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jun  20  05 


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WORDS    OF    COMFORT, 


©pinions  of  t!je  Briti's]^  Press. 


Evang-elical  Repository.  — l^iQwer  h^iove,  at  least  in  this 
country,  has  love  intertwined  so  lovely  and  so  sweet  a 
wreath  — a  true  Immortelle  —  \.o  lay  on  the  grave  of  de- 
parted childhood. 

Glasg-otv  Herald.  —  It  will  help  to  wipe  away  those  tears 
which,  we  suppose,  are  well-nigh  the  hottest  that  gush  out 
even  in  this  sad  and  sorrowing  world. 

British  Controversialist.  — ^h\^  is  a  casket  of  affection, 
full  of  gems  of  heart  value,  and  precious  to  the  soul.  It 
is  an  anthology  of  parental  love  and  sorrow,  and  an  ency- 
cloptedia  of  pure  and  holy  consolation. 

United  Presbyterian  Magazine.  —  The  plan  and  execu- 
tion of  this  little  work  are  alike  most  admirable.  We 
cannot  exaggerate  its  merits;  and  rivals,  that  see  it  put 
above  and  before  themselves,  will  frankly  acknowledge 
that  this  is  just  as  it  ought  to  be. 

Reformed  Presbyterian  Magazine.  —  We  heartily  com- 
mend it  to  the  perusal  of  those  from  whom  God  has  in  His 
mysterious  providence  removed  "  household  treasures." 

London  Quarterly  Review,  April,  1869.  —  A  most  beau- 
tiful and  blessed  book.  Here  are  treasures  of  consolation, 
in  prose  and  poetry,  for  all  that  are  bereaved. 

The  Morning  Star. — It  is  so  true  to  its  title,  and  so  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  comfort  houses  of  mourning  when  the 
flowers  of  earth  have  been  transplanted  to  the  heavenly 
soil,  that  it  cannot  fail  to  be  a  real  household  treasure. 

U?iion  Magazine  for  Sunday  School  Teachers.  —  A  treas- 
ury of  the  consoling  utterances  of  genius  and  sympathy, 
admirably  adapted  to  soothe  those  who  weep  because  their 
children  "  are  not." 

Pulpit  Afialy St.  —  Never,  to  our  knowledge,  was  the  lit- 
erature of  infant  salvation  so  extensively  collated,  or  so 
wisely  and  carefully  distributed. 


Words  of  Comfort 


PARENTS     BEREAVED     OF     LITTLE 
CHILDREN. 


EDITED    BY 


WILLIAM     LOGAN, 


GLASGOW,    SCOTLAND. 


NEW     YORK: 
ROBERT    CARTER    AND    BROTHERS, 

530,    BROADVV^Ay. 

Xhf, 


THE  NEW  YORK 

PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

^^'-t'   ■  ■  '^•-^ 

AfTOK^LlNPX  AH» 
TILDEN  FOUN»ATIOWk 

1905 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS   OF   JOHN   WILSON   AND  SOW. 


NOTE   TO   THE   AMERICAN   EDITION. 


This  volume,  of  which  fifteen  thousand  copies  have  al- 
ready been  printed  in  Great  Britain,  hardlj'  needs  com- 
mendation to  the  American  reader.  But  the  testimony 
of  two  eminent  clergymen  —  one  in  England  and  the 
other  in  Scotland  —  may  not  be  out  of  place. 

Dean  Alford,  in  the  "  Contemporary  Review,"  says : 
"  This  charming  book  .  .  .  originally  sprung  out  of  a  be- 
reavement, which  has  indeed  brought  forth  choice  fruit. 
Mr.  Logan  has  brought  together  an  ample  collection,  from 
writers,  English  and  foreign,  in  prose  and  verse,  of  pas- 
sages which  could  bear  on  this  subject.  The  large  diffu- 
sion of  the  volume  is  of  itself  testimony  of  the  truth  of  our 
recommendation,  when  we  say  that  it  is  one  which  would 
form  a  precious  gift  to  bereaved  friends,  and  would  be 
admitted  into  counsel  with  the  wounded  heart,  at  a  time 
when  almost  all  words,  written  and  spoken,  are  worthless. 
Higher  praise  could  hardly  be  given." 

George  Gilfillan,  in  the  "  Dundee  Advertiser,"  says : 
"  Cordially  do  we  wish  that  it  may  find  its  way  into  every 
room  of  the  vast  house  of  mourning,  and  do  there  its 
benevolent  mission  as  a  portion  of  the  grand  ministry 
by  which  God  is  yet  to  'wipe  away  tears  from  all  faces.'" 

That  its  lessons,  so  full  of  healing  balm,  so  enriched 
with  truth,  so  clothed  in  beauty,  may  relieve,  console,  and 
gladden  many  a  stricken  heart,  is  the  hope  of  the  Ameri- 
can Publishers. 


"I  AM  THE  Resurrection  and  the  Life."  —  John  xi.  25. 

"Is  it  well  with  the  child?    It  is  well." — 2  Kings  iv.  26. 

"  Even  so,  —  it  is  not  the  will  of  your  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven,  that  one  of  these  little  ones  should  perish."  —  Matt, 
xvlii.  14. 

"Of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven."  —  Matt.  xLx.  14. 

"  I   WILL   TURN   MINE   HAND   UPON   THE   LITTLE   ONES."  —  Zech.  xili.  7, 

"It  is  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power."  — i  Cor.  xv.  43. 

"  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away  ;  blessed  be 
THE  name  of  the  Lord."  — Jobi.  21. 

"They  died,  for  Adam  sinned:  they  live,  for  Jesus  died."  — 
Robinson 

"  Not  Lost,  but  Gone  Before."  the  almost  Christian  sentiment  of  the 
great  heathen  morahst,  Seneca.  —  D.  M.  MoiR  ("Delta  ")• 


UT"^ 


CONTENTS. 


Pagb 

Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life 17 

INFANT  SALVATION. 

Rev.  Dr.  William  Anderson,  Glasgow 25 

Rev.  Dr.  James  Morison,  Glasgow *  30 

Rev.  George  Gilfillan,  Dundee 37 

Rev.  Dr.  John  Ker,  Glasgow 42 

Rev.  Dr.  Ralph  Wardlaw,  Glasgow 54 

Rev.  Dr.  Alex.  MacLeod,  Birkenhead 57 

Rev.  Dr.  Alexander  Wallace,  Glasgow 61 

Rev.  Dr.  Robert  Ferguson,  London .62 

Rev.  Dr.  J.  Logan  Aikman,  Glasgow 65 

Rev.  Dr.  Edward  Steane,  London 66 

Rev.  Dr.  William  Cooke,  London 67 

Rev.  Dr.  Chalmers 69 

Rev.  Dr.  Candlish,  Edinburgh 70 

Rev.  Dr.  Lawson,  Selkirk 70 

Jeremy  Taylor 70 

Evans 71 

Rev.  John  Newton 71 


lo  Contents, 

CONSOLATION. 

Page 

Rev.  Dr.  John  Macfarlane,  London  —  Parental  Anxiety 

Removed  by  the  Early  Death  of  Children  ...       72 

Rev.  Dr.  William  Anderson,  Glasgow  —  Recognition 

after  the  Resurrection 76 

Rev.  Dr.  Anderson  —  A  Word  of  Warning  to  Mothers       78 

Rev.  Dr.  John  Brown,  Edinburgh  —  Restoration  of 

Children  in  Heaven 80 

Rev.    Dr.    Chalmers,    Edinburgh —The   Light    that 

Radiates  around  the  Infant's  Tomb 83 

David  Pae,  Edinburgh — John  Brown  and  his  Little 

Graves -85 

Rev.  C.  H.  Spurgeon,  London  —  "Is  it  well  with  the 

Child.?" 91 

Professor  Henry  Rogers — A  Mother  Congratulated 

on  the  Death  of  her  Child      -     -     i 97 

Rev.  Henry  Allon,  London  —  Children  "God's  Heri- 

tP.ge" 103 

Rev.  George  Gilfillan,  Dundee  — The  Charm  of  Child- 
hood      no 

Rev.  George  C.   Hutton,    Paisley  — The   Early   Re- 
moval of  Children  a  Proof  of  Divine  Goodness     114 

Rev.   William   Taylor,   M.A.,    Liverpool  —  Bereaved 

Parents  Comforted 118 

Rev.  William  Blair,  M.A.,  Dunblane  —  Grief  not  For- 
gotten   :  22 

Rev.  Dr.  J.  Logan  Aikman,  Glasgow — "Are   there 

Infants  in  Heaven?" 126 

Rev.  J.  P.  Chown,  Bradford  — On  the  Death  of  Chil- 
dren  131 


Contents,  ii 

Page 
Rev.  Dr.  John  Bruce,  Newmilns,  Ayrshire  —  "It  is 

Well " 133 

Rev.  John  Guthrie,  A.M:,  Glasgow  —  God's  Relation- 
ship to  Children 135 

Rev.  Dr.  Joseph    Brown,   Glasgow  —  The    Children 

Safely  Folded 137 

Rev.  Dr.  Robert  Ferguson,  London  —  Little  Ones  in 

Heaven 139 

Rev.  Dr.  George  Smith,  London  —  Mutual  Recogni- 
tion in  Heaven 142 

Rev.  Charles  Garrett,  Manchester — Safe  with  Christ     144 
Rev.  Professor  M'Michael,  D.D.,  Dunfermline  —  Un- 
converted Parents  Admonished 145 

Rev.  Henry  Batchelor,  Glasgow — A  Word  in  Season     148 
Rev.    William    Bathgate,    Kilmarnock  —  Appeal    to 

Parents 150 

William  B.  Bradbury,  —  A  Transplanted  Flower    .     .     153 

Rev.  Dr.  Schaff — A  Sweet  Sorrow 154 

Rev.  Edward  Irving,  London  —  "  Little  Edward  "      .     156 
Rev.  Dr.  John  Cumming,  London — Germs  of  Immor- 
tality     158 

Rev.  Dr.  Norman    Macleod,  Glasgow  —  The   Black- 
smith and  his  Wife  at  "  Wee  Davie's  "  Coffin       .     160 
Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  Guthrie,  Edinburgh  —  The  Flowers 

of  Paradise 163 

Rev.  Dr.  Alexander  Fletcher,  London  —  The  Intelli- 
gence of  a  Glorified  Infant 164 

Rev.  P.  B.  Power,  M.A.,  Kent  —  Heavenly  Relation- 
ship       165 

Rev.  John  Jameson,  Methven,  Perthshire  —  The  Faded 

Flower ? .     .     .     167 


12  Contents . 

Fagb 
Rev.  Alex.  B.  Grosart,  Blackburn  —  A  Hebrew  Story  169 
Rev.  Ebenezer  Erskine,  Stirling  —  The  Lilies  Gath- 
ered        171 

Rev.  Thomas  Boston,  Ettrick  —  Children  before  the 

Throne 172 

Matthew  Henry— The  Grave  a  Wardrobe     ....  173 
Samuel  Rutherford  — The  Bloom  falling  into  Christ's 

Lap 175 

Robert  Hall  — A  Bud  of  Beauty 176 

Rev.  James   Hervey,  A.M., — Victory  without  Con- 
flict   177 

"The  Flower  Plucked  by  the  Master" 178 

Rev.  Richard  Cecil  — The  Crown  of  Life      ....  179 

Archbishop  Leighton  —  Gone  to  Sleep i8i 

Selection  from  "The  Edinburgh  Christian  Instructor" 

—  The  Glory  of  Departed  Infants 182 

THE   CROWN  WITHOUT  THE  CONFLICT. 

Rev.  R.  H.  Lundie  —  Musings  on  the  Death  of  Chil- 
dren       185 

COMFORT  FOR  MOURNERS   IN  GENERAL. 

Rev.  Professor  Eadie,  D.D.,  Glasgow  —  The  Saviour's 

Sympathy  with  the  Afiiicted 204 

Rev.  Professor  Eadie,  D.D.,  Glasgow — "Jesus  Wept"     207 
Rev.  Dr.  Charles  J.  Vaughan,  Doncaster  —  How  to 

Sympathize  with  Mourners 211 

Dean  Alford,  Canterbury  — "Thy  Will  be  Done"      .     213 
Principal  Tulloch,  D.D.,  St.  Andrews  —  Sorrow  for 

the  Dead 217 


Contents,.  13 

Page 
Professor  Islaj  Burns,  D.D.,  Glasgow  —  "How  are 

the  Dead  Raised  Up,  and  with  what  Body  do  they 

Come?" 221 

Rev.  Dr.  John   Ker,   Glasgow — Christ's   Delay   to 

Interpose  against  Death 227 

Rev.  George'  Gilfillan,  Dundee  —  A  Lovely  Life  :  Its 

Closing  Scene 231 

Mrs.  Janet  Hamilton,  Langloan  —  Resignation  to  the 

Divine  Will 235 

Rev.  Henry  Allon,  London  —  A  Word  to  Parents      .  239 

Rev.  J,  Baldwin  Brown,  B.A.,  London  —  "  These  Lit-  . 

tie  Ones" 242 

Rev.    Henry  Ward   Beecher  —  Identity  Preserved  in 

Heaven 244 

Rev.  Wm.  Morley  Punshon,  M.A.  —  Heaven  a  Vast 

and  Happy  Society .  248 

Rev.  Dr.  Theodore  L.  Cuyler,  Brooklyn  —  A  Walk  in 

Greenwood  Cemetery 250 

D.  M.  Moir  ("Delta")  —  A  Thornless  Sorrow  .     .     .  254 

POETRY. 

D.  M.  Moir  ("Delta")  — "Wee  Willie" 256 

William  Wordsworth  —  "  We  are  Seven  "      ....  259 

Alfred  Tennyson,  D.CL. — The  Grandmother      .     .  261 

Alfred  Tennyson,  D.C.L.  —  Enoch  Arden     ....  262 
Samuel   Taylor  Coleridge  —  Berkeley  and   Florence 

Coleridge 262 

Robert  Southej-,  LL.D.  —  Undying  Love    •.     .  •.     .  263 

Robert  Burns  —  A  Flower  Transplanted 264 

Robert  Burns  —  "  A  Rose  in  Heaven  " 264 


14  Contents, 


Pagb 

Thomas  Aird  —  Song  of  the  Church-jard  Children  .  265 

D.  M.  Moir  ("Delta")  — "Weep  not  for  Her".     .     .  266 

James  Hedderwick,  Glasgow  —  Home  Trial  .     .     .     .  268 

Walter  C  Smith,  D.D.,  Glasgow  — Our  First  Taken  273 
William  B.   Robertson,   D.D.,   Irvine  — The   Child's 

Angel 276 

W.  B.  Robertson,  D.D.,  Irvine  — The  Departed  Nigh  278 

James  Montgomery  —  The  Infant  Choir  in  Heaven    .  279 

Archbishop  Trench,  Dublin  —  "  Sleep  Softly  "  .     .     .  280 

Archbishop  Trench,  Dublin  —  Moravian  Hymn     .     .  281 

Archbishop  Trench,  Dublin  —  The  White  Doves  .     .  282 
Henry  Alford,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury  — The  Child 

in  Paradise 283 

Henry  Alford,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury  —  Faith     .  284 

Henry  Alford,  D.D.  —  Lacrymse  Paternae      ....  285 

John  Milton  — "The  Fairest  Flower" 287 

Paul  Gerhardt —  "  Still  Thou  art  mine  Own  "...  289 
Gottfried  Hoffman  —  "  Go  Hence,  my  Child  "  (Trans- 
lated by  John  Guthrie,  M.  A.,  Glasgow)  .     .     .     .  292 

Dante  —  The  Vision 293 

Gerald  Massey — "  Our  Wee  White  Rose"    ....  294 

Alaric  A.  Watts  —  "  The  Death  of  the  First-Born  "    .  296 
Theodore    Martin,    London  —  The    Angel    and    the 

Infant 3C0 

RobertNicoU— The  Sick  Child's  Dream       ....  301 

Mary  Howitt  —  The  Child  in  Heaven 304 

Elizabeth   Barrett   Browning  —  A    Child's    Grave    at 

Florence 305 

Mrs.  Hemans  —  A  Messenger  of  Heaven 308 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  —  The  Garden  Rose-Bud    .     .  309 

J.  Stanyan  Bigg  — "O  Little  Child" 311 


Contents.  15 

Page 
Robert  Pollok,  A.M. —  The  Dying  Mother  and  her 

Child 312 

Alexander  Wallace,  D.D.,   Glasgow — Jesus   in    the 

Storm  , 314 

John  Critchley  Prince  —  "The  Dewdrops  Gone"  .     .  314 

William  M.Taylor,  A.M.,  Liverpool  —  The  Rosebuds  316 

John  Guthrie,  M.A.,  Glasgow  —  Parental  Consolation  317 

William  T.  M'Auslane,  Glasgow — Resigned  in  Hope  318 
Rev.    Henry   Batchelor,    Glasgo-w— To   a   Bereaved 

Mother 319 

Alex.  Wallace,  D.D.,  Glasgow  —  The  Contrast      .     .  320 

James  D.  Burns,  M.A.  —  The  Angels  Singing   .     .     .  320 

William  Freeland,  Glasgow  —  Not  Dead,  but  Changed  321 
Selection    from    "The    Christian   Witness"— "The 

Lambs  all  Safely  Folded  " 322 

Rev.  Richard  Cecil — The  Day-Dawn 325 

John  Moultrie  —  "The  Three  Sons" 327 

John  Pierpont  —  "  He  is  not  There  " 328 

Meinhold  —  The  Good  Shepherd  and  the  Lamb  .  .  330 
Selection  from   "The  Christian  Treasury"  —  "The 

Evening  Star" 331 

Charles  Wesley  —  Gone  to  Paradise 332 

Ralph  Erskine  —  The  Highest  Rank  in  Heaven      .     .  t^t^t^ 

EPITAPHS   ON   INFANTS. 

Robert  Robinson 333 

William  Cowper 333 

Thomas  Aird 334 

Mrs.  Hemans 334 

Hartley  Coleridge 334 

Professor  John  Wilson 334 


1 6  Contents* 

Page 

R.  B.  Sheridan 335 

James  Cawthorn 335 

Francis  Davison 33^ 

Samupl  Taylor  Coleridge 33^ 

Samuel  Wesley 337 


BRIEF    NOTICE    OF    A    SHORT  LIFE. 


npHE  history  of  the  little  girl,  whose  some- 
what  sudden  death  was  the  moving  cause 
of  collecting  the  contents  of  the  following  pages, 
is  soon  told.  Sophia,  only  daughter  of  Wil- 
liam and  Janet  Logan,  was  born  at  Bradford, 
Yorkshire,  June  12th,  185 1,  and  died  at  Ab- 
botsford  Place,  Glasgow,  May  ist,  1856,  at 
the  tender  and  interesting  age  of  four  years 
and  ten  months.  Towards  the  close  of  March, 
1856,  she  accompanied  her  mother  to  Keir-mill, 
Dumfriesshire.  About  two  months  previously, 
Sophia's  faithful  nurse  had  been  buried  in 
the  churchyard  there.  The  child  gave  her 
mother  no  rest  till  she  took  her  to  the  beautiful 
old  sequestered  burying-ground,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Scarr.  She  soon  stood  beside,  what 
she  affectionately  designated,  whilst  the  tears 


1 8  Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life, 

trickled  down  her  cheeks,  "  My  Mary's  grave  !  " 
The  child  was  deeply  affected,  and  would  allow 
no  one  to  touch  it  with  a  foot,  but  gently 
pressed  with  her  little  hand  the  tender  grass 
which  covered  it.  She  then  went,  of  her  own 
accord,  to  a  greener  spot  in  the  burying-ground, 
plucked  a  "  forget-me-not,"  and  put  it  in  at  the 
head  of  what  she  repeatedly  spoke  of  as  "  My 
Mary's  grave  ! " 

Early  on  a  Monday  morning,  which  was  one 
of  warm  sunshine,  after  wishing  '^  good-bye  " 
to  a  pious  friend  on  her  death-bed,  she,  in 
company  with  her  mother  and  grandfather, 
walked  to  Thornhill.  Passing  along  the  ro- 
mantic banks  of  the  Nith,  she  was  greatly 
delighted  with  the  gambols  of  a  number  of 
lambs,  and,  with  childlike  simplicity,  entreated 
"Granpa  "  to  assist  her  in  catching  one  of  them. 
On  returning  home,  she  referred  with  great 
glee  to  this  part  of  the  visit ;  and  little  did  her 
parents  then  imagine  that  in  about  five  short 
weeks  their  friends,  in  consolatory  letters, 
should  be  referring  to  herself  as  a  "safely 
folded  Jamb '' !  How  impressive  and  sug- 
gestive the  words  of  the  Psalmist:  "Thy  way 
is  in  the  sea,  and  Thy  path  in  the  great  waters, 
and  Thy  footsteps  are  not  known."  And  how 
soothing  to  a  confiding  heart  the  well-known 
lines  of  Cowper  !  — 


Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life.  19 

*' Judge  not  the  Lord  bj  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  Him  for  His  grace; 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste,  » 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  His  work  in  vain; 
God  is  His  own  interpreter, 

And  He  will  make  it  plain." 

