrust in pockets, purses pulled out, and the astonished child held in her little palm more money than she had ever seen before.

"Her father is a poor, consumptive organ-grinder," whispered one. "I suppose he's too sick to be out tonight."

Along the soggy street went the child, under the protection of John Harvey, but not with shoes that drank the water at every step. Warmth and comfort were hers now. Down in the deep den-like lanes of the city walked the man, a little cold hand in his. At an open door they stopped; up broken, creaking stairs they climbed. Another doorway was opened, and a wheezing voice called out of the dim arch, "Carletta!"

"O Father! Father! see what I have brought you! Look at me! Look at me" and down went the silver, and venting her joy, the poor child fell; crying and laughing together, into the old man's arms.

Was he a man?

A face dark and hollow, all overgrown with hair black as night and uncombed—a pair of wild eyes—a body bent nearly double—hands like claws.

"Did he give you all this, my child?"

"They all did, Father; now you shall have soup and oranges."

"Thank you, sir—I'm sick, you see—all gone, sir!—had to send the poor child out, or we'd starve. God bless you, sir! I wish I was well enough to play you a tune," and he looked wistfully towards the corner where stood the old organ, baize-covered, the baize in tatters.

One month after that the two men met again as if by agreement, and walked slowly down town. Treading innumerable passages they came to the gloomy building where lived Carletta's father.

No—not lived there, for as they paused a moment out came two or three men bearing a pine coffin. In the coffin slept the old organ-grinder.

"It was very sudden, sir," said a woman, who recognized his benefactor. "Yesterday the little girl was took sick and it seemed as if he drooped right away. He died at six last night."

The two men went silently up stairs. The room was empty of everything save a bed, a chair and a nurse provided by John Harvey. The child lay there, not white, but pale as marble, with a strange polish on her brow.

"Well my little one, are you better?"

"Oh no, sir; Father is gone up there and I am going."

Up there! John Harvey turned unconsciously towards his friend.

"Did you ever hear of Jesus?" asked John Harvey's friend.

"Oh yes."

"Do you know who he was?"

"Good Jesus," murmured the child.

"Hawkins, this breaks me down," said John Harvey and he placed his handkerchief to his eyes.

"Don't cry, don't cry; I can't cry, I'm so glad," said the child exultingly.

"What are you glad for, my dear?" asked John Harvey's friend.

"To get away from here," she said deliberately. "I used to be so cold in the winter, for we didn't have fire sometimes; but mother used to hug me close and sing about heaven. Mother told me to never mind and kissed me and said if I was His, the Savior would love me and one of these days would give me a better home, and so I gave myself to Him, for I wanted a better home. And, oh, I shall sing there and be so happy!"

With a little sigh she closed her eyes.

"Harvey, are faith and hope nothing?" asked Mr. Hawkins.

"Don't speak to me, Hawkins; to be as that little child I would give all
I have."

"And to be like her you need give nothing—only your stubborn will, your skeptical doubts, and the heart that will never know rest till at the feet of Christ."

There was no answer. Presently the hands moved, the arms were raised, the eyes opened—yet, glazed though they were they turned still upward.

"See!" she cried; "Oh, there is mother! and angels! and they are all singing." Her voice faltered, but the celestial brightness lingered yet on her face.

"There is no doubting the soul-triumph there," whispered Mr. Hawkins.

"It is wonderful," replied John Harvey, looking on both with awe and tenderness. "Is she gone?"

He sprang from his chair as if he would detain her; but the chest and forehead were marble now, the eyes had lost the fire of life; she must have died as she lay looking at them.

"She was always a sweet little thing," said the nurse softly.

John Harvey stood as if spell-bound. There was a touch on his arm; he started.

"John," said his friend, with an affectionate look, "shall we pray?"

For a minute there was no answer—then came tears; the whole frame of the subdued skeptic shook as he said—it was almost a cry: "Yes, pray, pray!"

And from the side of the dead child went up agonizing pleadings to the throne of God. And that prayer was answered—the miracle was wrought— the lion became a lamb—the doubter a believer—the skeptic a Christian!

—A Tract.

My prayer this evening

Nothing else will be soul pleasing in my generation to me than a soul rending revival among the people... O that God may step down in power into the church... Into our homes.... On field... On the road everywhere... Bring back O Lord the days of Wesley... The days of Finney...the days of Paul... Help us to walk in the obvious presence of your manifestations, known in hell, feared by kings and honoured by angels.... That we may step into eternity with eternal peace that we have come, we have seen and we have conquered...

