37

A Departure—Compositions

Just after the close of the Christmas holiday season, Miss Wynne, who had been very sick for several weeks, was taken home. On her departure, she left behind her many sad hearts, for her sunny spirit and helpful ways had endeared her to many beside her own class of little boys and girls. But there was comfort to them in the thought that by and by she would certainly return fully restored to health.

The members of the academic class and those of the two higher primary classes were required, at the end of every three months, to write an original composition. In the writing of these, the pupils were required to rely upon themselves, no correction or help being given them by anyone. The compositions, when written, were carefully arranged in manuscript volumes, which, after being neatly bound in cloth, were placed in the library. The object of this was twofold: First, to ascertain, from time to time, what progress the pupils belonging to these three classes were making in written language, and second, to give any visitors, who might wish to know, a fair understanding of the character of the compositions of educated deaf and dumb persons.

The compositions of many deaf-mutes illustrate forcibly the bent which the moral teachings of the institution give to the mind, and, in many cases, to the heart and life of the individual also. They are a better recommendation of the truths of the Bible than any mere words of praise can be. A composition on “Sunbeams,” written by Carrie Raymond, will, in a measure, serve as an example, although different persons have different ways of expressing their thoughts. But few deaf-mutes use figurative terms of speech, being unable, in many cases, to understand anything but plain, literal English.

SUNBEAMS

What are sunbeams? They are minute rays of light which, wandering from their native source, the sun, find their way down to Mother Earth. Here they throw their glimmering light, like a halo of glory, upon the face of great nature, and twinkle and tremble upon the nodding flowers and the running brook. These are nature’s sunbeams. But there are sunbeams which, in another sense, are applied to persons who carry light and gladness with them everywhere. These are called the sunbeams of the heart. Little children are often called the sunbeams of the family circle. Their innocent smiles and childish mirth lighten home and make it the one bright spot on earth. Often these little sunbeams early fade and disappear from earth. Then a gloom spreads over the spot once brightened by their presence. It is not strange that it should be thus, for departing sunbeams always leave gloomy shadows behind. But those little sunbeams, though they have taken wings and flown from earth, have not gone out. No, they have winged their flight to a far brighter clime than ours, where eternal sunbeams forever spread their glory around the great Sun of Righteousness, the only true source of perfect light. This divine light bids us all be sunbeams in the journey through life and cover the universe with an ocean of glory. Then let us strive to be sunbeams wherever we may roam. Let us follow the guiding finger of the ever-bright source of light and make him our bright, particular star. Then, though our light may be at first dim and uncertain, let us not suffer dark despair to cast its gloomy shadows around us; but persevere, and it will gradually grow brighter and brighter and cast its luminous glow farther and farther till it disappears from earth, to shine on with untold glory and splendor forever in heaven’s eternal realms.

From a composition on “Rooms,” written by another deaf-mute, the following is taken.

ROOMS

There are rooms real, fanciful, splendid, plain and homely, bright and joyous, and sad and gloomy. They are various in their character, furnishing, purposes, etc. There are rooms vocal with the melody of dear voices, though these have long been hushed; rooms where people have loved, lived, and died; rooms with histories on walls and furniture; rooms where joy never enters; prison rooms, where the victim broods in silent despair over hopeless fate. The schoolroom, with its bare walls, is very dear to us, for many, many a pleasant hour has been spent therein. There are celestial rooms, which await the coming of the good people in the far-off, beautiful eternity.

Another by Carrie Raymond.

TWILIGHT REVERIES

How many are the thoughts, both sad and joyful, that force themselves upon our minds in the twilight hours! The glorious sun, weary of riding across the azure vault of heaven and pouring his million rays down upon our earth, has bade adieu to the fading day and sunk to rest. From behind the western horizon he throws upward his last bright rays of light, which bathe the western sky in gold and purple; and these brilliant hues, gradually turning to a bright red, melt away into a dull gray, and the darkness of night closing around chases the twilight away. Then it is that, while the last faint glimmers of light come silently stealing through our windows, we call to mind the various events of the bygone day. Some have been sad, and some joyful; and every one of them has been noted by the great Ruler over all and written down in the great book of life, to be accounted for at the last great day. Then it is, too, that we think of our loving and kind Creator, who made all things and gave them all their varied beauty. Then we reflect that, but for him, beautiful twilight, so short and yet so pleasant, could never have existed. And then, again, we think of the twilight of life, which comes in its sad, solemn beauty to mortals, one by one, just before they turn aside from the wearisome journey of life and enter into eternity.

Despite Carrie Raymond’s flighty style, her love of using figurative language, her tendency to make her sentences too long, and her occasional grave grammatical errors, she was counted among the best deaf-mute composition writers in the institution. But sometimes she would use figurative expressions, or what she considered brilliant terms of speech, and so freely, too, that common sense was almost, if not quite, left out of sight. But in her mind there were true and reverent, though as yet imperfect, perceptions of truth. Instinctively her thoughts seemed to soar upward and center in God, the only true source of light and truth. But she was not yet a Christian. She had learned much of God’s attributes, and of the way of salvation, through the words of her teachers and from much that she had read; but experimentally she knew nothing, or next to nothing, of these. She knew of Christ, but she did not know him as the Christian does—as a real and ever-present Savior to whom she could go in full assurance of faith and find grace to help in any time of need, to whom she could tell all her troubles, sure of receiving sympathy and strength and help to do right, and bear any cross patiently. No, she had not yet learned to know Christ thus. She was in the habit of praying, it is true, and believed, in a certain sense, that God heard and answered prayer. Yet she had not learned to fully rely upon him for moral strength and courage. She had not learned to see her own utter helplessness and unworthiness or her great need of God’s constant help and guidance. She thought she was proceeding onward in the light and needed not to keep seeking light and help. A person asleep in a dark room may dream that she is in a room ablaze with light, and then awake to find that she is still in the dark. So Carrie, though in reality still in spiritual darkness, yet while reflecting upon the glory and brightness of the celestial world and of the joy and peace that reign there, as revealed to her mind by the instruction which she received and the books which she read, fancied that she was in the light. Not until awakened by God’s Holy Spirit to a sense of her condition could she realize that she was still in darkness. Not until thus realizing her own weakness and great need she should earnestly plead for the light of life would she receive it.