Sophia  was  seized  with  gastric  fever,  and  for 
three  weeks  was  chiefl}^  confined  to  bed.  On 
the  last  Sabbath  but  one  of  April,  she  was  able 
to  be  out  of  bed  and  relish  a  little  food.  For 
a  few  days  she  seemed  to  improve,  and  on  the 
following  Saturday  was  up  during  most  of 
the  da}',  and  enjoyed  herself  much.  After 
running  nimbly  across  the  room-floor,  she  said, 
playfully,  to  a  beloved  friend  and  "mother  in 
Israel,"  "You  see,  Grandma,  that  I  can  run 
vet."* 


*  Both  loved  ones  now  sleep  together  in  the  same 
grave,  in  the  Glasgow  Necropolis;  the  one  having  died  in 
her  fifth,  the  other  in  her  eighty-fourth  year.  It  may 
interest  young  readers  to  know  that  Sophia's  Grandmother 
had  been  for  about  seventy  years  a  humble,  sincere  fol- 
lower of  Christ,  and  died  in  the   firm  faith   and   hope  of 


20  Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life, 

This  was  her  last  Httle  earthly  journey. 
Before  retiring  to  rest,  the  writer  said,  "  Shall 
we  ask  Jesus  to  take  care  of  us  ?  "  To  which 
she  promptly  replied,  "Yes!" — at  the  same 
time  gently  folding  her  hands.  On  the  Sab- 
bath morning,  on  being  asked  to  repeat  a  fa- 
vorite passage  of  Scripture,  she  did  so ;  but,  in 
a  lower  and  peculiar  tone  of  voice,  quoted 
Proverbs  viii.  17,  "I  love  them  that  love  me; 
and  those  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me," 
adding,  after  a  pause,  and  in  a  whisper, 
"  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd T^  On  Monday 
evening  it  was  evident  that  the  solemn  mes- 
senger. Death,  was  approaching.  In  the  morn- 
ing, her  father,  when  alone  with  her,  said, 
"  Will  Sophia  give  her  papa  a  kiss  ? "  She 
instantly  clasped  her  hands  around  his  neck, 
and  with  all  the  earnestness  and  pure  affection 
of  a  loving  child,  embraced  him.  The  voice 
of  an  all-wise,  ever-kind  Father  was  heard,  at 
this  inexpressibly  trying  moment,  saying,  "  Be 
stilly  and  know  that  I  am  God  ! "  The  writer 
was  "dumb,  and  opened  not  his  mouth,"  and 


going  to  heaven.  Her  last  Bible  utterance,  suggested  b^ 
one  of  her  oldest  and  beloved  ministerial  friends  (the 
Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  Anderson,  Glasgow),  was  the  following: 
"  There  remaineth,  therefore,  a  Rest  to  the  people  of  God." 
May  the  young,  like  her,  give  their  hearts  lovingly  to 
Jesus! 


Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life.         21 

submissively,  though  with  a  soreness  of  heart 
which  cannot  be  expressed  in  words,  silently 
took  farewell  of  Sophia.  Oh  leaving  the  house, 
for  the  labors  of  the  day,  he  said  to  Him  who 
hears  even 

"  The  burthen  of  a  sigh," 

when  passing  in  sadness  along  the  busy  street, 
"The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  is  taking 
away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord !  " 
and  mentally  repeated  the  following  favorite 
verses,  with  a  mournful  interest  never  before 
experienced :  — 

"  Whate'er  we  fondly  call  our  own 
Belongs  to  heaven's  great  Lord ; 
The  blessings  lent  us  for  a  day 
Are  soon  to  be  restored. 

'Tis  God  that  lifts  our  comforts  high, 

Or  sinks  them  in  the  grave; 
He  gives ;  and  when  He  takes  away, 

He  takes  but  what  He  gave. 

Then,  ever  blessed  be  His  name ! 

His  goodness  swell'd  our  store; 
His  justice  but  resumes  its  own; 

'Tis  ours  still  to  adore." 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  her  mother, 
observing  her  dear  child  getting  worse,  said, 
"I  think  Sophia  is  going  to  'Gentle  Jesus,"* 
when  she  faintly  but  distinctly  responded, 
"Yes,  ma!    and  you   will    come  too!"     This 


22         Brief  Notice  of  a   Short  Life. 

was  the  last  simple,  intelligent  sentence  she 
uttered  on  earth.  She  lingered  on  for  a  short 
time,  becoming  gradually  weaker,  till  at  five 
o'clock  on  Thursday,  the  ist  of  May,  a  lovely 
sunny  morning,  the  spirit  was  wafted  by  angels 
to  join  the  white-robed  company  of  youthful 
immortals  "before  the  throne"  in  heaven. 

The  following  were  Sophia's  favorite  pas- 
sages of  Scripture :  "  I  love  them  that  love 
me  ;  and  those  that  seek  me  early  shall  find 
me  ; "  "  Create  in  me  a  clean  heart,  O  God, 
and  renew  a  right  spirit  within  me;"  "The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd." 

Her  favorite  hymns  were  the  following,  part 
of  which  she  often  sung  in  the  evening,  es- 
pecially during  the  closing  months  of  her  brief 
but  beautiful  life  :  — 

"  Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild, 
Look  upon  a  little  child; 
Help  me,  Lord,  to  come  to.  Thee ! 
Let  Thy  blessing  rest  on  me !  " 


'  See  the  kind  Shepherd,  Jesus,  stands, 
With  all-engaging  charms  ; 

Hark,  how  He  calls  the  tender  lambs. 
And  folds  them  in  His  arms. 

'  Permit  them  to  approach,'  He  cries, 
Nor  scorn  their  humble  name; 

For  'twas  to  bless  such  souls  as  these 
The  Lord  of  angels  came. 


Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life,         23 

The  feeblest  lamb  amidst  the  flock 

Shall  be  its  Shepherd's  care : 
While  folded  in  the  Saviour's  arms. 

We're  safe  from  every  snare." 


*'  There  is  a  happy  land, 

Far,  far  away, 
Where  saints  in  glory  stand, 

Bright,  bright  as  day. 
Oh  how  they  sweetly  sing! 
Worthy  is  our  Saviour  King, 
Loud  let  His  praises  ring  — 

Praise,  praise  for  aye. 

Come  to  this  happy  land, 

Come,  come  away; 
Why  will  you  doubting  stand  }  — 

Why  still  delay? 
Oh  we  shall  happy  be 
When,  from  sin  and  sorrow  free. 
Lord,  we  shall  live  with  Thee  — 

Blest,  blest  for  aye. 

Bright  in  that  happy  land 

Beams  every  eye  : 
Kept  by  a  Father's  hand, 

Love  cannot  die. 
On  then  to  glory  run ; 
Be  a  crown  and  kingdom  won, 
And  bright  above  the  sun 

Reign,  reign  for  aye." 

This  "Brief  Notice  "  has  been  retained  in  the 
present  edition  with  some  hesitation.  The 
writer  feels  as  if  it  were  too  sacred  for  the 
pubHc  eye.     It  has  been  preserved  chiefly  for 


24         Brief  Notice  of  a  Short  Life, 

the  benefit  of  those  who  h3.ve  been  called  to 
mourn  over  the  removal  of  beloved  "little 
ones ; "  who  will  perhaps  feel,  in  perusing  the 
pieces  which  follow,  that  they  have  been  col- 
lected by  one  who  can  enter  sympathetically 
into  their  deep  heart-sorrow. 


-^^i^^J 


INFANT   SALVATION. 


REV.  DR.  WILLIAM  ANDERSON,  GLASGOW. 

T  NOW  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  case 
^  of  such  as  die  in  infancy.  These  form  by  far 
the  greatest  proportion  of  Redeemed  Spirits. 
And  when  the  heart  of  the  Christian  is  ready 
to  fail  within  him  for  grief,  when  among  adult 
men  and  women  he  can  discover  so  little 
which  will  reward  the  Redeemer  for  the  tra- 
vail of  His  soul,  how  reviving  it  is  to  look 
upward,  and  contemplate  the  innumerable 
multitude  of  those  who  were  rescued  in  in- 
fancy from  the  corrupting  power  of  the  world, 
and  safely  secured  for  Himself  in  His  heavenly 
pavilion  !  It  is  astonishing  on  the  one  hand, 
that  there  should  be  found  so  many  w^ho  have 
dark  misgivings  of  heart  on  the  subject  of  the 
salvation  of  these  infants  ;  and,  on  the  other, 
that  among  those  who  do  not  question   it,  so 


26  Infant   Salvation. 

little  account  should  be  taken  of  them  in  esti- 
mating the  glory  of  the  kingdom  —  despising 
these  little  ones,  and  scarcely  reckoning  them 
in  the  number  of  the  Saved  :  whereas  it  would 
be  a  less  improper  way  of  calculation  to  say, 
that  the  kingdom  belongs  to  children,  and  that 
the  adults  who  are  saved  are  a  few  who  are 
admitted  to  a  share  of  their  inheritance. 

Observe,  therefore,  in  the  First  place,  that, 
with  regard  to  the  deceased  infant  children  of 
believers,  their  salvation,  at  least,  is  as  sure 
as  the  salvation  of  the  parents  themselves. 
What  was  the  promise  worth,  yea,  what  did  it 
mean,  if  it  contained  nothing  for  the  spirits  of 
his  infant  offspring,  when  the  Lord  said  to 
Abraham,  the  type  of  all  believing  parents, 
"  I  will  establish  my  covenant  between  me  and 
thee,  to  be  a  God  unto  thee,  and  to  thy  seed 
after  thee,"  and  commanded  that  they  should 
be  circumcised,  as  well  as  himself,  as  a  token 
of  their  interest  in  the  promised  salvation? 
Are  not  the  blessings  of  God  especially  bless- 
ings for  eternity  ?  "  Wherefore  God  is  not 
ashamed  to  be  called  their  God,  for  he  hath 
prepared  for  them  a  city."  And  can  infants 
renounce  the  God  of  their  parents,  as  those 
may  do  who  have  grown  up  to  years  of  per- 
sonal responsibility?  Oh,  happy  children,  ye 
who  were  laid  hold  of  by  the  Redeemer  and 


Infant  Salvation.  27 

appropriated  to  Himself,  before  ye  could  apos- 
tatize like  your  wretched  brothers  and  unhappy 
sisters,  who  have  broken  the  household  cove- 
nant and  abjured  the  family's  Saviour  !  Then, 
said  I  to  the  father  and  mother  as  they  wept, 
Your  children  who  have  died  are  a  better 
portion  to  you  than  those  who  live  :  weep  for 
the  living  and  not  for  the  dead  :  it  is  the  living 
you  have  lost;  the  dead  are  safely  reserved 
for  you. — Again:  when  believing  parents 
made  their  way  so  earnestly  through  the 
obstructing  disciples,  to  place  their  children 
before  the  Redeemer  that  He  might  bless  them, 
what  otherwise  was  His  reception  of  them 
worth,  yea,  what  did  it  mean,  when  "He  was 
much  displeased"  with  his  disciples,  "and  said 
unto  them.  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come 
unto  Me,  and  forbid  them  not :  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  God,"  and  then  "  took  them  up 
in  His  arms,  put  His  hands  upon  them,  and 
blessed  them  ?  "  If  any  of  these  children  had 
presently  died  —  and  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  some  of  them  did  die  in  childhood  —  how 
vain  it  had  been  for  them  to  be  blessed  by  the 
Redeemer,  if  there  be  no  heavenly  inheritance 
for  those  who  die  in  early  years? 

It  is  most  injurious,  however,  to  the  cause 
of  infants,  to  plead  it  on  ground  so  low  as  this. 
Instead  of  merely  vindicating  their  admission, 


28  Infant  Salvation. 

and  some  consideration  for  them,  I  regard 
them  as  being  generally  the  best  welcomed 
spirits  which  pass  into  the  eternal  world. 
The  whole  of  our  Lord's  treatment  of  them  is 
calculated  to  produce  this  impression.  Besides, 
contemplating  the  subject  in  the  light  of 
reason,  —  Is  not  the  intellectual  and  moral 
structure,  I  ask,  of  an  infant's  spirit  the  same 
as  that  of  a  full-grown  man?  And  who  shall 
dispute,  that  some  of  the  brightest  geniuses 
and  most  amiable  hearts  of  our  race  may  have 
been  withdrawn  —  in  the  love  and  valuation 
of  them  withdrawn  —  after  a  short  time's 
breathing  of  the  pestilential  air  of  this  earth, 
yea,  before  a  breath  of  it  was  inhaled,  to  be 
secured  and  nursed  in  the  Paradise  of  God? 
As  I  think  of  it,  I  become  the  more  persuaded, 
that  this  securing  of  many  of  the  best  by  early 
death,  maybe  a  principle  of  the  divine  admin- 
istration. It  is  true,  they  passed  away  without 
having  acquired  any  of  this  world's  learning ; 
but  irrespectively  of  God's  standard  of  meas- 
urement being  a  moral  one,  how  insignificant, 
I  appeal,  will  not  even  Newton's  science 
appear  in  yonder  Temple  of  Light !  Will  the 
infant  spirit  have  any  sense  of  inferiority  from 
the  want  of  it?  Will  it  appear  disrespectable 
for  the  want  of  it  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Eternal  One?  — It   is   true,   again,   that   they 


Infant  Salvation »  29 

passed  away  without  any  prayers  in  which 
their  infant  knees  had  bowed ;  and  without 
any  psalms  of  praise  which  their  infant  hps 
had  sung;  but  what,  brethren,  I,  a  second 
time,  appeal,  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  a 
rehcrious  life  in  this  world?  Is  it  not  to  have 
our  hearts  brought  back  to  their  infant  state? 
To  have  them  cleansed  of  these  pollutions,  and 
divested  of  these  perverse  habits  which  we 
have  contracted  since  we  were  like  these  chil- 
dren, w^ho  were  early  withdrawn  from  the 
corrupting  influences  to  which  we  have  been 
exposed?  Accordingly,  Christ's  great  lesson 
for  us  is,  Learn  to  be  like  a  child. — And,  a 
third  time,  if  there  are  a  few  deeds  of  charity, 
of  the  performance  of  which  we  can  speak  for 
ourselves,  oh,  is  it  not  all  more  than  counter- 
balanced when  these  infants  can  plead  in 
reply,  that  they  were  guilty  of  no  envious 
thoughts,  no  bitter  or  slanderous  speeches,  no 
impure  imaginations  or  devices,  no  fretfulness 
against  the  Providence  of  God,  —  of  nothing 
at  all  which  can  be  charged  against  them  as 
either  a  dereliction  or  transgression  of  duty  ! 
Who  of  us  shall  presume  to  compare  himself 
with  an  infant,  or  forbid  that  its  spirit  go  to  the 
Saviour  of  its  pious  father,  or  the  Saviour  of 
its  pious  mother? 

In  the  Second  place,  with  regard   to   those 


30  Infant  Salvation, 

children  dying  in  infancy  who  are  the  off- 
spring of  ungodly  parents  —  equally  of  such 
do  I  believe,  that  they  shall  all  be  saved ; 
though  not  with  a  salvation  so  glorious  as  that 
of  the  offspring  of  the  saints.  It  is  not  by 
any  means  for  the  relief  of  the  anxiety  of 
those  wicked  parents  that  I  express  myself 
thus  confidently  about  the  salvation  of  their 
children ;  but  for  magnifying  the  grace  of 
God,  and  rejoicing  the  hearts  of  the  saints  on 
the  subject  of  the  magnificence  of  the  Re- 
deemer's kingdom,  and  the  splendor  of  His 
reward.  .  .  .  We  claim  them  for  the  king- 
dom. When  the  Son  of  God  was  incarnated, 
He  became  these  infants'  Brother ;  and  when 
they  have  not  rejected  Him,  will  He  disown 
them  ? 


REV.    DR.    JAMES    MORISON,    GLASGOW. 

Infinite  wisdom  has  determined  that  trou- 
ble, of  one  description  or  another,  shall  con- 
stitute part  of  the  discipline  to  which  ever}/ 
human  being  must  be  subjected.  In  the  pres- 
ent provisional  state  of  things,  afflictive  dis- 
pensations "must  needs  be." 

We  do  not  at  present  inquire  why  it  is  that 
this  element  of  suffering  interpenetrates  to  so 


Infant   Salvation,  31 

large  an  extent  the  fabric  of  human  society. 
We  take  our  position  upon  the  undisputed  and 
indisputable  fact,  that  trouble,  in  one  form  or 
another,  is  universal ;  and  withdrawing  our 
attention  from  all  other  developments  of  this 
ubiquitous  ingredient  in  human  life,  we  fix  it 
upon  one  of  the  most  painful  forms  in  which 
it  is  found,  and  over  the  bier  of  the  departed 
infant  we  would  ask,  "Is  it  well  with  the 
child?" 

Tender  as  are  the  ties  that  bind  the  parental 
heart  to  those  little  undeveloped  but  ever- 
developing  Living  Objects  which  enable  par- 
ents to  realize  that  they  are  parents,  these  very 
ties  are  destined  to  be  often  agonizingly  rup- 
tured. Comparatively  few  are  the  households 
in  which  there  have  not  been  "  mourning  and 
bitterness  "  for  some  child  that  was,  and  is  not. 
Many  are  the  Rachels  who  have  been  bowed 
down  under  bereaving  afl^iiction,  and  have 
wept,  and  "refused  to  be  comforted,"  because 
their  sons  or  their  daughters  "  are  not."  The 
"places  that  once  knew"  multitudes  of  dear 
little  Miniatures  of  fathers  and  mothers,  now 
"know  them  no  more."  And  fathers  and 
mothers  go  about  the  streets  mourning ;  or, 
refusing  consolation,  they  languish  in  retire- 
ment. 

But   is   there    no   balm    for   the    wound    of 


32  Infant  Salvation, 

bereaved  parents?  Is  there  no  physician  to 
heal  their  broken  spirit?  There  is  a  physi- 
cian, all-skilful  to  cure.  He  has  a  balm 
which  is  the  very  essence  and  elixir  of  conso- 
lation :  "It  is  well  with  the  child."  The 
child  is  not  lost,  but  gone  before.  Its  "  death 
is  gain."  Though  it  is  "absent  from  the  body," 
it  is  "present  with  the  lord,"  which  is  "far 
better."  It  is  in  "Abraham's  bosom."  And 
what  is  grander  still,  it  is  in  the  bosom  of 
Infinite  Love.  Its  voice  to  its  parents,  if  that 
voice  could  be  heard  by  earthly  ears,  would 
be,  "Weep  not  for  me."  Such  is  our  deliberate 
opinion  concerning  departed  little  ones. 

