250

A man soon learns how little he knows, when a child begins to ask questions.

251

The child's restless observation, instead of being ignored or checked, should be diligently ministered to, and made as accurate as possible.

--_Herbert Spencer._

252

Speak gently to the little child!

Its love be sure to gain; Teach it in accents soft and mild: It may not long remain.

--_Geo. W. Hangford._

253

_I Samuel ii, 18_--"Samuel ministered before the Lord, being a child; girded with a linen ephod."

The Rev. John Brown was born in 1722, in the county of Perth in Scotland. In a narrative of his experience, he remarks, "I reflect on it as a great mercy, that I was born in a family which took care of my Christian instruction, and in which I had the privilege of G.o.d's worship, morning and evening. About the eighth year of my age, I happened, in a crowd, to push into the church at Abernethy, on a Sacrament Sabbath. Before I was excluded, I heard a minister speak much in commendation of Christ; this, in a sweet and delightful manner, captivated my young affections, and has since made me think that children should never be kept out of church on such occasions."

254

To impose on a child to get by heart a long scroll of phrases without any ideas, is a practice fitter for a jackdaw than for anything that wears the shape of man.

--_Dr. I. Watts._

255

The tear down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose.

--_Scott._

256

THE CHILD AND THE "RISING DAY"

The following is a true narrative of an experience in life:

It was nearing three o'clock of last Easter afternoon, when a woman, clad in deepest mourning, entered the gates of the beautiful "sleeping place" on Walnut Hill. Her att.i.tude, as she sank upon a carefully tended mound, denoted deep dejection. She had not yet learned that the "tree of death is fruited with the love of G.o.d," neither the joy of the "afterward," but knew only the grope of a stricken soul.

In the distance, sat a child upon a grave, alone. Coming nearer, she recognized him as one who had never known a mother, and whose father had lately been taken, leaving him without kindred. The love between that father and child had been pa.s.sing sweet.

The bereaved lady knew this, and that he had been thrown homeless upon the world. Yet, absorbed in her own grief, had given him little thought.

Drawing near, she observed closely the rare beauty of the boy, scarcely five years of age, genius and n.o.bility stamped on his brow, and exquisite tenderness on the mobile lips.

He looked up eagerly, asking fearlessly, "Is your name Mary? Are you the woman who talked with the angel when the stone was rolled away."

"Oh, no, dear," she replied. "Whom are you looking for?"

"For Jesus!" said the boy reverently.

"But he is not here. He is risen."

"Yes, I know, that's it, but I've been waiting here all day for Him to come and raise my papa up. He's late, and I thought maybe He sent you to tell me to wait a little, just as He sent Mary to tell His disciples, you know," said the boy, wistfully.

"Yes, dear, but"--hesitating to shatter the boy's beautiful faith.

"I am tired" (pathetically), "but it is never too late for Jesus," he added bravely, while a tear rolled down the velvet cheek. "He is sure to come, 'cause it is the Rising Day" (exultingly). "Don't you 'member?"

The woman stooped to kiss the child, and began to sob violently, dropping on the grave beside him.

"What makes you cry, lady? Is your papa here to be raised up?"

"No, no, darling, but my sweet daughter is."

"Don't cry, then," stroking the lady's hand. "Jesus never goes by Rising Day. He'll surely come and give you your little girl and me my papa!

He'll come to-night. I saw the two men who came from [256:A]Emmaus go by early this morning, and they will be walking back soon in the evening, and Jesus will meet them and turn and walk with them, and they will all be talking gently about the dying and the rising, and the men will not know Him, but I shall, and He will stop here when I call, and raise my papa up."

"How will you know Him, dear boy?"

"By His smile and the Transfiguration picture that papa showed me in his study. But I'll know Him bestest in here," putting his hand on his breast, "by the love!" raising his l.u.s.trous eyes to hers.

"Will you know your papa? Are you sure?"

"My papa!" with wondering ecstatic voice. "My own papa! I shall know him by the love, and you your little girl. They will not look the same, 'cause Jesus didn't, but they knew Him by their love!"

"Yes?"

"And we'll know them by our love!" lingering fondly on the repet.i.tion with l.u.s.trous, far-seeing gaze.

The woman clasped the child to her breast with a pa.s.sionate embrace, while rising to meet a supreme hour. (The child must not--shall not be disappointed and his beautiful faith shattered).

"Phillip!" she said, "listen. The angel sent me to tell you that Jesus had gone into heaven, and to take you to your papa. Come!"

Without a moment's hesitation he took his messenger's (?) hand and pa.s.sed out of the gates, looking not backward by a glance. Expectation held him silent, while the woman's face was illumined by a great light.

Entering the door of a pleasant house, she pa.s.sed on through the hall into the dining-room, saying to the maid: "Bring some food for this dear child; he has fasted all day."

A pitcher of milk and a plate of bread and honey were set beside a plate of cold, broiled fish.

"Now I know this is the house," the boy exclaimed exultingly, "for they had the fish, the bread and the honey! It's all here, just the same, and he'll come to-night!"