Where are those who will hold hell at bay and subdue kingdoms only in the power of prayers.... Is the generation of fired spirited men extinct....? Y must darkness triumph when we are here.... Make me a fire that cannot be quenched.... A river that cannot be drain...a light that cannot be fathomed, a fighter that cannot be bought and an intercessor that cannot be discouraged..... Rend down the heavens and let hell lose her peace for I am here available for You...

*SEVEN LEADERSHIP PRINCIPLES TO LEARN FROM AN EAGLE*

1. *Eagles fly Alone and at High Altitudes.*
They don't fly with sparrows, ravens, and other small birds.

MEANING; Stay away from narrow minded people, those that bring you down. An Eagle flies with Eagles. Keep good company.

2. *Eagles have an Accurate Vision.* They have the ability to focus on something as far as 5km away. No matter the obstacles, the eagle will not move his focus from the prey until he grabs it.

MEANING; Have a vision and remain focused no matter what the obstacles and you will succeed.

3. *Eagles do not Eat Dead things. They Feed only on Fresh Prey.*

MEANING; Do not rely on your past success, keep looking for new frontiers to conquer. Leave your past where it belongs. In the past.

4. *Eagles Love the Storm.*
When clouds gather, the eagle gets excited, the eagle uses the storms wind to lift itself higher. Once it finds the wind of the storm, the eagle uses the raging storm to lift itself above the clouds. This gives the eagle an opportunity to glide and rest its wings. In the meantime, all the other birds hide in the branches and leaves of the trees.

MEANING; Face your challenges head on knowing that these will make you emerge stronger and better than you were. We can use the storms of life to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid of challenges, rather they relish them and use them profitably.

5. *When a Female Eagle Meets a Male Eagle* and they want to mate, she flies down to earth, picks a twig and flies back into the air with the male eagle in hot pursuit. Once she has reached a height high enough for her, she drops the twig and let it fall to the ground while she watches. The male eagle chases after the twig and catches it before it reached the ground, then bring it back to the female eagle. The female eagle grabs the twig and flies to a much higher altitude and drop the twig again for the male eagle to chase. This goes on for hours with the height increasing each time until the female eagle is assured that the male eagle has mastered the art of picking the twig which shows commitment. Then and only then will she allow him to mate with her.

MEANING; Whether in private life or business, one should test the commitment of the people intended for partnership.

6. *Eagles Prepare for Training;*
They remove the feathers and soft grass in the nest so that the young ones get uncomfortable in preparation for flying and eventually flies when it becomes unbearable to stay in the nest.

MEANING; *Leave your Comfort Zone, there is No Growth There.*

7. *When the Eagle Grows Old,*
His feathers becomes weak and cannot take him as fast and as high as it should. This makes him weak and could make him die. So he retires to a place far away in the mountains. While there, he plucks out the weak feathers on his body and breaks its beaks and claws against the rocks until he is completely bare; a very bloody and painful process. Then he stays in this hiding place until he has grown new feathers, new beaks and claws and then he comes out flying higher than before.

MEANING; We occasionally need to shed off old habit no matter how difficult, things that burden us or add no value to our lives should be let go of.

YES, NEVER GIVE UP,*
BE AN EAGLE, NEVER EVER GIVE UP !!!

Copied from Coach Faith facebook post on the 26th of August 2016

A great many years ago, I knew a lady who had been sick for two years, as you have seen many a one, all the while slowly dying with consumption. She had one child—a little boy named Henry.

One afternoon I was sitting by her side and it seemed as if she would cough her life away. Her little boy stood by the post of the bed, his blue eyes filled with tears to see her suffer so. By and by the terrible cough ceased. Henry came and put his arms around his mother's neck, nestled his head in his mother's bosom, and said, "Mother, I do love you; I wish you wasn't sick."

An hour later, the same loving, blue-eyed boy came in all aglow, stamping the snow off his feet.

"Oh, Mother, may I go skating? it is so nice—Ed and Charlie are going."

"Henry," feebly said the mother, "the ice is not hard enough yet."

"But, Mother," very pettishly said the boy, "you are sick all the time— how do you know?"

"My child, you must obey me," gently said his mother.

"It is too bad," angrily sobbed the boy, who an hour ago had so loved his mother.

"I would not like to have my little boy go," said the mother, looking sadly at the little boy's face, all covered with frowns; "you said you loved me—be good."

"No, I don't love you now, Mother," said the boy, going out and slamming the door.

Again that dreadful coughing came upon her, and we thought no more of the boy. After the coughing had commenced, I noticed tears falling thick upon her pillow, but she sank from exhaustion into a light sleep.