There  is  a  positive  foundation  on  which  the 
doctrine  of  the  everlasting  bliss  of  all  who  die 
in  infancy  may  be  securely  built  up. 

(i)  It  may  be  proved  from  the  fact  that^  in 
consequence  of  the  interposition  of  the  work 
of  Christy  there  is  to  be  a  universal  resur- 
rection of  the  bodies  of  men.  It  will  be 
admitted  that  there  was  no  provision  made  for 
the  resurrection  of  the  bodies  of  men  except  in 
the  restorative  dispensation  of  mercy  through 
Christ.  As  it  is  "in  Adam  "  that  all  die,  so  is 
it  "in  Christ"  alone  that  all  shall  be  made 
alive  again.  It  is  the  "  second  Adam "  who 
is  the  Cause,  or  Occasion,  of  the  universal 
resurrection. 


Infant  Salvation.  33 

But  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body  and  its 
reunion  to  the  soul,  there  will  be  to  the  glorified 
a  vast  addition  to  their  means  of  bliss ;  and 
there  will  be  to  the  lost  a  vast  addition  to  their 
woe.  The  bodily  organism  must,  according 
to  the  condition  in  which  it  is  placed,  minister 
largely  to  the  happiness  or  to  the  misery  of  the 
soul.  Can  we  suppose,  then,  that  any  of  those 
who  die  in  infancy,  and  who  have  never  had 
the  opportunity  of  rejecting  the  propitiation  of 
Christ,  will  be  subjected,  on  account  of  that 
gracious  work,  to  greater  woes  than  they  would 
have  been  called  to  endure  had  there  been  no 
Saviour  at  all?  Can  we  suppose  that  Christ 
will  be  an  unmitigated  and  inevitable  curse  to 
any  of  mankind?  Surely  we  cannot  cherish 
such  a  supposition,  when  we  remember  that 
He  came  into  the  world  not  to  condemn  it,  but 
to  save  and  to  bless  it.  But  if  we  cannot 
cherish  such  a  supposition,  we  cannot  suppose 
that  any  infants  dying  in  infancy  will  be 
lost. 

(2)  This  reasoning  is  fortified  by  the  express 
teaching  of  our  Lord  himsef.  We  learn  from. 
tlie  Gospels,  as  for  example  from  Matt.  xix. 
13,  that  on  a  certain  occasion  there  were 
brought  to  Him  "little  children,"  that  He 
might  put  his  hands  on  them  and  bless  them. 
His  disciples  rebuked  the  parents.  But  Jesus 
3 


34  Injcifit   Salvatio7i. 

said,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me, 
and  forbid  them  not,y<9r  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.''''  This  does  not  seem  to  mean  "  for 
of  persons  resembling  little  children  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  The  term  rendered  "of 
such "  has  naturally  a  demonstrative  import. 
Our  Saviour  elsewhere  employs  it  when  He 
says,  "  The  hour  cometh,  and  now  is,  when 
the  true  worshippers  shall  worship  the  Father 
in  spirit  and  in  truth  ;  for  the  Father  seeketh 
such  to  worship  Him ; "  that  is,  "  seeketh  these 
to  worship  Him."  It  occurs  in  many  other 
portions  of  the  New  Testament  with  the  same 
demonstrative  import,  as  for  example  in  Acts 
xxii.  22,  in  w^hich  passage  w^e  learn  that  the 
Jews  in  Jerusalem  cried  out  on  a  certain  oc- 
casion, in  reference  to  Paul,  "away  with  such 
a  fellow  from  the  earth  ;  "  that  is,  "  away  with 
this  fellow  from  the  earth."  Jesus  then  means 
"  for  of  these  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The 
kingdom  of  heaven  belongs  to  "  little  children." 
This  interpretation  is  confirmed  by  the  con- 
sideration that  we  should  otherwise  be  at  a 
loss  to  discover  any  peculiar  propriety  in  our 
Saviour's  action,  when  He  took  up  the  little 
ones  in  His  arms  and  blessed  them.  If  the 
reason  of  His  procedure  resolved  itself  simply 
into  the  fact  that  the  adult  subjects  of  the  king- 
dom of  heave^i  are  childlike^  the  same  reason 


Infant   Salvation.  35 

might  have  led  Him  to  take  up  lambs  in  His 
arms  and  bless  them,  inasmuch  as  the  adult 
subjects  of  His  kingdom  are  lamblike  as  well 
as  childlike. 

It  is  true  that  it  is  added,  in  Mark  x.  15,  that 
our  Saviour  said,  after  blessing  the  little  chil- 
dren, "Verily  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  shall 
not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little 
child ^  he  shall  not  enter  therein."  But  still 
even  here,  it  is  supposed  that  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  belongs  to  little  children ;  for  when  it  is 
said,  "  whosoever  shall  not  receive  the  kingdom 
of  God  as  a  little  cJiild^''  the  meaning  surely 
must  be,  "  as  a  little  child  receives  it."  WJio- 
soever  shall  not  receive  tJie  kingdom  of  God 
without  seeking  to  present  any  thing  of  the 
nature  of  personal  meritoriousness,  shall  in  no 
zvise  enter  therein. 

If  it  should  be  said  that  "  the  kino-dom  of 
heaven  "  spoken  of  by  our  Lord  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  upon  earth,  we  would  reply,  that 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  entirely  upon 
earth.  It  is  partly  and  principally  in  heaven. 
And  moreover,  if  there  be  no  obstacles  to  the 
infant's  admission  into  the  earthly  province 
of  the  heavenly  empire,  there  can  be  none  to 
its  admission  into  that  larger  and  more  glorious 
province  above,  whicli,  from  its  vastitude  and 
vast  pre-eminence,  gives  the  denomination  to 
the  whole  domain. 


36  Infant   Salvation. 

(3)  We  might  add  to  these  considerations 
the  fact  that  throughout  the  Scj'ipture's  God  is 
Jreqziently  represented  as  cherishing  a  special 
regard  for  little  children.  We  see  this  in  the 
rebuke  administered  to  Jonah  :  "  And  should 
I  not  spare  Nineveh,  that  great  city,  wherein 
are  more  than  sixscore  thousand  persons  that 
cannot  discern  between  their  right  hand  and 
their  left  hand."  We  see  it  in  the  words  of 
Jeremiah  xix.  4,  "They  have  filled  this  place 
with  the  blood  of  innocents."  And  again,  in 
the  words  of  Joel  ii.  16,  "Gather  the  people, 
sanctify  the  congregation,  assemble  the  elders, 
gather  the  children  and  those  that  suck  the 
breast^  etc.,  then  will  the  Lord  be  jealous  for 
the  land,  and  pit}^  his  people."  And  in  Ezekiel 
xvi.  21,  God  calls  the  little  children  of  the 
Israelites  His  children^  and  pours  terrible  de- 
nunciations upon  the  people  for  causing  them 
to  pass  through  the  fire  to  Moloch :  "  Thou 
hast  slain  my  children,  and  delivered  them  to 
cause  them  to  pass  through  the  fire." 

On  the  whole,  then,  every  line  ot  Scripture 
truth,  when  we  follow  it  out  undeviatingly, 
leads  us  up  to  the  conclusion,  that  "it  is  well" 
with  all  the  "  little  children "  who  have  been 
carried  away  from  the  unfolding  arms,  though 
not  from  the  infolding  hearts  and  memories, 
of  bereaved  parents.     They  have  been  taken 


Infant   Salvation.  37 

up  "higher."  They  have  been  committed 
to  wiser  and  more  tender  keeping.  "Their 
angels  "  have  got  them  ;  and  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  throne,  they  are  undergoing  a 
training,  v\^hich  is  absolutely  free  from  all  those 
elements  of  imperfection,  which  might  have 
resulted  in  moral  deviation,  defilement,  and 
death,  had  they  remained  on  the  earth.  "It 
is  well." 


REV.  GEORGE  GILFILLAN,  DUNDEE. 

"The   promise   is   unto  you  and    to  jour  children."  — 
Acts  ii.  39. 


We  argue  the  salvation  of  infants,  First,  — 
From  the  spirit  of  the  Book.  Secondly, — 
From  the  revealed  character  of  God.    Thirdly, 

—  From  the  glorious  sufficiency  of  the  death 
of  Christ.  Fourthly,  —  From  the  interest  Scrip- 
ture takes  in  children.  Fifthly,  —  From  some 
remarkable  individual  promises.     And  in  fine, 

—  From  the  example  and  language  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  And,  first,  From  the  spirit  of 
the  Bible.  What  is  that  spirit  ?  Is  it  not  a 
gentle,  a  peaceful,  a  kind,  almost  an  infantine 
spirit  ?  The  writers  of  Scripture  were  simple 
as    children,    yet   wise    as    divine    inspiration 


38  Infant  Salvation, 

could  make  them.  And  this  kindly  simplicity 
they  have  transferred  to  their  writings.  Their 
wrath,  when  awakened,  burns  against  obstinate 
transgressors ;  not  against  the  infant  of  days, 
but  against  the  sinner  a  hundred  years  old. 
And  if  you  would  see  this  spirit  in  its  per- 
fection, read  the  12th  of  Romans,  or  the  13th 
of  ist  Corinthians  —  the  epistles  of  John,  or  the 
pleadings  of  the  ancient  prophets  —  those  elo- 
quent, tender,  broken-hearted  pleadings  with 
sinners — and  ask  yourselves,  could  that  spirit 
have  been  inspired  by  a  God  who  would  place 
eternal  obstructions  between  infants  and  sal- 
vation? 

We  argue  it  again  from  the  character  of 
God.  You  need  not  be  told  -what  that  is.  It 
is  that  of  a  Merciful  Being — of  a  Father  — 
of  one  whose  name  is  Love  —  in  such  a  sense, 
that  even  His  wrath  is  love  —  that  even  His 
justice  is  love  —  that  all  His  perfections  crowd 
in  and  form  that  grand  central  Love  which  is 
His  essence  and  all.  And  when  His  anger 
is  awakened,  against  whom  does  it  smoke  ? 
Not  against  children,  but  against  transgressors 
adult  in  age,  obstinate  in  rebellion,  unwearied 
in  wickedness,  who  have  rejected  His  terms 
of  salvation,  and  sinned  against  great  light  and 
many  privileges.  How  irresistibly  arises  the 
question.  Is  it  possible  that  a  God  who  wishes 


Infant  Salvation,  39 

all  to  be  saved  can  refuse  infants  admission 
into  His  kingdom  ?  —  that  He  who  has  no 
pleasure  in  the  blood  of  bulls  and  goats, 
has  pleasure  in  the  perdition  of  lamblike 
infants  ? — -none  in  the  death  of  him  that  dieth 
—  going  down  by  his  own  voluntary  act  into 
the  pit — and  yet  hath  in  that  of  those  who 
have  never  been  offered  and  never  refused 
salvation  ?  Perish  for  ever  such  hard  and 
blasphemous  conceptions  of  God  ! 

But,  again,  I  argue  it  from  the  glorious 
sufficiency  of  the  Death  and  Atonement  of 
Christ.  Sufficient  for  all,,  as  all  now  grant 
that  atonement  to  be,  it  must  be  sufficient  for 
infants.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  infants  may 
be  saved  —  that  there  is  sufficient  sfroundwork 
laid  in  Christ  for  their  acceptance.  Christ, 
it  is  admitted,  has  died  for  some  infants  ;  but 
why  not  for  all?  and  if  for  all, — since  none 
can  by  unbelief  put  themselves  beyond  the 
pale  of  salvation ,  —  why  should  not  all  be  saved  ? 
Supposing  a  taint  of  sin  somehow  connected 
with  the  child,  has  not  Christ  died  to  take  that 
taint  away  ?  Supposing  the  dying  infant  des- 
titute of  what  is  called  "  original  righteousness," 
has  not  Christ,  by  His  obedience,  wrought  out, 
and  brought  in  a  robe  so  ample  as  to  be  able 
to  supply  its  every  deficiency,  and  to  clothe  all 
its  nakedness? 


40  Infant  Salvation. 

But,  again,  think  of  the  interest  the  Book 
of  God  takes  in  children.  No  term  occurs 
more  frequently  than  children.  It  sparkles 
like  a  sunbeam  in  every  page.  No  promise 
is  uttered  but  it  is  immediately  extended  to 
children.  "  How  shall  I  put  thee  among  the 
children?"  is  God's  great  point  of  inquiry. 
"  Child  of  God  "  is  His  highest  title  of  honor. 
The  Bible  may  be  called  "The  Child's  own 
Book."  It  contains,  more  than  any  book  in 
the  world,  matter  peculiarly  adapted  for  young 
minds  and  young  hearts ;  and  its  juvenile 
heroes,  Samuel,  Abijah,  Timothy,  and  the 
rest,  are  among  the  most  interesting  of  all  its 
characters.  How  strange  all  this  !  did  God 
look  upon  all  infants  as  possessing  no  beauty 
to  be  desired,  and  no  capacities  of  moral 
excellence? 

Remember,  again,  some  special  promises 
made  to  infants  in  the  Word  of  God.  Children, 
says  David,  are  God's  heritage,  —  His  own 
peculiar  and  chosen  possession.  The  promise 
is  unto  you  "  and  to  your  children."  To  your 
children  more  fully  than  to  you.  It  is  to  you 
if  you  accept  it;  it  is  to  your  children,  without 
any  ■  exception  or  reservation  whatever.  And 
how  often  are  we  told  in  scripture  to  imitate 
children.  "In  malice  be  ye  children," — im- 
plying that  that  foul  plant   of  hell,   which   is 


Infant  Salvation,  41 

indeed  the  essence  of  the  devil  as  love  is  the 
essence  of  God,  is  not  to  be  found  in  their 
breasts.  And  ye,  therefore,  "  As  new-born 
babes,  desire  the  sincere  milk  of  the  word, 
that  ye  may  grow  thereby." 

But  in  line,  all  this  comes  to  a  bright  and 
glowing  point,  when  we  consider  the  example 
and  the  language  of  Christ  Jesus.  I  cannot 
resist  the  idea  that  our  Lord  himself  had  much 
of  the  child  in  His  appearance  and  manner. 
He  was,  verily,  the  "holy  child  Jesus."  He 
had  certainly  much  of  it  in  His  utterances. 
His  language  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
resembles  that  of  one  who  was  at  once  a  God 
and  a  child,  so  infinite  is  the  simplicity,  and 
so  immense  the  depth.  And  why  was  Christ 
born  a  child?  Why  did  He  not  appear  like 
the  first  Adam,  a  full-grown  man  at  once? 
Might  it  not  be  to  show  that  such  was  His 
interest  in  children  that  He  became  an  infant 
in  their  stead,  consecrating  thus  the  cradle, 
and  filling  the  nursery  with  a  divine  radiance? 
You  remember,  too,  how  He  took  a  little  child 
and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  His  disciples,  and 
said,  "  Except  ye  be  converted,  and  become  as 
this  little  child,  ye  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom 
of  God."  And  you  remember  the  still  more 
beautiful  and  significant  words,  "Suffer  the 
little    children   to    come  unto  me,  and   forbid 


42  Infant  Salvation. 

them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
That  scene, — was  it  ever  surpassed  in  pathos 
and  in  spiritual  meaning?  The  disciples  tried 
to  prevent  them  coming.  I  don't  think  they 
did  so  on  extreme  principles,  and  because 
they  thought  them  young  vipers  and  the  spawn 
of  Satan,  that  might  contaminate  Christ  by 
their  neighborhood.  They  merely  thought 
them  beneath  the  notice  of  one  so  great 
as  their  Master;  too  small,  too  insignificant. 
Christ  judged  otherwise.  The  faces  and  bear- 
ing of  these  little  children  reminded  Him  of 
the  far  land  from  which  He  had  descended, 
—  of  angels,  heaven.  His  Father's  house.  He 
thought  Himself  back  at  His  native  region. 
And  He  said,  "of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven."  Heaven  is  composed  of  characters 
similar  to  these ;  and  these,  if  not  checked  and 
retarded  by  the  evil  influences  of  the  world, 
are  on  their  way  to  heaven,  and  were  these 
dying  now,  they  would  go  there. 


REV.   JOHN    KER,    GLASGOW. 

Tn  the  14th  chapter  of  the  first  book  of  Kings, 
there  is  a  short  history  which,  within  the  game 
compass,  is  not,   perhaps,   surpassed   by  any 


hifant  Salvation »  43 

other  in  the  Old  Testament  for  graphic  touch, 
solemn  interest,  and  real  pathos,  —  the  narra- 
tive ot^  the  Hfe  and  deaili  of  Abijah,  the  son  of 
Jeroboam.  The  picture  of  the  irreligious 
father,  pierced  to  the  quick  in  his  heart's  ten- 
derest  affections  ;  his  appeal  in  behalf  of  his 
dying  child' to  the  God  he  had  forsaken;  the 
strange  commingling  of  folly  with  his  appeal, 
in  ordering  his  wife  to  feign  herself  to  be 
another,  as  if  He  who  could  save  from  death 
could  not  see  through  disguise  ;  the  submissive 
compliance  of  the  anxious  mother,  her  journey 
to  the  blind  and  aged  prophet,  the  terrible 
word  and  death  sentence  which  met  her  on 
the  threshold,  and  her  return  to  a  home 
already  filled  with  the  bitterness  of  those  who 
mourn  for  a  first-born,  —  all  form  a  story  of 
wonderful  and  tragic  interest. 

But  it  is  to  the  rays  of  light  in  it  that  we 
would  turn,  and  they  all  issue  from  one  point, 
—  the  death  of  a  child.  It  is  as  if  in  a  time 
and  place  in  which  hopeless  degeneracy 
reigned  among  the  more  mature,  God  wished 
to  show  how  he  could  still  make  up  the  jewels 
for  His  crown ;  gathering  them  out  of  the 
darkest  pits  of  this  earth  and  showing  us  their 
glitter,  before  He  gave  them  their  heavenly 
setting.  It  is  a  ground  of  great  comfort  and 
hope,  when  our  eye  and  heart  are  wearied  with 


44  Infant  Salvation. 

sights  and  histories  of  full-developed  wicked- 
ness among  heathen  at  home  and  abroad. 
Where  the  death  of  tli^  young  is  most  sadly 
abundant,  may  we  not  reverently  trust,  that 
behind  the  physical  causes  which  are  working 
there,  a  purpose  of  mercy  lies  hidden?  —  as 
if  the  gleaming  form  of  the  angel  of  life  could 
be  discerned  liastening  to  bind  up  the  sheaves 
which  the  death-reaper  is  cutting  down. 
There  are  other  methods  of  delivering  from 
the  Sodoms  and  Gomorrahs  of  the  world  than 
flight  by  the  way  of  the  plain  ;  and  God  has 
higher  mountains  to  carry  His  elect  to,  than 
that  which  was  a  refuge  for  righteous  Lot. 

