Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 November 1898 — HER HEART’S DESIRE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HER HEART’S DESIRE.

‘KI

E shall give thee thy heart’s desire.” The choir of the little country chureh did not sing the beautiful words very well. The soprano’s voice was unmistakably “cracked” and the tenor displayed surprising disregard of time and tune. But then, there were no musical critics in the small congrega-

x»ou s<•auereu inrougiiom tins (juici Hi* tie country church that Thanksgiving morning. And the beauty of the words and the promise contained in them touched the hearts of many. “Wait patiently upon the Lord and he shall give thee thy heart’s desire,” repeated the choir. "It is not true!” The words were not spoken, but they were in the thought and heart of one old woman sitting far back near the door. She sat alone, for she was alone in the world. Those who had once peopled the old pew with her—father, mother, hueband, brothers and sisters, and the child of her love and care, all were gone. The quiet peaceful beauty of that Thanksgiving morning and the spiritual atmosphere of the church had quite failed to appeal to old 'Margaret Hudson. Never had she felt in a more rebellious mood. It would have dazed and pained the white-haired old elder in the pulpit had he known the thoughts that were uppermost in the mind of the small, dark, keen-eyed little old woman whose head gave a little defiant toss when he rose and said: “Let us bow our heads in prayer.” Margaret Hudson did not bow her head, and her heart did not respond to the simple, fervent prayer of Elder Norris. “What’s the use?” she was saying angrily to herself. "Haven’t I been bowing my head and my knees in prayer for years and years—in one prayer for one thing, for my heart’s desire, and has it been granted to me? No, it hasn’t! I have 'waited patiently on the Lord’ and He has not given me the desire of my heart. I don’t believe that He ever will give it to me. I’ve lost faith and hope. I can’t help it. My *heart’s desire’ has been denied me so long and the promise has not come true for me. 1 can’t believe that it is true.” There were educated, polished and bril-, lant ministers in beautiful city churches who preached with less simple and tender beauty than that old elder preached that moraing about the joy of gratitude and praise-giving for the blessings of God, but Margaret Hudson was not touched by the words. Her faith had lost its Olivet and her love its Galilee. “When He gives me my heart’s desire,** she said stubbornly. “When He sends my key, my Jim, back to me, I will believe that His promisee are true. I can’t trust Him any more until He does.” She did not tarry at the close of the service for her lAual greeting of old friends, bet stole out alone and hurried toward her bpsely home, the homeliness and desolation of which were never so hard to bear as MW. “If He’d hear my prayer and send Jim back to ms it would be so,” she said.

Jim! Her heart’s desire! Where was he nt that moment? “God only knows!” his mother said between her broken sobs as she went slowly along over the country road, the bright sunlight of a glorious November day lending a radiance to the brown leaves still remaining on the trees. It had been twenty years since she had seen Jim. He was then a handsome, headstrong boy of 18, and the only child that had come to her. She had lavished upon him the warmest, tenderest affections of her life, and yet she never knew just why Jim had run away from home in his 18th year and she had never seen him nor heard from him since that day. She knew that he had gone "out West,” and she was too poor to follow him, had she known where he was. There had been vague and unfounded rumors that be had “got into trouble," but proof of this was lacking, and her neighbors had long ago ceased to speak of Jim to Margaret Hudson. But not for one day nor for one hour had she ceased to think of him —her heart’s desire. Twenty years of unanswered prayer had ended in this spirit of depression and rebellion, and there was no love nor gratitude in Margaret Hudson’s heart that Thanksgiving morning. Presently she came to the bars In a fence by the roadside through which she must pass on her homeward way. She leaned heavily on the bars, and then dropped slowly to her knees with her head resting on one gaunt arm stretched out upon one of the bars. Her lips moved slowly in proper: “Oh, God,” she said, "I have been so sinful, so wicked. Forgive me and let the desire of heart be for perfect trust in Thee no matter what Thy will may be concerning me. Make this my heart’s desire." There was a smile on her brown and wrinkled old face when she rose to her feet and went on her homeward way. All trace of rebellion had fled from her face, and her eyes shone through a mist of tears. She pushed open the gate before her tiny brown house and when old Hero, the dog, came bounding forward with noisy greet ing she patted him kindly and said cheerily: "Good old dogl Glad to see me, aren’t you, old fellow?” She looked up to see a tall, broad-shoul-dered, brown-bearded man coming rapidly down the path toward.her with outstretched arms and twinkling brown eyes,. “Mother!” he said. “Why, Jim!” And they walked up the path with their arms around each other. And later Margaret Hudson went softly about her tidy, sunny dining room setting her tables for dinner and singing softly, “Wait patiently upon the Lord and He shall give thee thy heart’s desires."