We rejoiced that
the religion which was our comfort was not confined to places; here were
no altars, nor marble tablets--but here in this humble house we knew God
would meet and be with us.
An Indian silently opened the church door and entered. As strange to him
was the solemn decorum of this scene, as to us were the useless
ceremonies we every day witnessed. He watched the countenance of the
clergyman, but he knew not that he was preaching the doctrine of a
universal religion. He saw the sacred book upon the desk, but he could
not read the glorious doctrine of a world redeemed by a Saviour's blood.
He heard the voice of prayer, but how could his soul like ours rise as
on eagle's wings, and ascend to the throne of God! Who was he, this
intruder? It may be a descendant of those who guarded the oracles of
God, who for a time preserved them for us.
No wonder he tired and turned away. Not his the fault that he did not
join in the solemn service, but ours. If we disregard the temporal wants
of the Dahcotah, can we shut our ears against their cry, that rises up
day after day, and year after year,--Show us the path to happiness
and God?
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dahcotah, by Mary Eastman
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAHCOTAH ***
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