The  notice  of  this  life  is  very  brief.  Little 
could  be  said  of  it  on  this  world's  side,  it  was 
so  colorless  and  unsensational.  How  far  it 
had  passed  from  infancy  into  childhood  we 
cannot  say,  —  probably  only  a  few  short  steps. 
But  the  great  end  of  life  had  been  gained, 
even  in  regard  to  character ;  not  its  maturity 
indeed,  but  its  direction.  This  is  the  main 
thing  in  our  present  life.  "Even  a  child  is 
known  by  his  doings,  whether  his  work  be 
pure  and  whether  it  be  right."  The  first  step 
has  been  taken  in  the  path  which  leads  to 
everlasting  life,  and  if  death  comes,  it  is  God's 
acceptance  of  the  traveller's  aim,  —  the  seal  of 
perpetuity  set  upon  that  Zionward  look.     The 


Infant  Salvation.  45 

Hosanna  passes  at  once  into  a  Hallelujah. 
The  way  in  which  this  tendency  of  character 
is  described,  is  very  tender  and  very  comfort- 
ing to  those  who  have  lost  little  children. 
"  In  him  there  is  found  some  good  thing 
toward  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  in  the  house 
of  Jeroboam."  The  very  vagueness  and  in- 
deliniteness  of  it  are  full  of  kindness  and 
charity;  for  though  the  ^^ some'''  is  not  ex- 
pressed in  the  original,  it  is  really  implied. 
An  indescribable  so7newhat^  different  in  dif- 
ferent natures,  and  discernible  oftentimes  only 
by  a  parent's  eye,  will  show  how  a  very  j^oung 
child's  heart  turns  to  the  thought  of  God  and 
Christ,  and  the  heavenly  world.  It  is  perhaps 
realized  only  when  the  child  has  been  taken 
away  ;  and  he  mustbe  cold  and  hard  who  can 
listen  with  indifference  to  a  parent,  while  the 
smallest  of  these  tokens  are  fondly  rehearsed, 
—  the  shghtest  motions  of  the  tender  blade  as 
it  quivered  beneath  the  Spirit's  breath.  He 
does  not  despise  these  tokens  who  quenches 
not  the  smoking  flax,  and  who,  when  there 
was  no  loving  paternal  eye  here  to  make 
search,  came  and  sought  them  Himself. 
There  must  be  some  such  force  in  the  w^ords 
'^  there  is  found^^'  as  if  God  were  seeking 
something  which  His  eye  could  rest  on  with 
complacency    in    this    monarch's    house,    and 


46  Infant  Salvation. 

found  it  in  the  heart  of  this  young  child 
feebly  feeling  after  Him.  It  was  the  one  great 
treasure  of  the  palace  in  the  sight  of  Him 
who  knows  to  discriminate  the  gold  from  the 
dross. 

There  is  a  testimony  to  the  power  of  the 
grace  of  God  in  the  words,  "///  the  house  of 
Jeroboam,''^  It  was  certainly  He  who  found 
the  good  thing  in  the  child's  heart  who  had 
first  hidden  it  there.  There  is  none  good  but 
one,  that  is  God  ;  and  there  is  nothing  good 
toward  Him  but  what  comes  from  Him.  To 
find  the  treasure  in  such  a  palace  was  as  rare 
a  thing  as  marvellously  beautiful, — the  equiv- 
alent in  the  Old  Testament  of  "  saints  in 
Caesar's  household,"  and  more  of  a  miracle  in 
its  w^ay  than  that  of  him  who  was  kept  from 
the  lion's  mouth,  or  those  who  passed  through 
the  fiery  furnace  without  the  smell  of  fire  on 
their  garments.  The  spiritual  life  is  the 
higher,  and  to  implant  and  guard  it  in  such  a 
crisis  is  a  work  more  divine.  What  means 
God's  providence  employed  to  carry  the  seed 
of  that  good  thing  into  the  heart,  we  cannot 
tell.  Whether  the  mother  did  not  wholly 
share  the  father's  godless  life,  or  whether 
there  was  some  nurse  or  attendant  who  became 
a  foster-parent  to  the  soul,  we  know  not.  The 
power  of  God's   Spirit  to   teach   was    in    any 


Infant  Salvation.  47 

case  the  same.  In  nothing,  perhaps,  is  the 
divinity  of  the  Scripture  revelation  more  ap- 
parent, than  in  the  way  in  whicli  the  mind  of 
the  youngest  child  can  not  only  touch  but 
comprehend  its  grandest  truths, — grasp  with 
its  infant  hand  the  infinite.  The  breath  'that 
inspired  the  Bible  comes  evidently  from  Him 
who  breathes  into  us  the  breath  of  life ;  they 
are  so  fitted  to  each  other.  Try  science  or 
philosophy,  or  the  history  of  nations,  in  their 
power  of  quickening  and  elevating  the  first 
movements  of  the  spirit,  compared  with  the 
doings  and  sayings  of  the  Maker  and  Saviour 
of  the  soul.  This  is  a  never-failing  encour- 
agement to  parents  to  begin  early  the  religious 
training  of  their  children ;  and  it  is  a  sure 
ground  of  hope,  that  the  soul  which,  in  its 
first  essay,  can  take  such  a  hold  of  the  highest 
truth,  is  made  for  an  immortal  life.  There 
are  deaths  of  babes  and  sucklinfrs  from  which 
God  can  perfect  praise,  so  as  to  still  the  enemy 
and  the  avenger.  He  can  kindle  a  little  lamp 
in  our  earthly  homes,  so  bright,  that  we  can 
see  Him  carrying  it  up  to  make  of  it  a  star  in 
the  highest  firmament.  When,  as  in  this 
instance,  it  is  kindled  we  know  not  how; 
when  it  shines  solitary  but  steadfast  through 
some  cloud-rift  in  a  troubled  sky,  —  it  lets  us  see 
a  peculiar  power  in  his  grace  ;   but  in   every 


48  •        Infant  Salvation, 

instance  in  which  we  see  Him  writing  His 
new  name  upon  a  young  heart  before  He 
takes  it  to  Himself,  we  are  bound  to  look  upon 
his  work  with  a  very  loving  and  hopeful 
admiration.  Never  is  it  more  manifest  that  it 
is  not  for  time  but  for  eternity  He  is  doing  it ; 
that  He  is  taking  up  the  lamp  of  our  home  to 
shine  in  the  sky  above  all  cloud  and  tempest. 
"It  shall  never  perish,  neither  shall  any  pluck 
it  out  of  my  hand." 

The  death  of  the  child  of  Jeroboam,  no  less 
than  the  good  thing  found  in  his  life,  has  les- 
sons of  encouragement  and  comfort.  As  it 
regarded  the  family  from  which  he  was  taken, 
his  death  is  spoken  of  as  a  judgment ;  but  it  is 
only  because  they  refused  to  understand  its 
true  meaning.  The  history  looks  at  it  in  the 
light  of  the  result ;  but  in  the  Divine  intention 
it  was  sent  in  kindly  warning.  Jeroboam  had, 
been  a  sinner  and  a  seducer  to  sin,  and  he 
had  been  repeatedly  admonished  in  vain. 
His  right  arm  had  been  withered  and  healed 
again,  and  still  he  resisted.  A  child  was  sent 
to  him,  in  whose  young  heart  there  was  some 
good  thing  toward  God,  and  he  despised  the 
attraction ;  and  now  that  child  is  removed, 
"if"  his  heart  may  be  melted  by  the  tender- 
ness of  sorrow,  and  \^d.  to  hear  a  voice  from 
its  grave.      Happy  for  him  if  the  death  of  his 


Injant  Salvation.  49 

child  had  proved  the  life  of  his  soul.  Then, 
though  the  child  had  not  been  restored,  he 
would  have  been  enabled  to  say,  "  I  shall  go 
to  him."  But  he  vs^ent  on  frowardly  in  the 
way  of  his  heart,  and  the  death  which  w^as 
sent  in  mercy  is  written  down  in  judgment. 
It  is  our  own  use  of  these  events  which  makes 
them  gentle  or  stern  :  as  we  bear  ourselves  to 
them,  they  turn  to  us  their  side  of  light,  or 
frown  upon  us  from  the  cloud,  till  the  chariot- 
wheels  of  the  heart  drive  heavily.  Never 
does  God  woo  more  tenderly,  or  seek  to  win 
for  heaven  more  attractively,  than  in  the  love 
of  a  child  taken  to  the  skies  in  its  opening 
months  or  years.  If  we  have  been  lying 
fettered  in  worldly  sloth  and  sin.  He  is  send- 
ing his  angel  to  deliver  us  out  of  the  prison. 

But  if  there  was  mercy  offered  to  the  parents 
in  the  death  of  the  child,  there  was  the  full  ac- 
complishment of  it  to  the  child  himself.  Could 
we  but  see  the  future  in  this  world  from  which 
a  premature  departure  saves,  and  the  future  in 
another  to  which  it  conveys,  it  would  help  to 
reconcile  us  to  the  frost  which  withers  many  an 
opening  blossom.  There  were  trials  lying  in 
wait  for  his  spiritual  life  which  could  be  in  no 
other  way  escaped.  The  good  thing  which 
was  in  him  as  a  child  would  be  for  a  while 
reckoned  by  the  father  a  childish  caprice ;  but 
4 


5o  Infant  Salvation, 

as  it  grew  with  his  years  and  strengthened 
with  his  growth,  it  would  have  encountered 
stern  opposition,  and  the  alhirements  of  his 
position  would  have  laid  many  a  snare  for  his 
feet.  He  was  yet  in  the  peaceful  harbor,  but 
§oon  he  must  venture  out  on  the  open  sea, 
with  its  fierce  storms,  its  adverse  currents,  and 
its  deceitful  eddies.  God's  power  could,  and 
doubtless  would,  have  kept  him  safe  amid  all ; 
but  He  deemed  it  more  merciful  to  spare  him 
the  struggle,  and  to  hasten  the  course  of  the 
frail  bark,  like  that  of  the  ship  into  which 
the  Saviour  entered,  immediately  to  the  land 
whither  it  was  going.  "The  Lord  knoweth 
how  to  deliver  the  godly  out  of  temptations," 
—  some  by  grace  in  this  world,  others  by  an 
early  call  from  it. 

He  was  saved  from  witnessing  and  sharing 
the  suffering;  and  ruin  which  soon  afterwards 
overtook  his  father's  house.  The  catastrophe 
had  been  delayed,  perhaps  by  the  unconscious 
intercession  of  this  young  life  ;  but  it  could  not 
be  averted.  The  axe  is  lying  at  the  root  of 
the  barren  and  withered  tree  which  has  cum- 
bered the  ground  so  long ;  but  first  the  tender 
vine  which  has  clasped  its  arms  so  lovingly 
around  it,  must  be  gently  untwined  and  trans- 
planted to  a  place  of  safety,  where  it  may' 
flourish    in    a    better    soil,   and  under  a  more 


Infant   Salvation,    »  51 

peaceful  sky.  A  flood  of  desolating  waters  is 
about  to  sweep  over  the  wide  land  of  Israel, 
but  God  must  prepare  an  ark  for  his  young 
servant,  ere  the  storm  can  break.  What 
though  that  ark  be  his  grave  ?  It  is  full  of 
happiness  and  hope  to  those  who  are  shut  in 
by  the  hand  of  God.  "Thou  wilt  hide  me  in 
the  grave  ;  thou  wilt  keep  me  secret,  until  thy 
wrath  be  past ;  thou  wilt  appoint  me  a  set  time, 
and  remember  me."  "The  righteous  is  taken 
away  from  the  evil  to  come." 

The  mercy  of  the  early  death  is  still  more 
clear,  when  we  think  of  what  the  child  was 
taken  to.  When  faith  lets  us  look  within  the 
veil,  we  see  Him  who  long  afterwards  assumed 
bodily  form  and  speech,  beginning  his  gracious 
invitation,  "  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come 
unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not;  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Surely  He  was  in 
tliis  place  though  they  knew  it  not.  Neither 
w^as  it  far  from  this  in  time  or  place  that  a 
prophet  w^as  about  to  speak  of  Him  :  "  He 
shall  feed  his  flock  like  a  shepherd  :  He  shall 
gather  the  lambs  with  his  arm,  and  carry  them 
in  his  bosom  ;  "  and  here  already  He  is  bring- 
ing home  the  firstlings  of  His  flock.  There 
were  many  bright  hopes  before  the  child  to 
human  eyes  ;  but  such  a  word  of  invitation 
might  well   outweigh  them  all.     He  was  taken 


52  Infant  Salvation. 

from  the  expectation  of  an  earthly  crown  to  the 
possession  of  a  heavenly  one ;  from  the  troub- 
led and  precarious  dominion  of  Israel  to  a 
kingdom  that  cannot  be  moved  ;  from  the  pro- 
tection of  a  father  who,  however  well  he  loved 
him,  knew  not  his  true  interests,  to  the  care 
and  nurture  of  the  Father  of  spirits ;  from  an 
earthly  mother's  tenderness  to  Him  who  created 
it,  and  who  says,  ''As  one  w^hom  a  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you  ; "  from  the 
loud  wail  of  a  sorrowing  nation  to  the  joyful 
acclaim  of  the  nations  of  the  saved  ;  from  the 
tears  of  kindred  to  the  bosom  of  the  family 
where  they  weep  no  more.  Is  it  well  with  the 
child?  and  shall  we  not  answer?  It  is  well. 

It  is  a  blessed  thing  when  bereaved  parents 
can  so  reply,  when  faith  can  lean  on  God,  and 
hope  can  look  up  to  heaven,  and  love  can  ten- 
derly smooth  the  short  green  grave  where  God 
has  hidden  their  heart's  desire  —  his  precious 
seed  — and  they,  mourning  but  not  murmuring, 
can  patiently  bide  the  time  till  He  shall  give  it 
back  to  them,  in  the  day  when  flower  and 
fruit,  freshness  and  ripeness,  are  found  united, 
and  a  joy  with  them  like  unto  the  joy  of  har- 
vest. Let  us  not  ask  why  the  child  entered 
this  world  only  to  quit  it,  and  made  its  brief 
home  in  our  hearts  to  leave  them  more  lonely 
and    desolate.      It   is   one  token  that  there  is 


*  Infant   Salvation.  ,  53 

another  world,  when  there  are  so  short  sojourn- 
ings  in  this.  The  entrance  of  the  child  into 
the  life  of  earth,  however  narrow  its  space,  is 
as  true  a  beginning  of  the  life  that  never  ends, 
as  the  threescore  years  and  ten  ;  and  its  share 
in  the  great  atonement  as  real  and  full  as  that 
of  him  who  has  borne,  through  all  the  appoint- 
ed hours,  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  ! 
Its  release  and  his  labor  are  alike  of  grace, 
and  have  their  place  and  purpose  in  the  innu- 
merable family  of  the  redeemed.  There  must 
be  many  varied  voices  in  the  harmonies  of 
heaven,  as  well  as  in  the  choirs  of  earth. 
There,  too,  "both  young  men  and  maidens, 
old  men  and  children,  must  praise  the  name  of 
the  Lord."  Nor  has  its  short  life  been  in  vain, 
even  on  earth,  if  it  has  drawn  the  affections  of 
any  to  a  heavenly  world, — if  the  sweet  bird 
of  passage  which  nestled  beneath  our  eaves 
has  attracted  the  heart  to  the  sun  and  summer 
of  a  better  land. — Then,  "the  child  dies  an 
hundred  years  old."  Only  let  it  be  the  earnest 
wish  and  effort  of  parents  who  have  lost  their 
children,  to  make  sure  of  this,  — to  see  to  it  that 
the  separation  is  not  perpetual,  and  that  the 
bond  be  made  as  eternal  as  it  is  deep  and  dear. 
There  is  no  judgment  in  such  deaths,  no  sting 
in  such  sorrows ;  but  goodness  and  mercy  — 
pure,  unmingled,  and  everlasting — to  parent 


54  Infant  Salvation. 

and  to  child.  "Thus  saith  the  Lord  :  Refrain 
thy  voice  from  weeping,  and  thine  eyes  from 
tears;  for  there  is  hope  in  thine  end,  saith  the 
Lord,  that  thy  children  shall  come  again  to 
their    own    border." 


REV.    DR.    RALPH   WARDLAW,    GLASGOW. 

"While  the  child  was  yet  alive,  I  fasted  and 
wept ;  for  I  said.  Who  can  tell  whether  God 
will  be  gracious  to  me,  that  the  child  may  live? 
But  now  he  is  dead,  wherefore  should  I  fast? 
can  I  bring  him  back  again?  I  shall  go  to  him, 
but  he  shall  not  return  to  me." 

Let  not  this  be  interpreted  as  the  language 
of  insensibility.  The  general  character  of 
David,  and  his  previous  behavior  on  the  same 
occasion,  ought  to  save  him  from  every  impu- 
tation of  this  kind.  No.  His  heart  was  full 
of  paternal  and  conjugal  tenderness.  Fain 
would  he  have  brought  back  his  babe  to  his 
own  fond  embrace,  and  to  the  breast  of  its  dis- 
consolate mother.  But  the  thought  was  vain. 
All  was  now  over.  The  last  sigh  with  which 
the  infant  spirit  escaped  to  wing  its  way  to  the 
world  of  light,  had  settled  the  case  with  regard 
to  the  child.  David  had  found  his  consolation 
in  God,  and  he  had  the  richest  and  sweetest  of 


Infant  Salvation.  55 

all  comforts  respecting  his  infant.  The  lan- 
guage, "/  shall  go  to  him^'"  is  evidently  the 
language  of  comfort,  by  which  he  was  sup- 
ported under  the  anguish  that  would  otherwise 
have  been  intolerable  in  the  thought  of  v/hat 
follows:  ^^ but  he  shall  not  return  to  me'"'  It 
does  not,  then,  it  cannot  refer  to  the  grave. 
The  child  was  not  in  the  grave  w^hen  the  words 
were  uttered ;  noc  do  I  believe  there  was  any 
thought  of  the  grave  in  the  bereaved  parent's 
mind.  What  consolation  could  there  have  been 
in  that^  that  hc^  too,  should  lie  down  a  cold, 
inanimate  corpse?  This  was  not  ^<?/;^^ /<^  him 
in  any  sense  that  could  impart  the  slightest  satis- 
faction to  the  afflicted  spirit.  The  words  clearly 
imply  firm  conviction  of  his  child's  existence 
and  happiness.  "  I  shall  go  to  him,"  means,  I 
shall  go  whither  he  has  now  gone.  And  if  his 
afterwards  joining  him  there  was  an  object  of 
hope,  there  is  necessarily  implied  the  persua- 
sion of  his  having  gone  to  a  place  of  happiness. 
How  sweetly  soothing,  how  inestimably  pre- 
cious is  the  same  thought  still  to  the  agonized 
bosom  of  parental  love  !  How  delightfully  tran- 
quillizing, when  the  first  burst  of  nature's  agony 
has  a  little  subsided,  the  reflection  that  your 
child  has  been  taken  away  from  the  evil  to 
come, — taken,  to  spend  those  years  in  heaven, 
which  he   must  otherwise  have  spent  amidst 


56  Ififant  Salvation. 

sin,  and  temptation,  and  sorrow,  in  the  valley 
of  tears  :  that  he  has  been  spared  all  the  perils, 
and  fatigues,  and  fightings  of  the  wilderness, 
and  has  been  received  at  the:  better  country, 
even  the  heavenly  ;  that  the  tender  and  lovely 
plant  which  you  had  begun  to  cherish  with  so 
much  care  has  been  happily  removed  from  all 
the  chilling  frosts  and  withering  blasts  of  this 
inferior  clime,  and  has  found  its  place  in  the 
garden  of  God  above,  there  to  drink  the  dews 
of  paradise,  and  to  flourish  in  unfading  beauty  ! 
It  is  a  settled,  undoubting,  delightful  serenity 
which  the  soul  enjoys  in  contemplating  the  de- 
parture of  little  children.  Think  of  what  the 
kind  and  gracious  Redeemer  said  of  them, 
when,  with  a  frown  on  those  who  would  have 
forbidden  their  being  brought  to  him,  and  a 
smile  of  ineffable  benignity  on  the  little  immor- 
tals themselves.  He  said  :  "  Suffer  the  little  chil- 
dren to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not : 
for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God  ;  "  and,  tak- 
ing them  up  in  His  arms,  He  blessed  them. 
Think,  then,  of  their  blessedness,  and  that 
will  soothe  your  grief. 


The  following  is  an  extract  from  an  unpub- 
lished letter,  addressed  by  Dr.  Wardlaw,  to 
his  daughter  and  her  husband,   the  Rev.  J. 