In a little while muffled steps of men's feet were heard coming into the house, as though carrying something; and they were carrying the almost lifeless body of Henry.

Angrily had he left his mother and gone to skate—disobeying her; and then broken through the ice, sunk under the water, and now saved by a great effort, was brought home barely alive to his sick mother.

I closed the doors feeling more danger for her life than the child's and coming softly in, drew back the curtains from the bed. She spoke, "I heard them—it is Henry; oh, I knew he went—is he dead?" But she never seemed to hear the answer I gave her. She commenced coughing—she died in agony—strangled to death. The poor mother! The boy's disobedience killed her.

After a couple of hours I sought the boy's room.

"Oh, I wish I had not told mother I did not love her. Tomorrow I will tell her I do," said the child sobbing painfully. My heart ached; tomorrow I knew we must tell him she was dead. We did not till the child came fully into the room, crying, "Mother, I do love you."

Oh! may I never see agony like that child's, as the lips he kissed gave back no kiss, as the hands he took fell lifeless from his hand, instead of shaking his hand as it always had, and the boy knew she was dead.

"Mother, I do love you now," all the day he sobbed and cried, "O Mother,
Mother, forgive me." Then he would not leave his mother. "Speak to me,
Mother!" but she could never speak again, and he—the last words she had
ever heard him say, were, "Mother, I don't love you now."

That boy's whole life was changed; sober and sad he was ever after. He is now a gray haired old man, with one sorrow over his one act of disobedience, one wrong word embittering all his life—with those words ever ringing in his ears, "Mother, I don't love you now."

Will the little ones who read this remember, if they disobey their mother, if they are cross and naughty, they say every single time they do so, to a tender mother's heart, by their actions if not in the words of Henry, the very same thing, "I don't love you now, Mother."

THE DYING NEWS BOY

In a dark alley in the great city of New York, a small, ragged boy might be seen. He appeared to be about twelve years old, and had a careworn expression on his countenance. The cold air seemed to have no pity as it pierced through his ragged clothes, and made the flesh beneath blue and almost frozen.

"I am dying now, because I feel so queer; and I can hardly see you. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place they call heaven."]

This poor boy had once a happy home. His parents died a year before, and left him without money or friends. He was compelled to face the cold, cruel world with but a few cents in his pocket. He tried to earn his living by selling newspapers and other such things. This day everything seemed to go against him, and in despair he threw himself down in the dark alley, with his papers by his side. A few boys gathered around the poor lad, and asked in a kind way (for a street Arab): "Say, Johnny, why don't you go to the lodges?" (The lodge was a place where almost all the boys stayed at night, costing but a few cents.) But the poor little lad could only murmur that he could not stir, and called the boys about him, saying: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer: and I can hardly see you. Gather around me closer boys. I cannot talk so loud. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place called heaven. Goodbye, boys. I am to meet father and mother." And, with these last words on his lips, the poor lad died.

Next morning the passers-by saw a sight that would soften the most hardened heart. There, lying on the cold stone, with his head against the hard wall, and his eyes staring upward, was the poor little frozen newsboy. He was taken to the chapel near by, and was interred by kind hands. And those who performed this act will never forget the poor forsaken lad.

—Golden Dawn

A father takes his son into the forest, blindfolds him and leaves him alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it. He cannot cry out for help to anyone.Once he survives the night, he is a MAN. He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own. The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him . Perhaps even some human might do him harm. The wind blew the grass and trees and shook his stump, but he sat stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could become a man! Finally, after a horrific night the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold. It was then that he discovered his father sitting on the stump next to him. He had been at watch the entire night, protecting his son from harm. We, too, are never alone. Even when we don't know it, God is watching over us, sitting on the stump beside us. When trouble comes, all we have to do is reach out to Him.

Moral of the story:Just because you can't see God, doesn't mean He is not there."For we walk by faith, not just by sight". If you have been blessed, please bless another by passing it on. Have a great walk with God today and always.

The Pilgrimage of Life.

Lead us with thy gentle sway,
As a willing child is led;
Speed us on our forward way,
As a pilgrim, Lord, is sped,
Who with prayers and helps divine
Seeks a consecrated shrine.

We are pilgrims, and our goal
Is that distant land whose bourn
Is the haven of the soul;
Where the mourners cease to mourn,
Where the Saviour's hand will dry
Every tear from every eye.

Lead us thither! thou dost know
All the way; but wanderers we
Often miss our path below,
And stretch out our hands to thee;
Guide us,--save us,--and prepare
Our appointed mansion there!