Infant  Salvation.  57 

Reid,  M.A.,  Bellary,  India,  on  the  death  of 
their  child,  in  1833  :  — 

With  regard  to  your  precious  little  darling, 
all  is  well.  He  is  not  lost,  —  not  lost  even  to 
you.  He  is  only  gone  home  before  you  ;  and 
in  the  everlasting  home  you  will  by  and  by 
find  him.  .  .  .  It  is  a  delightful  thought,  that  of 
having  part  of  ourselves  with  God  before  us. 
And  then  the  confidence  is  so  perfect,  so  en- 
tirely free  from  all  misgivings,  so  sweetly  tran- 
quil, unruffled  by  the  least  breath  of  doubt,  in 
regard  to  "little  children."  Did  not  you  hear 
the  compassionate  Redeemer  saying  to  you, 
as  He  was  loosing  the  band  of  life,  "  Suffer 
your  little  child  to  come  unto  me"?  He  said 
this  when  on  earth.  He  says  it  from  heaven, 
when  He  thus  takes  away  the  "babes  and 
sucklings  "  of  His  own  people's  fond  affections, 
that "  out  of  their  lips  "  He  may  "  perfect  praise  " 
above. 


REV.    DR.    ALEX.    MACLEOD,    BIRKENHEAD. 

"Your  little  ones,  which  je  said  would  be  a  prey,  and 
your  children,  which  in  that  day  had  no  knowledge  be- 
tween good  and  evil,  they  shall  go  in  thither."  — Deut.  i.  39. 

You  are  in  circumstances  to  welcome  light 
from  whatever  quarter  on  the  destiny  of  children 
dying  at  the  age  of  yours. 


58  Infant  Salvation. 

I  have  lying  before  me  the  analysis  of  an 
argument  from  Analogy  on  this  subject,  which 
made  a  great  impression  on  me  at  the  time  I 
first  saw  it,  and  may  be  of  use  to  you  at  present. 
The  argument  is  based  upon  the  admission  of 
children  into  the  promised  land. 

I  need  not  remind  you  that  there  is  an  anal- 
ogy between  the  land  which  was  once  the  land 
of  promise  to  the  Jews,  and  our  heavenly 
home.  From  that  land,  for  their  sins,  the 
fathers  were  excluded,  Caleb  and  Joshua 
alone  excepted.  But  of  the  children  it  is  said, 
^"They  shall  go  in  thither."  If  this  was  so 
in  the  case  of  the  earthly  Canaan ;  if  the  chil- 
dren of  parents,  who  themselves  were  exclud- 
ed, were  favored  in  this  way  ;  if  they  were  the 
subjects  of  mercy,  while  their  fathers  were  the 
objects  of  punitive  justice,  —  how  much  more 
may  we  expect  it  to  take  place  in  respect  to  the 
heavenly  Canaan?  The  point  here  is,  that  the 
exclusion  of  children  does  not  follow  the  exclu- 
sion of  parents.  If  it  did,  all  would  have 
been  excluded  except  the  children  of  Caleb 
and  Joshua. 

The  reason  assigned  by  God  for  this  proce- 
dure is  one  which  will  be  applicable  at  the 
day  of  judgment.  "  Your  children,  which  in 
that  day  had  no  knowledge  between  good  and 
evil,  they  shall  go  in."     It  is  true  they  were 


Infant  Salvation.  59 

living  when  their  fathers  rebelled  against  God  ; 
but  they  were  not  partakers  in  the  rebellion. 
In  the  day  of  provocation  they  were  gambolling 
about  the  green  fields  in  innocent  ignorance  of 
what  was  taking  place  :  they  were  not  yet  ca- 
pable of  distinguisliing  between  good  and  evil, 
and,  therefore,  they  were  not  excluded.  But 
since  we  are  speaking  of  the  dealings  of  the 
unchangeable  God,  we  may  safely  conclude 
that  He  will  acknowledge  the  force  of  the  same 
reasons  in  the  final  judgment.  The  infants 
who  die,  carry  with  them  towards  the  judgment 
throne  no  knowledge  of  good  or  evil-,  no  ex- 
perience of  the  bitterness  of  offending  God. 
And  they  will  not  be  involved  in  the  condem- 
nation of  the  wicked. 

If  you  next  consider  the  purposes  for  which 
children  were  admitted  into  Canaan,  you  will 
see  that  similar  purposes  require  fulfilment  in 
their  admission  into  heaven.  One  of  these 
purposes  is  referred  to  in  the  verse  quoted  at 
the  top  :  "Your  little  ones,  which  j/^  said  should 
be  a  -prey^  If  you  read  carefully  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  Numbers,  verses  1-3,  you  will  un- 
derstand the  force  of  the  rebuke.  Sin  had 
blotted  out  their  faith  in  God.  "Their  chil- 
dren were  sure  to  perish  !  "  They  themselves, 
too,  would  perish.  So  they  thought.  And 
they  were  indeed  to  perish.     But  the  helpless 


6o  Infant  Salvation. 

ones,  the  innocent,  the  unpartaking,  were  to  go 
free.  Now  the  admission  of  the  children  into 
Canaan,  after  the  expression  of  unbelief  on  the 
part  of  the  parents,  was  a  vindication  of  God's 
ways,  an  answer  to  the  unbelief  of  the  parents, 
and  a  perpetual  token  that  God  deals  with  in- 
fants on  the  ground  of  saving  mercy.  It  is  glori- 
ous to  think  that  God  is  preparing  a  reply  to  the 
doubts  and  disbeliefs  of  all  who  are  far  from 
Him,  by  a  similar  exercise  of  grace.  Sceptics, 
infidels,  heathens,  expect  nothing  for  their 
children  but  death,  temporal  and  eternal. 
How  will  they  be  amazed  when  they  discover, 
in  another  state,  that  God  has  been  better  than 
their  thoughts ;  and  although  they  (because 
of  their  sins)  are  excluded,  their  children  have 
been  admitted  into  His  presence.  —  Still  fur- 
ther, God  had  this  purpose  in  bringing  the  chil- 
dren into  Canaan,  that  they  should  advance 
His  standard  into  new  territory,  build  up  His 
kingdom,  and  be  the  organ  of  His  praise. 
Has  He  not  the  same  purpose  in  respect  of 
heaven  ?  He  chooses  not  to  be  alone  throughout 
eternity.  And  (blessed  prospect !)  from  the 
mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings  He  ordains  the 
strength  of  His  eternal  hallelujahs.  He  who 
could  raise  up  children  to  Abraham  from  the 
stones,  will  not  want  the  power  to  fill  heaven 
with  their  loving  and  delightful  songs. 


Infant   Salvation .  6l 


REV.    DR.   ALEX.   WALLACE,    GLASGOW. 

I  HAVE  often  been  struck  with  the  following 
passage  in  connection  with  the  subject  of  infant 
salvation  :  "  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and 
sucklings  hast  thou  ordained  strength  because 
of  thine  enemies,  that  thou  mightest  still  the 
enemy  and  the  avenger."  (Ps.  viii.  2.)  The 
enemy  and  the  avenger  referred  to  here  is, 
I  think,  Satan,  who  would  avenge  himself, 
if  he  could,  by  destroying  the  whole  human 
race.  But  his  revengeful  desires  have  been 
thwarted,  inasmuch  as  many  helpless  babes 
have  been  made  the  subjects  of  renewing 
grace.  More  than  this  :  I  suppose  the  majority 
of  our  race  die  in  infancy ;  these,  I  believe,  are 
all  lambs  of  the  "  Good  Shepherd,"  and  are 
taken  to  tlimself :  "for  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  God."  In  this  way  the  Father  of  mercy 
"ordains  strength,  stills  the  enemy  and  the 
avenger  ;  "  because,  in  the  salvation  of  infants, 
the  number  of  the  saved  is  greater  than  the 
lost.  Our  Saviour  quoted  this  ancient  oracle, 
when  the  children  sung  His  praises  in  the 
temple,  and  He  silenced  those  who  were  insti- 
gated by  the  "  enemy  and  the  avenger  "  to  find 
fault  with  the  children  and  their  songs.  Many 
children   now   sing  the  praises  of  the  "Good 


62  Infant  Salvation. 

Shepherd"  in  the  temple  above,  and  your  dear 
child  is  there,  too,  and  of  her  and  many  more 
are  the  ancient  words  true,  "  Out  of  the  mouth 
of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  thou  ordained 
strength." 


REV.    DR.   ROBERT   FERGUSON,    LONDON. 

As  partakers  of  a  fallen  nature,  children  are 
subject  to  disease  and  death.  Much  and  ten- 
derly as  we  love  them,  it  is  not  unfrequently 
that  we  are  called  to  follow  them  to  the  silence 
and  the  solitude  of  the  tomb.  More  than  one- 
third  of  the  race  die  in  infancy  and  childhood. 
What  is  their  final  condition  ?  This  is  a  ques- 
tion which  often  forces  itself  upon  the  thought 
of  Christian  parents,  and  which  more  or  less 
disturbs  their  inward  peace  and  quiet.  But 
hovv^  tranquillizing,  and  how  assuring,  are  the 
words  of  the  Saviour,  "  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  "  !  — as  if  to  intimate  that  heaven  is 
their  true  and  proper  home,  their  Father's 
house,  in  which  only  they  can  be  for  ever  safe 
and  happy.  Of  the  salvation  of  infants  there 
can  be  no  possible  doubt ;  for,  "  as  in  Adam  all 
die,    so    in    Christ    shall    all    be   made   alive." 


Infant  Salvation,  63 

Whatever  may  be  the  effects  involved  in  man's 
transgression,  these  are  all  provided  for  and 
removed  by  the  substitution  and  the  work 
of  Christ ;  so  that  if  there  were  no  personal 
sin  or  actual  guilt,  the  Saviour's  mediation 
would  result  in  the  salvation  of  the  whole  race. 
From  all  such  individual,  actual  guilt,  infants 
are  free  ;  and  the  atonement  insures  their  intro- 
duction into  the  family  of  God,  with  a  full 
participation  in  the  glory  of  the  world  to  come. 
But  myriads  of  children,  no  longer  within  the 
years  of  infancy,  are  permitted  to  light  up  our 
homes  with  their  smiling,  beaming  faces  for  a 
longer  or  shorter  period,  and  in  many  ways 
to  add  to  the  sum  of  our  earthly  joys,  and  yet 
are  taken  from  us  while  the  dew  of  youth  is 
upon  them,  and  sometimes  amid  the  first  and 
earliest  buddings  of  their  intellectual  develop- 
ment and  intelligence.  What  is  their  final 
condition?  It  is  impossible  to  fix  on  any  one 
uniform  age  in  a  child  as  the  point  at  which 
responsibility  begins ;  but  let  the  age  be  what 
it  may,  we  are  firm  in  the  belief  that  the  Spirit 
whom  the  Saviour  sent  to  glorify  Him,  and 
whose  office  it  is  to  take  of  the  things  which 
are  Christ's  and  show  them  to  us,  not  only 
enlightens  the  minds  of  these  little  ones  prior 
to  their  removal,  but  so  reveals  a  Saviour's 
love    to   them   and    in   them    as   to  draw  their 


64  Injant  Salvation. 

young  and  susceptible  hearts  into  union  and 
fellowship  with  Himself  here,  and  thus  prepare 
and  meeten  them  for  the  life  and  the  bliss  of  a 
higher  state.  If  in  all  things  Christ  is  to 
have  the  pre-eminence,  then  He  will  have 
the  pre-eminence  in  numbers.  The  saved 
will  far  outnumber  the  lost ;  and  among  these 
redeemed  and  glorified  ones,  those  whose  hearts 
have  been  least  defiled  by  actual  sin,  and  who 
are  most  susceptible  of  receiving  the  impression 
of  the  Saviour's  image,  will  occupy  a  con- 
spicuous place.  Just  as  a  single  dew-drop  can 
reflect  all  the  rays  of  the  sun,  so  the  mind  of  a 
child  can  take  on  and  reflect  the  likeness  of 
God:  "of  such  js  the  kingdom  of  God."  They 
are  there  in  myriad  throngs,  —  pure,  perfect, 
and  for  ever  blessed.  They  perfect  the  family 
of  God.  Their  presence  makes  that  home 
of  the  redeemed  all  the  brighter,  and  sunnier, 
and  more  attractive.  There  is  no  circle  into 
which  they  do  not  enter,  no  scene  in  which 
they  do  not  mingle,  and  no  service  in  which 
they  do  not  perform  their  part. 


Infant   Salvation.  65 


REV.    DR.   J.    LOGAN   AIKMAN,  GLASGOW. 

The  argument  for  infant  salvation  rests,  not 
on  isolated  passages,  but  on  the  genius  of  the 
Bible  and  its  economy  of  grace.  We  muse 
upon  the  mission  of  Christ  to  find  one  of  its 
principal  glories  in  glorified  infancy.  The 
inhabitants  of  Christian  and  Pagan  lands  shall 
be  judged  respectively  by  the  Gospel  and 
by  conscience,  but  to  neither  law  can  infants 
be  subject.  The  death  of  children  is  traceable 
to  the  sin  of  Adam,  and  their  glory  to  the 
righteousness  of  Christ.  The  only  view  which 
harmonizes  universal  scripture  is,  that  the  re- 
demption by  Christ  completely  covers  the  sin 
of  Adam,  that  adults  in  Bible  lands  are  judged 
according  to  their  faith  or  unbelief  in  the  Son 
of  God,  and  that  Christ's  covenant  with  His 
Father  carries  the  salvation  of  all  infants. 

There  is  an  intuitive  conviction  that  infants, 
who  have  not  fei'sonally  rejected  the  law  and 
love  of  God,  cannot  be  excluded  from  the 
kingdom,  and  that  they  are  as  fully  identified 
with  the  second  as  with  the  first  Adam.  There 
may  be  a  higher  degree  of  glory  given  to  some 
translated  infants  because  of  their  godly  parent- 
age.    But  the  soul  of  man  clings  to  the  thought 


66  hifant  Salvation. 

of  no  infant  being  lost  in  the  universe  of  that 
God,  whose  "  tender  mercies  are  ove;:  all  His 
works." 


REV.    DR.   EDWARD    STEANE,    LONDON. 

We  arrive  at  the  conclusion,  so  delightful  in 
itself,  and  so  consolatory  to  parents  in  the  hour 
of  bereavement,  that  their  precious  children 
whom,  in  the  sweetness  of  their  infantile  in- 
nocence, the  cold  hand  of  death  has  rifled  from 
their  bosoms,  are  translated  to  the  regions 
of  the  blest.  Those  delicate  flowers,  which 
the  rude  storms  of  our  inclement  atmosphere 
have  blighted,  unfold  in  eternal  fragrancy 
beneath  the  pleasant  beams  of  the  sun's  celes- 
tial glory.  Those  bright,  but  little  stars,  which 
to  us  seem  prematurely  quenched,  do  but  sink 
beneath  the  horizon  till,  with  new  lustre  and 
augmented  magnitude,  they  repair  their  dj'oop- 
ing  radiance,  and  "  P'lame  in  tlie  forehead  of 
the  morning  sky."  Those  gems,  more  precious 
than  pearls  or  rubies,  of  which  the  anguished 
mother  has  been  despoiled,  are  set  in  deeper 
brilliance  in  that  glorious  mediatorial  diadem 
which  encircles  the  Redeemer's  brow.  Those 
infantile  voices,  which  had  scarce  learnt  to  lisp 
His  name,  now  sing  in  lofty  descants,  "  Sal 


Infant  Salvation.  6^ 

v^ation  to  him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and 
to  the  Lamb."  Then  let  the  stricken  hearts 
of  parents,  whom  death  has  made  childless, 
no  longer  indulge  an  immoderate  grief.  Your 
beloved  and  lamented  offspring,  looking  down 
from  their  heavenly  spheres,  would  chide  your 
sorrow.  Among  the  ransomed  they  have  taken 
their  immortal  stations. 


REV.   DR.   WILLIAM   COOKE,  LONDON. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  incidents  of  the 
Redeemer's  life  aftbrds  to  the  question  of  infant 
salvation  a  most  decisive  and  satisfactory  solu- 
tion. There  stands  the  Incarnate  God  !  Truth 
beams  from  His  lips,  and  healing  power  radiates 
from  His  omnipotent  touch.  Mothers  in  Israel 
gather  around  Him,  and  anxiously  present 
their  children  for  His  benediction.  The  dis- 
ciples, ignorant  of  the  depth  and  tenderness 
of  His  sympathies,  and  knowing  as  yet  but 
little  of  the  benign  purpose  of  His  coming, 
rebuke  the  tender  women  for  their  intrusion, 
and  thrust  them  and  their  children  away  from 
His  presence.  But  He,  the  messenger  of 
truth,  and  the  procurer  of  life  and  salvation  for 
all,  bids  the   trembling  women  draw   near  to 


68  Iiifant   Salvation. 

Him,  and  welcomes  their  children  to  His  loving 
arms,  uttering  those  memorable  words,  "Suffer 
the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not :  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God." 
(Mark  x.  14.)  Nor  can  the  word  "  such  "  be 
frittered  down  to  mere  likeness  ;  and,  if  it  were, 
the  likeness  itself  would  indicate  a  fitness  for 
the  kingdom  ;  and  if  a  fitness,  a  title  thereto 
through  grace.  But  another  text  gives  the 
meaning  of  the  word  a  direct  personal  appli- 
cation to  children  themselves  as  such  :  "  Take 
heed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones 
[little  children  being  then  in  His  presence]  : 
for  I  say  unto  you  that  in  heaven  their  angels 
do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father  which 
is  in  heaven."  (Matt,  xviii.  10.)  These  plain 
and  striking  words  settle  for  ever  the  question 
of  infant  salvation.  In  heaven  the  little  ones 
are  angels,  blessed  spirits,  dwelling  in  God's 
immediate  presence,  beholding  His  face,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  light  of  His  countenance. 

Parents,  wipe  away  your  tears:  your  little 
ones  are  safe.  Though  severed  from  your 
embrace,  they  are  received  into  the  embraces 
of  Him  who  died  for  them  and  rose  again. 
Lift  up  your  eyes  then  from  the  gloomy  sepul- 
chre to  the  radiant  throne,  and  there  behold 
them  resplendent  in  robes  of  purity,  and  exul- 
tant in  the  bliss  of  the  Divine  presence.     Pre- 


hifant   Salvation.  69 

pare  to  meet  them  in  that  bright  world,  where 
the  parting  tear  shall  never  be  shed,  and  the 
sad  farewell  shall  never  be  heard.  Meanwhile 
be  unceasingly  careful  to  train  your  surviving 
offspring  to  a  meetness  for  that  blessed  inheri- 
tance, that  at  the  last  day,  when  standing 
in  His  glorious  presence,  you  may  say  re- 
specting both  them  and  yourselves,  "Here, 
Lord,  are  we,  and  the  children  Thou  hast 
given  us." 


DR.    CHALMERS. 

I  CANNOT  believe  that  the  Saviour,  who 
evinced  such  attachment  to  children  upon 
earth,  who  took  them  in  His  arms  and  blessed 
them,  who  rebuked  the  apostles  for  forbidding 
their  approach  to  His  person,  who  declared 
that  "of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  —  1 
cannot  believe  that  the  infant  flower,  which  so 
soon  lies  withered  upon  its  stalk,  is  not  trans- 
planted into  those  unfading  bowers  where  it 
will  flourish  in  all  the  bloom  and  vigor  of 
immortality. 


yo  Itifant  Salvation. 


REV.   DR.    CANDLISH,   EDINBURGH. 

In  many  ways  it  may  be  inferred  from 
Scripture,  that  all  dying  in  infancy  are  elect, 
and  are  therefore  saved. 


REV.   DR.   LAWSON,    SELKIRK. 

This  venerated  divine  says,  in  his  "Reflec- 
tions on  the  Death  of  a  Beloved  Daughter,"  — 
He  will  compensate  all  her  sorrows  in  that 
land  where  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee 
away.  Sweet  hope !  Let  no  man  attempt 
to  bereave  me  of  it.  It  is  founded  on  the 
Scriptures,  on  the  mercy  of  God,  and  on 
the  exceedingly  abundant  grace  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  I  will  not  renounce  this  hope. 
It  appears  to  me  to  be  founded  on  the  sure 
word  of  God. 


JEREMY    TAYLOR. 

Why  should  Jesus  be  an  Infant,  but  that 
I  infants  should  receive  the  crown  of  their  age, 
I     the   purification    of  their   sainted   nature,   the 


In/an t  Salvation .  7  ^ 

sanctification  of  their  persons,  and  the  saving 
of  their  souls  by  their  infant  Lord  and  Elder 
Brother. 


EVANS. 

Your  heavenly  Father  never  thought  this 
world's  painted  glory  a  gift  worthy  of  you, 
and  therefore  He  hath  taken  out  the  best  thing 
it  had  in  your  sight  that  He  might  Himself 
fill  the  heart  He  had  wounded  with  Himself. 


REV.  JOHN    NEWTON. 

I  AM  willing  to  believe,  till  the  Scripture 
forbids  me,*  that  infants  of  all  nations  arid 
kindreds,  without  exception,  who  die  before 
they  are  capable  of  sinning  "  after  the  simili- 
tude of  Adam's  transgression,"  who  have  done 
nothing  in  the  body  of  which  they  can  give 
account,  are  included  in  the  election  of  grace ; 
and  that  the  words  of  our  Lord  with  respect 
to  another  class  of  persons,  are  applicable  to 
them  :  "  It  is  not  the  will  of  your  Father  in 
heaven  that  one  of  these  little  ones  should 
perish." 


CONSOLATION. 


PARENTAL    ANXIETY    REMOVED    BY    THE 
EARLY    DEATH    OF    CHILDREN. 

Rev.   Dr.  John    Macfarlane,   London. 

'T^HE  ardent  love  you  have  for  your  chil- 
■*■  dren  is  not  altogether  pleasurable.  It 
necessarily  carries  you  into  many  anxious 
thoughts  about  their  welfare.  In  this  sense, 
they  are  a  burden  to  you,  and  this  burden 
becomes  all  the  heavier  the  more  you  love 
them.  Your  own  experience  of  this  world 
has  not  exalted  it,  as  a  place  of  residence,  in 
your  estimation.  You  have  tested  its  prom- 
ises, and  found  them  false  and  vain.  You 
have  tasted  its  pleasures,  and  found  that  they 
"bite  like  a  serpent,  and  sting  like  an  adder." 
You  have  groaned  under  its  pains  and  penal- 
ties, and  you  have  found  out  that  help  from 
man  is  in  vain,  and  that  miserable  comforters 


Consolation.  73 

are  all  that  crowd  around  you  in  the  night 
seasons  of  your  soul,  and  sore  disquietudes. 
You,  therefore,  tremble  when  you  think  of 
your  darling  infants  living  to  be  cast  upon 
such  revolutionary  periods  in  the  troubled  life 
of  man,  wherein,  though  they  may  preserve 
their  integrity,  they  must  endure  hardships, 
but  in  which,  also,  they  may  lose  their  precious 
souls  for  ever.  Their  futurity,  then,  is  at  once 
your  main  difficulty,  and  your  most  fertile 
source  of  anxious  foreboding.  Now,  has  not 
their  early  death  solved  this  difficulty  for  you, 
and  ought  it  not,  therefore,  also  to  be  your 
consolation?  You  will  never  have  any  more 
anxiety  on  their  account.  The  various  hid- 
ing-places in  your  hearts,  from  which  these 
anxieties  spring  upon  you,  have  been 
searched,  and  by  death  have  been  completely 
emptied. 

Their  Education  is  completed.  —  They 
"know  as  they  are  known."  Your  utmost 
wish  in  this  respect  was  to  give  them,  if  not  a 
learned,  at  least  a  useful  education.  But  God 
has  been  better  than  your  wish.  They  are 
now  in  knowledge  far  beyond  the  most  splen- 
did scholars  and  most  profound  philosophers 
of  this  and  of  every  age.  Their  intellectual 
stature  is  only  to  be  accounted  small  when 
compared  with  the  wisdom   of  God   Himself. 


74  .  Consolation, 

Neither  before  angels,  nor  the  spirits  of  the  just 
made  perfect,  have  they  to  veil  their  faces. 

Their  Holiness  is  perfected.  —  Not  one 
of  the  infirmities  they  inherited  from  you  now 
appertains  to  them,  they  are  "holy  as  God  is 
holy."  Did  you  tremble  at  the  thought  of 
their  exposure  to  the  temptations  of  Satan  and 
the  flesh?  Be  assured  now  that  they  are 
"more  than  conquerors  through  Him  that 
loved  them."  Exquisitely  beautiful  now  are 
those  dear  creatures  in  all  the  graces  of  the 
family  of  God.  Their  thoughts,  their  desires, 
their  actions,  are  at  this  moment  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  mind  of  the^  Holy  One  of 
Israel.  The  same  mind  that  is  in  Christ  is  in 
them ;  they  do  the  will  of  their  heavenly 
Father,  and  He  is  pleased  with  them  every 
moment,  and  every  moment  delights  their 
happy  souls  with  His  approving  smile. 

Their  Happiness  is  consummated. — You 
were  not  at  ease  as  to  measures  for  their  future 
provision,  and  even  with  respect  to  the  most 
likely  ones,  you  feared  that  they  might  fail. 
To  make  them  comfortable  for  life  you  are 
ready  to  sacrifice  much,  and  you  never  wea- 
ried in  efforts  to  secure  for  them  an  honorable 
independence.  Their  futurity  was  upon  your 
minds  all  the  day,  and  oft  took  from  you  the 
sleep  of  all  the  night.     Surely,  then,  you  may 


Consolation,  75 

cease  from  lamentation,  when  you  are  certified 
that,  as  they  shall  sin  no  more,  so  neither  shall 
they  suffer  any  more.  They  are  as  happy 
now  as  they  can  be.  God  has  provided  for 
them  in  heaven.  They  are  now  inheriting  the 
promises.  They  are  now  in  actual  possession 
and  enjoyment  of  "that  inheritance  which  is 
incorruptible  and  undeliled,  and  that  fadeth 
not  away."  Within  them  is  a  "  well  of  water 
springing  up  into  everlasting  life ; "  without 
them  is  the  perennial  flow  of  the  river  of  life ; 
above  them  is  the  unclouded  sun  of  God's  favor  ; 
and  around  them  are  gathered  the  inexhausti- 
ble fountains  of  celestial  bliss.  They  are  so 
happy  now  that  they  are  for  ever  singing. 
And  if  ever  there  should  be  a  "  Selah  "  to  their 
song,  it  is  only  to  draw  in  a  larger  inspiration 
for  a  more  melodious  burst  of  praise.  They 
would  not  return  to  you  now,  much  though 
they  loved  you  and  you  them.  They  do  not 
miss  you  now,  much  though  you  miss  them. 
Your  sorrows  do  not  diminish  their  joys,  and 
their  joys  ought  to  diminish  your  sorrows.  Oh, 
who  would  bring  them  back  again  here^  to  toil, 
and  sweat,  and  suffer,  and,  perhaps,  to  sin 
without  penitence,  and  to  die  without  faith? 
You,  O  weeping  parent,  ought  to  be  the  very 
last  to  think  of  it,  and  yours  should  ever  be  the 
song  of  gratitude. 


76  Consolation, 


RECOGNITION    AFTER    THE    RESURRECTION. 
Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  Anderson,  Glasgow. 

How  different  in  character  will  be  the  meet- 
ing after  the  resurrection  !  when  that  grave, 
feared  as  a  destroyer,  shall  be  demonstrated,  as 
made  of  Christ,  the  regenerator  of  our  friends  — 
rendering  back  in  incorruption  that  which  it  re- 
ceived in  corruption,  in  glory  that  which  it 
received  in  dishonor,  in  power  that  which  it 
received  in  weakness,*  a  spiritual  body,  lit  as 
a  tabernacle  for  the  glorified  soul,  that  which 
it  received  a  natural  body,  an  impediment  to 

*  In  the  inscription  on  the  tombstone  of  mj  child,  I 
have  thus  paraphrased  the  Scripture,  "  Sown  in  Infancy, 
he  shall  be  raised  in  Manhood."—  When  once  comforting 
a  bereaved  saint  with  the  assurance  that  she  was  the 
mother  of  a  heavenly  family,  and  that  she  would  yet  see 
her  children  in  the  kingdom,  she  inquired  what  I  thought 
they  would  be  like.  I  quoted  i  Cor.  xv.  43  to  her.  "  Does 
that  mean,"  she  said,  "that  they  will  appear  like  meji  f" 
I  answered,  "I  thought  many  interpretations  were  further 
from  the  truth."  "  I  like  that  well  enough,"  she  replied, 
"but,  oh,  that  it  might  please  the  Lord  to  show  them  to 
me,  just  as  they  were  in  this  world,  though  it  should  be 
but  for  a  minute !  "  —  On  the  subject  of  the  mode  of  rec- 
ognition, I  remark,  that  there  are  phenomena  being  daily 
exhibited,  which  make  it  no  fantasy  to  suppose,  that  the 
ardent  wish  of  a  mother's  heart  going  forth  over  the  king- 
dom may  have  an  attractive  influence  in  selecting  and 
bringing  her  child  to  her  side. 


Consolation.  77 

its  exercises.  Hosannah  to  the  Lord  of  Resur- 
rection for  this  blessed  hope  !  Yea,  so  over- 
whelming is  its  glory,  that  it  is  like  to  obscure 
our  faith.  How  shall  the  mother  recognize 
her  son,  who  departed  from  her  an  emaciated 
infant,  in  yonder  angelic  form  in  the  vigor 
and  brilliancy  of  resurrection  manhood  ?  And 
how  shall  the  father,  who  wept  bitter  tears  in 
secret  over  his  daughter's  decrepitude,  distin- 
guish her  in  yonder  seraph  of  celestial  grace? 
What  mean  you,  friends?  You  surely  cannot 
wish  to  meet  your  children  in  that  plight  of 
wretchedness  in  which  you  bade  them  farewell, 
so  that,  unassisted,  you  could  of  yourselves 
recognize  them.  The  Lord  will  provide;  but 
methinks  it  will,  probably,  be  a  busy  day  for 
those  good  angels  who  ministered  to  us  on 
earth,  finding  us  out  for  one  another,  and  in- 
troducing us.  Remembering  how  they  had 
seen  us  grieve  for  one  another,  how  sympathet- 
ically they  will  enjoy  the  scene,  as  we  stand 
amazed  for  a  while  at  one  another's  glory  be- 
fore we  embrace  ! 

How  many  parents  there  are,  who  have 
almost  entirely  forgotten  those  of  their  children 
who  died  in  infancy  ;  and  who,  being  inquired 
at  about  the  number  of  their  family,  will,  so 
unlike  that  sweet  faithful  child  who  so  reso- 
lutely maintained  "we  are  seven,"  give  account 


7  8  Consolation. 

only  of  those  who  live, — the  least  worthy  of 
being  reckoned  !  Faithless  father  and  mother, 
that  you  are !  amid  all  your  rapture,  how 
ashamed  you  shall  be  of  your  forgetfulness, 
when  these  neglected  ones  are  restored  to  you, 
so  beautiful  and  glorious ;  and  especially 
when,  under  that  angel-guidance,  they  hasten 
with  such  excitement  to  meet  with  those  of 
whom  they  are  told,  that  under  the  Creator 
they  were  the  authors  of  their  existence ! 
Nor  will  it  be  with  little  excitement  that  they 
hasten  to  meet  j/^??^,  their  brothers  and  sisters, 
with  whom  they  may  associate  and  worship, 
as  being  more  of  their  own  nature  than  any 
others  to  be  found  in  all  the  kingdom.  The 
whole  of  you  —  brothers  and  sisters,  as  well 
as  parents  —  meditate  on  them  ;  the  thought  is 
most  sanctifying :  it  endears  the  Redeemer 
with  peculiar  attraction  to  a  tender  heart ; 
and,  remember,  there  are  no  hearts  great 
which  are  not  tender. 


A   WORD    OF    WARNING    TO    MOTHERS 
Rev.   Dr.  Wm.  Anderson,   Glasgow. 

The  Psalmist  sa3's  of  God,  "  There  is  none 
upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside  Thee,"  speak- 
ing  evidently,   comparatively,    and   signifying 


Consolation.  79 

that  among  many  objects  desired,  God  received 
the  supreme  place.  This  is  a  subject  of 
familiar  illustration.  But  David  said  some- 
thing before  that:  "Whom  have  I  in  heaven- 
but  Thee?"  Ah,  let  the  bereaved  mother  be 
admonished.  If  the  vision  of  her  child  in 
heaven  be  more  frequent,  and  more  endeared 
to  her  heart  than  the  vision  of  the  child's 
Saviour;  and  much  more,  if  the  vision  of  the 
former  so  engross  her  heart  as  to  exclude  the 
vision  of  the  latter  altogether,  —  I  must  assure 
her  that  heavenly-mindedness  such  as  this  will 
not  promote  that  heavenly  meeting  on  which 
her  hope  is  set.  Her  first  object  of  admiring 
contemplation  in  heaven  must  be  her  own 
Saviour ;  and  her  great  hope  must  be,  meet- 
ing with  Him,  and  seeing  Him  in  his  glory, 
before  any  meditation  on  the  present  happi- 
ness of  her  deceased  child  be  of  a  sanctifying 
character ;  and  before  any  hope  of  meeting 
again  with  that  child  in  heavenly  bliss  be  a 
hope  not  to  be  disappointed.  I  would  ex- 
press myself  tenderty,  when  it  is  a  bereaved 
mother's  heart  which  is  addressed ;  but  would 
it  be  genuine  tenderness  if  it  were  delusive, 
flattering  unfaithfulness?  Hope  first  in  Christ 
for  yourself,  and  then  hope,  not  for  your 
child's  salvation  (that  is  secure),  but  that  you 
shall  enjoy  companionship  wdth  Him  in  glory. 


8o  Consolation, 

RESTORATION    OF    CHILDREN    IN    HEAVEN. 
Rev.  Dr.  John    Brown,   Edinburgh. 

With  what  delight  will  parents,  themselves 
released  from  the  captivity  of  the  grave, 
behold  their  early-lost,  long-mourned  children 
coming  forth,  not  the  pale,  emaciated,  lifeless, 
ghastly  forms  they  reluctantly  committed  to 
the  grave,  but  strong  in  incorruptibility,  glori- 
ous in  beauty,  "  fashioned  like  unto  Christ's 
glorious  body."  Then  shall  it  appear  to  the 
assembled  universe,  that  among  the  redeemed 
of  the  Lord,  fathers  have  not  hoped  in  vain, 
nor  mothers  brought  forth  for  trouble.  "  They 
are  the  seed  of  the  blessed  of  the  Lord,  and 
their  offspring  with  them." 

But  it  will  be  long,  long  ere  they  return. 
The  captivity  of  death  is  measured,  not  by 
years,  but  by  ages.  What  then?  It  is  but 
the  few,  it  may  be  the  very  few,  remaining 
days  of  the  years  of  our  pilgrimage,  which 
prevent  our  spirits  from  embracing  theirs ;  and 
in  the  resting-places  prepared  for  us,  though 
we  shall  not  cease  to  desire,  we  shall  never 
weary  for  "the  adoption,  the  redemption  of 
the  body."  "  Be  patient,  brethren,  unto  the 
coming  of  the  Lord,  Behold,  the  husbandman 
waiteth  for  the  precious  fruit  of  the  earth,  and 


Consolation.         ,  8l 

hath  long  patience  for  it,  until  he  receive  the 
early  and  latter  rain.  Be  ye  also  patient; 
and  stablish  your  hearts."  Then  "those  young 
and  tender  plants,  which  are  now  cut  down, 
and  withering  around  us,  shall  spring  up  in 
fairer  and  more  durable  forms."  "The  chil- 
dren of  the  resurrection  cannot  die  any  more, 
but  are  equal  to  the  angels." 

Having  been  raised  from  the  dead,  they  shall 
"mount  up  together  in  the  clouds,"  along  with 
those  who  have  been  miraculously  changed, 
"  to  meet  the  Lord  in  the  air :  and  so  shall 
they  ever  be  with  the  Lord."  Among  that 
glorious  company  shall  be  found  those  infants 
and  little  children  whose  untimely  departure 
to  "  the  land  of  the  enemy "  drew  forth  such 
tender  regrets  and  bitter  tears.  They  shall 
not  only  "return,"  but  "come  to  Zion,  with 
songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads  : 
they  shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sorrow 
and  sighing  shall  flee  away."  They  shall  not 
only  leave  for  ever  the  dark  and  lonesome 
abodes  of  death,  but  they  shall  for  ever  dwell 
in  the  cheerful  regions  of  perfect  life,  and  light, 
and  joy.  They  shall  not  only  be  brought  from 
the  land  of  the  enemy,  but  they  shall  be 
"brought  in  and  be  planted  in  the  mountain 
of  Jehovah's  inheritance,  in  the  place  which 
He  has  made  for  Himself  to  dwell  in,  in  the 
6 


82  Consolation. 

sanctuary  which  His  hand  has  estabHshed." 
There  "Jehovah-Jesus  shall  reign  for  ever  and 
ever,"  and  there  "they  shall  reign  with  Him." 
The  long  silence  of  the  grave  shall  be  ex- 
changed for  the  ceaseless  ever-new  songs  of 
Moses  and  the  Lamb.  "Sing  unto  the  Lord, 
for  He  hath  triumphed  gloriously.  Who  is 
like  unto  Jehovah  among  the  gods?  Who 
is  like  unto  Him,  glorious  in  holiness,  fearful 
in  praises,  doing  wonders?  He  has  ransomed 
us  from  the  power  of  the  grave.  He  has 
redeemed  us  from  death.  He  has  swallowed 
up  death  in  life.  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting? 
O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory?  Thanks  be  to 
Him  who  has  given  us  the  victory.  Salvation 
to  our  God  and  to  the  Lamb,  for  ever  and  ever. 
To  Him  who  loved  us,  and  washed  us  from 
our  sins  in  His  own  blood  ;  to  Him  be  glory 
and  honor  for  ever  and  ever.  Worthy  is  the 
Lamb  that  was  slain,  slain  for  us.  Hallelujah  ! " 
And  again  and  again  the  great  multitude,  with 
a  voice  as  of  many  waters  and  mighty  thun- 
derings,  shall  shout  "  Hallelujah  !  "  And  none 
in  all  the  happy  company  will  sing  more 
sweetly  than  the  little  children. 

Then,  indeed,  shall  be  brought  to  pass  the 
saying  that  is  written,  "Out  of  the  mouth 
of  babes  and  sucklings  thou  hast  perfected 
praise." 


Consolation .  83 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  RADIATES  AROUND  THE  IN- 
FANT'S  TOMB. 

Rev.   Dr.    Chalmers,   Edinburgh. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  Dr.  Chal- 
mers's   Lectures    on    the    Romans,    chap.    iv. 

9-15  ;  — 

This  affords,  we  think,  something  more  than 
a  dubious  glimpse  into  the  question  that  is 
often  put  by  a  distracted  mother  when  her  babe 
is  taken  away  from  her,  when  all  the  converse 
it  ever  had  with  the  world  amounted  to  the 
gaze  upon  it  of  a  few  months,  or  a  few  opening 
smiles  which  marked  the  dawn  of  felt  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  ere  it  had  reached  perhaps  the  lisp 
of  infancy,  it,  all  unconscious  of  death,  had 
to  wrestle  through  a  period  of  sickness  with 
his  power,  and  at  length  to  be  overcome  by 
him.  Oh,  it  little  knew  what  an  interest  it  had 
created  in  that  home  where  it  was  so  passing 
a  visitant ;  nor,  when  carried  to  its  early  grave, 
what  a  tide  of  emotion  it  would  raise  among 
the  few  acquaintance  it  left  behind  I  On  it, 
too,  baptism  was  impressed  as  a  seal,  while  as 
a  sign  it  was  never  falsified.  There  was  no 
positive  unbelief  in  its  little  bosom  ;  no  resist- 
ance yet  put  forth  to  the  truth  ;  no  love  at  all 
for  the  darkness  rather  than  the  light ;  nor  had 


84  Consolation, 

it  yet  fallen  into  that  great  condemnation  which 
will  attach  to  all  who  perish  because  of  unbelief, 
that  their  deeds  are  evil.  It  is  interesting  to 
know  that  God  instituted  circumcision  for  the 
infant  children  of  Jews,  and  at  least  suffered 
baptism  for  the  infant  children  of  those  who 
profess  Christianity.  Should  the  child  die  in 
infancy,  the  use  of  baptism  as  a  sign  has  never 
been  thwarted  by  it ;  and  may  we  not  be  per- 
mitted to  indulge  a  hope  so  pleasing,  as  that 
the  use  of  baptism  as  a  seal  remains  in  all 
its  entireness,  —  that  He  who  sanctioned  the 
affixing  of  it  to  a  babe  will  fulfil  upon  it 
the  whol-e  expression  of  this  ordinance?  And 
when  we  couple  with  this  the  known  disposition 
of  our  great  Forerunner  —  the  love  that  He 
manifested  to  cliildren  on  earth — how  He  suf- 
fered them  to  approach  His  person  —  and  lav- 
ishing endearment  and  kindness  upon  them  in 
the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  told  His  disciples  that 
the  presence  and  company  of  such  as  these  in 
heaven  formed  one  ingredient  of  the  joy  that 
was  set  before  Him  —  tell  us  if  Christianity  do 
not  throw  a  pleasing  radiance  around  an 
infant's  tomb?  And  should  any  parent  who 
hears  us  feel  softened  by  the  touching  remem- 
brance of  a  light  that  twinkled  a  few  short 
months  under  his  roof,  and  at  the  end  of  its 
little  period  expired,  we  cannot  think  that  we 


Consolation.  85 

venture  too  far  when  we  say  that  he  has  only 
to  persevere  in  the  faith,  and  in  the  following 
of  the  gospel,  and  that  very  light  will  again 
shine  upon  him  in  heaven.  The  blossom  which 
withered  here  upon  its  stalk  has  been  trans- 
planted there  to  a  place  of  endurance,  and  it 
will  then  gladden  that  eye  which  now  weeps 
out  the  agony  of  an  affection  that  has  been 
sorely  wounded ;  and  in  the  name  of  Him, 
who,  if  on  earth,  would  have  wept  along  with 
them,  do  we  bid  all  believers  present  to  sorrow 
not  even  as  others  which  have  no  hope,  but  to 
take  comfort  in  the  thought  of  that  country 
where  there  is  no  sorrow  and  no  separation. 

"  Oh,  when  a  mother  meets  on  high 
The  babe  she  lost  in  infancy, 
Hath  she  not  then,  for  pains  and  fears  — 
The  day  of  woe,  the  watchful  night  — 
For  all  her  sorrow,  all  her  tears  — 
An  over-payment  of  delight?  "     ' 


JOHN   BROWN  AND    HIS   LITTLE   GRAVES. 
David   Pae,   Edinburgh. 

In  the  churchyard,  and  in  matters  connected 
with  it,  John  Brown  seemed  quite  a  different 
man  from  what  he  was  anywhere  else.  Genial, 
free,  and  hearty  in  his  own  house  and  the 
village,  he  was  grave  and  taciturn  in  the  dis- 


.  8&  Consolation . 

charge  of  his  funeral  duties,  and  watched  over 
the  place  of  tombs  with  a  jealous  care.  This 
part  of  his  character  no  one  could  read  but  the 
parish  minister :  he  alone  had  the  key  to  it. 
The  secret,  however,  was  this.  The  deepest 
affections  of  his  soul  centred  on  the  enclosed 
two  acres,  which  he  had  tended  for  twenty 
years.  He  regarded  it  with  a  pride  and  even 
a  love,  as  great  as,  and  very  similar  to,  that 
with  which  an  enthusiastic  gardener  looks 
upon  his  domain,  and  cherishes  its  floral 
treasures.  Every  new-made  grave  was  to  John 
like  a  flower  which  he  had  planted,  and  it  was 
added  in  his  memory  to  the  many  hundreds 
which  covered  the  surface  of  the  enclosure  ;  to 
be  thought  of  and  cherished  according  to  the 
degee  of  respect  and  reverence  which  the  sexton 
had  for  its  inmate.  As  a  gardener  has  his 
favorite  flowers,  so  John  had  his  favorite  graves, 
and  spent  additional  time  on  their  adornment. 
Hence  one  grave  might  be  seen  with  a  smooth 
velvet  turf,  and  a  flower  or  two  blooming  upon 
it,  while  those  surrounding  it  were  covered 
with  rank  masses  of  grass  ;  thus,  by  looking  at 
any  one  grave,  it  could  be  known  what  was  the 
state  of  John's  feelings  towards  the  mouldering 
dust  beneath.  His  professional  love  was  par- 
ticularly lavished  on  the  little  ones.  For  the 
children's  graves   he  had  a  peculiar  affection 


Consolation,  87 

and  reverence.  Not  one  of  them  was  suffered 
to  go  to  waste ;  and  long  after  the  little  mound 
had  'disappeared,  the  small  level  spot  was 
easily  found  by  patches  of  white  clover,  —  for 
John  invariably  sowed  this  on  the  little  graves, 
and  on  none  other.  Mr.  Gray  had  not  been 
long  minister  of  the  parish  till  he  noticed  the 
odd  practice  of  his  grave-digger  ;  and  one  day 
when  he  came  upon  John  smoothing  and  trim- 
ming the  lowly  bed  of  a  child  which  had  been 
buried  a  few  days  before,  he  asked  him  why 
he  was  so  particular  in  dressing  and  keeping 
the  graves  of  the  children.  John  paused  for  a 
moment  at  his  work,  and  looking  up,  not  at 
the  minister,  but  at  the  sky,  said,  "  Of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  And  on  this  account  you  tend  and  adorn 
them  with  so  much  care,"  remarked  the  minis- 
ter, who  was  greatly  struck  with  the  reply. 

"Surely,  sir,"  answered  John,  "I  canna 
make  ower  braw  and  fine  the  bed-coverin'  o' 
a  little  innocent  sleeper  that  is  waitin'  there 
tiLl  it  is  God's  time  to  wauken  it  and  cover  it 
with  the  white  robe,  and  waft  it  away  to  glory. 
When  sic  grandeur  is  awaitin'  it  yonder,  it's 
fit  it  should  be  decked  oot  here.  I  think  the 
Saviour  that  counts  its  dust  sae  precious  will 
like  to  see  the  white  clover  sheet  sfread 
abune't;  dae  ye  no  think  sae  tae,  sir?" 


88  Consolation . 

"But  why  not  thus  cover  larger  graves?" 
asked  the  minister,  hardly  able  to  suppress 
his  emotion.  ''The  dust  of  all  His  saints  is 
precious  in  the  Saviour's  sight." 

"Very  true,  sir,"  responded  John,  with  great 
solemnity,  "but  I  canna  be  sure  wha  are  his 
saints  and  wha  are  no.  I  hope  there  are 
mony  o'  them  lyin'  in  this  kirkyard ;  but  it 
wad  be  great  presumption  in  me  to  mark  them 
oot.  There  are  some  that  I'm  gey  sure  aboot, 
and  I  keep  their  graves  as  nate  and  snod  as  I 
can,  and  plant  a  bit  floure  here  and  there  as  a 
sign  o'  my  hope ;  but  I  daurna  gie  them  the 
white  sheet.  It's  clean  different,  tho',  wi'  the 
bairns.  We  hae  His  ain  word  for  their  up- 
going,  and  sae  I  canna  mak'  an  error  there. 
Some  folk,  I  believe,  are  bauld  enough  to  say 
that  it's  only  the  infants  of  the  guid  that  will 
be  saved." 

"And  do  you  adhere  to  that  doctrine?" 
inquired  Mr.  Gray. 

John  answered  by  pointing  to  a  little  patch 
a  few  paces  off,  which  was  thickly  covered 
with  clover, 

"That  ane,"  he  said,  "is  the  bairn  o' Tarn 
Lutton,  the  collier.     Ye  ken  Tam,  sir?" 

Mr.  Gray  did,  indeed,  know  Tam,  for  he 
was  the  rnost  notorious  swearer,  liar,  and 
drunkard   in   the   parish ;    and  John    did   not 


Consolation,  89 

require  to  say  any  more  to  show  that  he  dis- 
believed the  doctrine  of  the  condemnation  of 
infants. 

"It's  no  only  cruel  and  blasphemous,"  he 
continued,  in  a  dry,  sarcastic  way,  "but  it's 
quite  absurd.  Jist  tak'  that  bairn  o'  Tarn's  as 
an  example.  According  to  their  belief  it's 
lost ;  because  we  may,  without  ony  breach  o' 
charity,  say  that  Tam  is  at  present  a  repro- 
bate. But  he  is  still  in  the  place  of  hope,  sir ; 
and  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  be  con- 
verted. What  comes  o'  the  bairn  then?  Na, 
na,"  he  added,  looking  reverently  upward, 
"God  is  merciful,  and  Jesus  died;  and  it  was 
He  that  said,  *  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.'" 

Mr.  Gray  was  much  struck  by  the  deep 
feeling  and  fervent  piety  manifested  by  the 
grave-digger,  and  thought  he  would  extract 
more  of  his  ideas  regarding  the  subject  on 
which  they  had  been  speaking.  For  this  pur- 
pose he  pointed  to  the  little  grave  which  John 
was  trimming  so  neatly,  and,  knowifig  it  to  be 
that  of  a  still-born  child,  he  observed,  — 

"Is  it  not  mysterious,  John,  that  the  little 
human  form  lying  there  should  not  have  been 
permitted  to  cross  the  porch  of  existence?  I 
saw  it  as  it  lay  so  still  and  beautiful  in  its 
snowy  robe,  and  as  I  noticed  its  perfect  form, 


po  Consolation, 

with  every  organ  and  every  limb  complete,  I 
was  almost  tempted  to  ask  why  God  had  made 
such  a  beautiful  temple  in  vain." 

"  ^  In  vain  ! '  say  ye,"  returned  John.  "  Na, 
no  in  vain.  God  mak's  naething  in  vain,  far 
less  a  form  like  that  in  His  ain  image.  Omni- 
potent as  He  is,  and  infinite  in  His  perfections. 
He  canna  afford  tae  fashun  sic  a  glorious 
object  only  that  worms  might  prey  on  it.  The 
little  marble  image  lying  below  this  sod  is  as 
great  a  thing  as  ever  God  made  on  this  earth. 
Adam,  when  he  rose  up  frae  the  green  sward 
o'  Eden,  wasna  mair  physically  perfect.  He 
was  bigger,  nae  doot,  but  nae  better  formed ; 
and  was  the  ane  made  in  vain  ony  mair  than 
the  ither?  Na,  na,  na !  The  bairnie,  puir 
lamme,  '11  ken  naething  o'  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows, the  sunshine  and  shadow  o'  this  life ; 
but  he'll  be  a  pure,  unsullied  sharer  o'  the  life 
that  is  ayont  this,  and  higher  than  this  :  for  I 
aye  cast  anchor  on  the  blessed  words  spoken 
by  the  Redeemer  o'  men  and  infants,  '  Of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ; '  and  whan  I  think 
o'  a  still-born  wean,  I  think  o'  a  human  being, 
made,  no  for  time,  but  for  immoi'tality  '^ 

The  minister  took  John's  hand,  and  silently 
pressed  it.  He  had  got  the  key  to  his  deeper 
nature,  and  was  thrilled  by  its  unexpected 
richness. 


Consolation, 


91 


"  IS  IT  WELL  WITH   THE   CHILD  ? » 

Rev.  C.  H.  Spurgeon,  London. 

"  Is  it  well  with  the  child?     And  she  answered,  It  is  well." 

Now,  let  every  mother  and  father  here 
present  know  assuredly  that  it  is  well  with  the 
child,  if  God  hath  taken  it  away  from  you  in 
its  infant  days.  You  never  heard  its  declaration 
of  faith ;  it  was  not  capable  of  such  a  thing, 
it  was  not  baptized  into  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
not  buried  with  him  in  baptism  ;  it  was  not 
capable  of  giving  that  "  answer  of  a  good 
conscience  toward  God;"  nevertheless,  you 
may  rest  assured  that  it  is  well  with  the 
child,  well  in  a  higher  and  better  sense  than  it 
is  well  with  yourselves  ;  well  without  limitation, 
well  without  exception,  well  infinitely,  "well" 
eternally. 

I  now  come  to  make  a  practical  use  of 
THE  DOCTRINE.  First,  let  it  be  a  comfort  to 
bereaved  parents.  You  say  it  is  a  heavy  cross 
that  you  have  to  carry.  Remember,  it  is 
easier  to  carry  a  dead  cross  than  a  living  one. 
To  have  a  living  cross  is  indeed  a  tribulation, 
to  have  a  child  who  is  rebellious  in  his  child- 
hood, vicious  in  his  youth,  debauched  in  his 


9?  Consolation, 

manhood !  Ah,  would  God  that  he  had  died 
from  the  birth ;  would  God  that  he  had  never 
seen  the  light !  Many  a  father's  hairs  have 
been  brought  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  through 
his  living  children,  but  I  think  never  through 
his  dead  babes ;  certainly  not  if  he  were  a 
Christian,  and  were  able  to  take  the  comfort 
of  the  apostle's  words,  "We  sorrow  not  as  they 
that  are  without  hope."  So  you  would  have 
your  child  live?  Ah,  if  you  could  have  drawn 
aside  the  veil  of  destiny,  and  have  seen  to 
what  he  might  have  lived  !  Would  you  have 
had  him  live  to  ripen  for  the  gallows?  Would 
you  have  him  live  to  curse  his  father's  God? 
Would  you  have  him  live  to  make  your  home 
wretched,  to  make  you  wet  your  pillow  with 
tears,  and  send  you  to  your  daily  work  with 
your  hands  upon  your  loins  because  of  sorrow? 
Such  might  have  been  the  case  ;  it  is  not  so  now, 
for  your  little  one  sings  before  the  throne  of 
God.  Do  you  know  from  what  sorrows  your 
little  one  has  escaped?  You  have  had  enough 
yourself.  It  was  born  of  woman,  it  would 
have  been  of  few  days  and  full  of  trouble  as 
you  are.  It  has  escaped  those  sorrows ;  do 
you  lament  that?  Remember,  too,  your  own 
sins,  and  the  deep  sorrow  of  repentance.  Had 
that  child  lived,  it  would  have  been  a  sinner, 
and  it  must  have  known  the  bitterness  of  con- 


Consolation.  '         93 

viction  of  sin.  It  has  escaped  that;  it  rejoices 
now  in  the  glory  of  God.  Then  would  you 
have  it  back  again  ? 

Bereaved  parents,  could  you  for  a  moment 
see  your  own  offspring  above,  I  think  you 
would  very  speedily  wipe  away  your  tears. 
There  among  the  sweet  voices  which  sing  the 
perpetual  carol  may  be  heard  the  voice  of  your 
own  child,  an  angel  now,  and  you  the  mother 
of  a  songster  before  the  throne  of  God.  You 
might  not  have  murmured  had  you  received 
the  promise  that  your  child  should  have  been 
elevated  to  the  peerage ;  it  has  been  elevated 
higher  than  that,  —  to  the  peerage  of  heaven. 
It  has  received  the  dignity  of  the  immortals ; 
it  is  robed  in  better  than  royal  garments  ;  it  is 
more  rich  and  more  blessed  than  it  could  have 
been  if  all  the  crowns  of  earth  could  have  been 
put  upon  its  head.  Wherefore,  then,  could 
you  complain?  An  old  poet  has  penned  a 
verse  well-fitted  for  an  infant's  epitaph  :  — 

*'  Short  was  my  life,  the  longer  is  mj  rest; 
God  takes  those  soonest  whom  he  loveth  best; 
Who's  born  to-day,  and  dies  to-morrow, 
Loses  some  hovirs  of  joy,  but  months  of  sorrow; 
// /■  Other  diseases  often  come  to  grieve  us, 
\j.   \   Death  strikes  but  once,  and  that  stroke  doth  relieve 
'■-  \  us." 

Your  child  has  had  that  one  stroke  and  has 
been  relieved  from  all  these    pains,  and    you 


^ 


94  Consolation, 

may  say  of  it,  this  much  we  know,  he  is 
supremely  blessed,  has  escaped  from  sin,  and 
care,  and  woe,  and  with  the  Saviour  rests. 
"Happy  the  babe,"  says  Hervey,  "who. 

Privileged  by  faith,  a  shorter  labor  and   a  lighter 

weight, 
Received  but  yesterday  the  gift  of  breath, 
Ordered  to-morrow  to  return  to  death." 

While  another  says,  looking  upward  to  the 
skies,  — 

"  O  blest  exchange,  O  envied  lot, 
Without  a  conflict  crowned, 
Stranger  to  pain,  in  pleasure  bless'd, 
And,  without  fame,  renowned." 

So  is  it.  It  is  well  to  fight  and  win,  but  to  win 
as  fairly  without  the  fight !  It  is  w^ell  to  sing 
the  song  of  triumph  after  w^e  have  passed  the 
Red  Sea  with  all  its  terrors ;  but  to  sing  the 
song  without  the  sea  is  more  glorious  still ! 
I  do  not  know  that  I  w^ould  prefer  the  lot  of  a 
child  in  heaven  myself.  I  think  it  is  nobler  to 
]iave  borne  the  storm,  and  to  have  struggled 
against  the  wind  and  the  rain.  I  think  it  will 
be  a  subject  of  congratulation  through  eternity, 
for  you  and  me,  that  we  did  not  come  so  easy 
a  way  to  heaven,  for  it  is  only  a  pin's  prick 
after  all,  this  mortal  life  ;  then  there  is  exceed- 
ing great  glory  hereafter.  But  yet  I  think  we 
may  still  thank  God  for  those  little  ones,  that 


Consolation.  p5 

the>  xiave  been  spared  our  sins,  and  spared  our 
infirmities,  and  spared  our  pains,  and  are  en- 
tered into  the  rest  above.  Thus  saith  the  Lord 
unto  thee,  O  Rachel,  if  thou  weepest  for  thy 
children,  and  refusest  to  be  comforted  because 
they  are  not :  "  Refrain  thy  voice  from  weeping, 
and  thine  eyes  from  tears  :  for  thy  v^ork  shall 
be  rewarded,  saith  the  Lord ;  and  they  shall 
come  again  from  the  land  of  the  enemy." 

The  next  and  perhaps  more  useful  and 
profitable  inference  to  be  drawn  from  the  text 
is  this :  many  of  you  are  parents  who  have 
children  in  heaven.  Is  it  not  a  desirable  thincr 
that  you  should  go  there  too?  And  yet  have  I 
not  in  these  galleries  and  in  this  area  some, 
perhaps  many,  who  have  no  hope  for  hereafter? 
In  fact,  you  have  left  that  which  is  beyond  the 
grave  to  be  thought  of  another  day,  you  have 
given  all  your  time  and  thoughts  to  the  short, 
brief,  and  unsatisfactory  pursuits  of  mortal  life. 
Mother,  unconverted  mother,  from  the  battle- 
ments of  heaven  your  child  beckons  }'ou  to 
Paradise.  Father,  ungodl}^  impenitent  fatlier. 
the  little  eyes  that  once  looked  joyously  on  you, 
look  down  upon  you  now,  and  the  lips  which 
had  scarcely  learned  to  call  you  father,  ere 
they  were  sealed  by  the  silence  of  death,  may 
be  heard  as  with  a  still  small  voice,  saying  to 
you    this    morning,  "Father,   must  we  be   for 


96  Consolation. 

ever  divided  by  the  great  gulf  which  no  man 
can  pass  ?  "  Doth  not  nature  itself  put  a  kind 
of  longing  in  your  soul  that  you  may  be  bound 
in  the  bundle  of  life  with  your  own  children? 
Then  stop  and  think.  As  you  are  at  present, 
you  cannot  hope  for  that ;  for  your  way  is 
sinful,  you  have  forgotten  Christ,  you  have  not 
repented  of  sin,  you  have  loved  the  wages 
of  iniquity.  I  pray  thee  go  to  thy  chamber 
this  morning,  and  think  of  thyself  as  being 
driven  from  thy  little  ones,  banished  for  ever 
from  the  presence  of  God,  cast  "where  their 
worm  dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched." 
If  thou  wilt  think  of  these  matters,  perhaps  the 
heart  will  begin  to  move,  and  the  eyes  may 
begin  to  flow,  and  then  may  the  Holy  Spirit 
put  before  thine  eyes  the  cross  of  the  Saviour, 
the  holy  child  Jesus  !  And  remember,  if  thou 
wilt  turn  thine  eye  to  Him  thou  shalt  live ; 
if  thou  believest  on  Him  with  all  thy  heart  thou 
shalt  be  with  him  where  He  is,  —  with  all 
those  whom  the  Father  gave  Him  who  have 
gone  before.  Thou  needest  not  to  be  shut  out. 
Wilt  thou  sign  thine  own  doom,  and  write 
thine  own  death  warrant?  Neglect  not  this 
great  salvation,  but  may  the  grace  of  God  work 
with  thee  to  make  thee  seek,  for  thou  shalt 
find  —  to  make  thee  knock,  for  the  door  shall 
be   opened  —  to    make   thee   ask,  for  he   that 


Consolation.  97 

asketh  shall  receive  !  Oh,  might  I  take  you 
by  the  hand,  —  perhaps  you  have  come  from  a 
newly-made  grave,  or  left  the  child  at  home 
dead,  and  God  has  made  me  a  messenger 
to  you  this  morning,  —  oh,  might  I  take  you  by 
the  hand  and  say,  "We  cannot  bring  him  back 
again,  the  spirit  is  gone  beyond  recall,  but  you 
may  follow  "  !  Behold  the  ladder  of  light  before 
you  !  The  first  step  upon  it  is  repentance,  out 
of  thyself;  the  next  step  is  faith,  into  Christ, 
and  when  thou  art  there,  thou  art  fairly  and 
safely  on  thy  way,  and  ere  long  thou  shalt  be 
received  at  heaven's  gates  by  those  very  little 
ones  who  have  gone  before,  that  they  may 
come  to  welcome  thee  when  thou  shouldst  land 
upon  the  eternal  shores. 


A  MOTHER  CONGRATULATED  ON  THE  DEATH 
OF  HER  CHILD. 

[The  following  letter  occurs  in  "  Selections  from  the  Cor- 
respondence of  R.  E.  H.  Greyson,  Esq. ,"  edited  by  Pro- 
fessor Henry  Rodgers,  the  eminent  author  of  "  The  Eclipse 
of  Faith  :  "  — ] 

London,  1839. 
My  sweet  Cousin,  —  I  have  in  vain  tried  to 
tell  a  lie  for  your  sake,  and  say,  —  I  condole 
with  you. 

But  it  is  impossible.      How  can  I,  with  my 
7 


98  Consolation. 

deep  convictions  that  your  little  floweret,  and 
every  other  so  fading,  is  but  transplanted  into 
the  more  congenial  soil  of  Paradise,  and  shall 
there  bloom  and  be  fragrant  for  ever?  How 
can  I  lament  for  one  who  has  so  cheaply  be- 
come an  "heir  of  immortality"?  who  will 
never  remember  his  native  home  of  earth,  nor 
the  transient  pang  by  which  he  was  born  into 
heaven  !  who  will  never  even  know  that  he 
has  suffered  except  by  being  told  so  !  Shall  we 
lament  that  he  has  not  shared  our  fatal  privi- 
lege of  an  experience  of  guilt  and  sorrow?  Is 
this  so  precious  that  we  can  wish  him  partaker 
of  it?  My  cousin,  those  who  die  in  childhood 
are  to  be  envied  and  felicitated,  not  deplored ; 
so  soon,  so  happily  have  they  escaped  all  that 
we  rhust  wish  never  to  have  known. 

"Innocent  souls,  thus  set  so  early  free 
From  sin,  and  sorrow,  and  mortality," 

who  can  weep  for  thein^  as  he  thinks  of  the 
fearful  hazards  that  all  must  run  who  have 
grown  up  to  a  personal  acquaintance  with  sin 
and  misery? 

An  ancient  Greek  historian  tells  us  it  was  a 
custom  among  a  people  of  Scythia  to  celebrate 
the  birth  of  a  child  with  the  same  mournful 
solemnities  with  which  the  rest  of  the  world 
celebrate  a  funeral.  So  intensely  dark,  yet  so 
true    (apart    from    the  gospel),  was  the  view 


Consolation,  99 

they  took  of  what  awaits  man  in  life  !  The 
custom  was  fully  justified,  in  my  judgment,  by 
a  heathen  view  of  things ;  and  if  it  would  be 
unseemly  among  us,  it  is  only  because  Chris- 
tianity has  brought  ''life  and  immortality  to 
light,"  and  assures  us  that  this  world  may  be- 
come, for  all  of  us,  the  vestibule  of  a  better. 

"You  are  very  philosophical,"  you  will  say  : 
"  You  talk  very  fine,  but  you  do  not  feel  as 
you  talk."  Excuse  me,  my  dear;  I  talk  just 
as  I  have  always  felt  ever  since  I  came  to  a 
knowledge  of  Christianity  and  of  human  life; 
and  often  —  yes,  often  in  the  course  of  my  own 
(and  let  the  thought  be  consolation  to  you,  for 
how  do  you  know  that  your  little  one  might 
not  have  tasted  the  same  bitter  experience?) 
—  often  in  the  course  of  my  life,  as  I  have 
looked  back  and  seen  how  much  of  it  has  been 
blurred  and  wasted ;  what  perils  I  have  run 
of  spiritual  shipwreck  ;  what  clouds  of  doubt 
still  often  descend  and  envelop  the  soul ;  what 
agonies  of  sorrow  I  have  passed  through,  — 
often  have  I  cried,  with  hands  smiting  each 
other  and  a  broken  voice,  "  Oh  that  I  had 
been  thus  privileged  early  to  depart !  "  —  But 
you  cannot  imagine  a  mother  echoing  such 
feelings  in  relation  to  her  own  child  !  Can  you 
not?     Come  let  us  see. 

There  was  once  a  mother,  kneeling  by  the 


lOO  Consolation. 

bedside  of  the  litde  one  whom  she  hourly  ex- 
pected to  lose.  With  what  eyes  of  passionate 
love  had  she  watched  every  change  in  that 
beautiful  face  !  How  had  her  eyes  pierced  the 
heart  of  the  physician,  at  his  last  visit,  when 
they  glared  rather  than  asked  the  question 
whether  there  yet  was  hope  !  How  had  she 
wearied  heaven  with  vows  that  if  it  would  but 
grant  —  "Ah!"  you  say,  "you  can  imagine 
all  that  without  any  difficulty  at  all." 

Imagine  this,  too.  Overwearied  with  watch- 
ing, she  fell  into  a  doze  beside  the  couch  of 
her  infant,  and  she  dreamt  in  a  few  moments 
(as  we  are  wont  to  do)  the  seeming  history  of 
long  years.  She  thought  she  heard  a  voice 
from  heaven  say  to  her,  as  to  Hezekiah,  "I 
have  seen  thy  tears,  I  have  heard  thy  prayers ; 
he  shall  live ;  and  yourself  shall  have  the  roll 
of  his  history  presented  to  you."  "Ah  !"  you 
say,  "you  can  imagine  all  that^  too." 

And  straightway  she  thought  she  saw  her 
sweet  child  in  the  bloom  of  health,  innocent 
and  playful  as  her  fond  heart  could  wish.  Yet 
a  little  while,  and  she  saw  him  in  the  flush  of 
opening  youth  ;  beautiful  as  ever,  but  beauti- 
ful as  a  young  panther,  from  whose  eyes  wild 
flashes  and  fitful  passion  ever  and  anon 
gleamed ;  and  she  thought  how  beautiful  he 
looked,    even  in  those  moods,   for  she  was  a 


Consolation,  loi 

mother.  Bnt  she  also  thought  how  many  tears 
and  sorrows  may  be  needful  to  temper  or 
quench  those  fires  ! 

And  she  seemed  to  follow  him  through  a 
rapid  succession  of  scenes,  now  of  troubled 
sunshine,  now  of  deep  gathering  gloom.  His 
sorrows  were  all  of  the  common  lot,  but  in- 
volved a  sum  of  agony  far  greater  than  that 
which  she  would  have  felt  from  his  early  loss  ; 
yes,  greater  even  to  her,  and  how  much 
greater  to  him  !  She  saw  him  more  than  once- 
wrestling  with  pangs  more  agonizing  than 
those  which  now  threatened  his  infancy  ;  she 
saw  him  involved  in  error,  and  with  difficulty 
extricating  himself;  betrayed  into  youthful  sins, 
and  repenting  with  scalding  tears  ;  she  saw 
him  half  ruined  by  transient  prosperity,  and 
scourged  into  tardy  wisdom  only  by  long  ad- 
versity ;  she  saw  him  worn  and  haggard  with 
care,  his  spirit  crushed,  and  his  early  beauty 
all  wan  and  blasted ;  worse  still,  she  saw  him 
thrice  stricken  with  that  very  shaft  which  she 
had  so  dreaded  to  feel  but  once,  and  mourned 
to  think  that  her  prayers  had  prevailed  to  pre- 
vent her  own  sorrows  only  to  multiply  his ; 
worst  of  all,  she  saw  him,  as  she  thought,  in 
a  darkened  chamber,  kneeling  beside  a  coffin 
in  which  Youth  and  Beauty  slept  their  last 
sleep  ;  and,  as  it  seemed,  her  own  image  stood 


I02  Consolation. 

beside  him,  and  uttered  unheeded  love  to  a 
sorrow  that  "  refused  to  be  comforted  ;  "  and  as 
she  gazed  on  that  face  of  stony  despair,  she 
seemed  to  hear  a  voice  which  said,  "  If  thou 
wilt  have  thy  floweret  of  earth  unfold  on  earth, 
thou  must  not  wonder  at  bleak  winters  and  in- 
clement skies,  /would  have  transplanted  it 
to  a  more  genial  clime  ;  but  thou  wouldest  not." 
And  with  a  cry  of  terror  she  awoke. 

She  turned  to  the  sleeping  figure  before  her, 
and,  sobbing,  hoped  it  was  sleeping  its  last 
sleep.  She  listened  for  his  breathing,  she 
heard  none ;  she  lifted  the  taper  to  his  lips, 
the  flame  wavered  not ;  he  had,  indeed, 
passed  away  while  she  dreamed  that  he  lived ; 
and    she    rose    from    her   knees, — and   was 

COMFORTED. 

"  Ah  !  "  you  will  say,  "  these  sorrows  could 
never  have  been  the  lot  of  my  sweet  child ! " 
It  is  hard  to  set  one's  logic  against  a  mother's 
love  ;  I  can  only  remind  you,  my  dear  cousin, 
that  it  has  been  the  lot  of  thousands,  whose 
mothers,  as  their  little  ones  crowed  and  laughed 
in  their  arms  in  childish  happiness,  would  have 
sworn  to  the  same  impossibility.  But  iox  you^ 
—  you  know  what  they  could  only  believe;  — 
that  it  is  an  impossibility.  Nay,  I  might  hint 
at  yet  profounder  consolation,  if,  indeed,  there 
ever  existed  a   mother  who  could  fancy  that. 


Consolation,  103 

in  the  case  of  her  own  child,  it  could  ever  be 
needed.  Yet  facts  sufficiently  show  us,  that 
what  the  dreaming  mother  saw,  —  errors  re- 
trieved, sins  committed  but  repented  of,  and 
sorrows  that  taught  wisdom,  are  not  always 
seen,  and  that  children  may,  in  spite  of  all, 
persist  in  exploring  the  path  of  evil,  "  deeper 
and  deeper  still."  With  the  shadow  of  uncer- 
tainty whether  it  may  not  be  so  with  any  child, 
is  there  no  consolation  in  thinking  that  even 
that  shadow  has  passed  away  ?  For  aught  we 
know,  many  and  many  a  mother  may  here- 
after hear  her  lost  darling  say :  "  Sweet 
mother,  I  was  taken  from  you  for  a  little 
while,  only  that  I  might  abide  with  you  for 
ever ! " 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

R.  E.  H.  G. 


CHILDREN   "GOD'S  HERITAGE." 
Rev.  Henry  Allon,  Islington,  London. 

What  a  beautiful  form  of  life  is  childhood ; 
Its  pure  and  tender  physical  beauty  is  but  a 
faint  emblem  of  its  intellectual  and  moral  con- 
ditions. Its  very  imperfections — its  helpless- 
ness   and   ignorance  —  constitute    its  exquisite 


I04  Consolation. 

charm ;  the  roughest  men  confess  it,  the  most 
sorrowful  women  are  soothed  by  it,  guilt  feels 
a  kind  of  awe  at  it,  and  vice  is  softened  and 
purified  by  it ;  it  inspires  ambition  with  regrets, 
it  melts  impenitence  to  tears.  A  child  is  God's 
angel  on  earth  —  fresh,  as  it  were,  from  his 
presence,  and  full  of  divine  ministries  —  soften- 
ing, humanizing,  and  sanctifying.  It  is  a  link 
that  connects  the  busy  life  of  this  world  with 
the  solemn  and  mysterious  world  of  spirits. 

What  a  blessed  and  beautiful  order  of  being 
it  is  !  Suppose  that  human  life  had  no  child- 
hood,—  that  men  entered  the  world  in  the  full 
power,  and  roughness,  and  unsanctity  of  adult 
manhood,  —  how  hard  and  untractable  a  thing 
life  would  be  !  how  destitute  of  the  experiences 
that  preciously  teach  it,  of  the  influences  that 
beneficially  mould  it !  How  inestimable  the 
experiences  and  processes  whereby  we  pass 
from  helplessness,  and  ignorance,  and  in- 
nocence, to  strength,  and  knowledge,  and 
holiness !  Bad  as  we  may  be,  we  should  be 
a  thousand  times  worse,  destitute  of  the 
memories  and  experiences  of  childhood.  Very 
precious,  therefore,  is  God's  gift  of  children. 
They  are  special  means  of  grace  to  us,  special 
ministers  of  spiritual  ■  thought  and  things. 
A  wonderful  Bible  for  a  parent  to  read  is 
a   little  child,  a  wonderful  spiritual  influence 


Consolation.  105 

for  a  parent  to  feel,  almost  an  incarnation 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  himself.  Even  the  recol- 
lections of  childhood  —  of  its  purity,  freedom, 
and  blessedness  —  will  break  in  upon  the  har- 
dened spirit  of  a  guilty  man,  and  he  will 
weep  in  very  sadness  over  the  memory  of  what 
he  once  was.  The  providence  of  God  repeats, 
as  it  were,  our  own  childhood  in  that  of  pur 
children,  —  our  own  experience  is  reproduced 
in  theirs.  Children  teach  parents  more,  per- 
haps, than  parents  teach  children ;  in  a  thou- 
sand ways  they  bring  down  heavenly  thoughts 
and  things  upon  the  parents'  hearts.  Who 
can  take  a  child  up  into  his  arms  and  look  into 
its  pure  face,  and  into  the  transparent  depths 
of  its  guileless  soul,  and  see  its  freedom  from 
care,  suspicion,  and  sin,  without  deep  and 
manifold  thoughts  and  feelings  concerning  the 
soul,  and  God,  and  the  possibilities  of  life.  A 
child  comes  to  us  as  if  direct  from  God  himself; 
it  lives  in  our  homes  long  before  the  fair 
picture  and  lesson  of  innocence  is  blurred  and 
effaced  by  sin.  No  ministry  so  appeals  to 
human  hearts. 

*'  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy." 

We  muse  and  wonder  as  we  look  upon  a 
child's  face,  until  it  grows  almost  divine,  and 
we  are  half  "  afraid  to  look  upon  God." 


1 06  Consolation , 

God's  gift  of  children  is  intended  only  for 
blessing,  —  a  blessing  to  pious  love  and  faith; 
they  are  a  "  heritage,"  a  possession  bestowed 
by  the  heavenly  Father's  love,  and  intended  to 
stand  in  rich  spiritual  succession  to  us.  They 
are  more  than  spiritual  beings,  they  are  heirs 
of  our  spiritual  privilege  and  piety ;  our  pious 
parentage  is,  by  God's  blessing,  to  secure  their 
piety.  It  is  a  privilege  which,  in  the  natural 
order  of  things,  should  be  a  blessing  to  them  ; 
it  is  a  plea  of  power  which  they  may  urge  in 
prayer,  "  Truly  I  am  thy  servant,  and  the  son 
of  thine  handmaid."  "The  promise  is  to  us 
and  to  our  children."  If  we  be  faithful  to  our 
"heritage,"  it  will,  as  a  rule  and  principle  — 
admitting  of  exceptions,  it  is  true  —  become 
the  heritage  of  our  children.  The  richest,  the 
most  precious,  the  most  affluent  of  all  gifts, 
is  God's  gift  of  children;  beyond  wealth,  or 
art,  or  literature,  or  social  friends,  or  even 
conjugal  love,  they  enrich  and  bless  a  home. 

It  is  only  when  we  thus  intelligently  and 
articulately  realize  the  manifold  blessing  of 
children,  that  we  can  intelligently  speak  of  the 
sorrow  of  their  loss.  It  is  a  great  mystery  — 
one  of  the  greatest  mysteries  of  life — that  so 
much  young  life  should  just  bud  and  perish. 
It  is  the  law  of  all  life  that  there  are  more  fallen 
blossoms  than  ripened  fruit;  but  when  children 


Consolation,  107 

die  it  is  a  sorrow  as  well  as  a  loss.  The  pangs 
of  birth,  the  unconsciousness  and  helplessness 
of  infancy,  it  may  be  a  few  months  or  years  of 
bright  and  beautiful  development;  the  vague 
eye  brightening  into  intelligent  recognition, 
the  vague  feebleness  strengthening  into  pur- 
posed activity,  the  vague  instinct  ripening  into 
a  pure  and  clinging  love,  health  and  beauty 
growing  day  by  day ;  and  then  the  sudden 
smiting  down,  the  ruthless  quenching  of  that 
beautiful  spark  of  life,  and  it  is  as  if  "made  in 
vain."  It  is  true  that  the  entrustment  has  been 
but  short ;  there  has  been  but  little  time  for 
mere  possession  to  grow  into  endearment ;  but 
strong  passionate  parental  instinct  does  in  days 
that  for  which  other  possessions  years  are 
required,  and  the  death  of  a  child  is  often  a 
deep  wound  that  almost  breaks  the  heart  that 
it  lacerates,  the  scar  of  which  is  ever  after 
tender  to  every  touch  and  palpable  to  every 
eye. 

But  we  may  not  think  that  because  so  early 
taken,  children  have  been  given  in  vain.  How 
it  would  change  the  whole  economy  of  life  if 
children  never  died ;  if  every  life  that  was 
begun  grew  up  to  an  assured  maturity  !  What 
an  exceptional  and,  in  a  thousand  ways,  harm- 
ful law  of  life  it  would  be  !  And  is  there  not 
more  than  fancy  in  the  thought  and  the  comfort 


I  o8  Consolation . 

that  there  are  children  in  heaven  as  well  as  on 
earth?  If  earth  would  lose,  were  only  adult 
life  upon  it,  would  not  heaven  lose  also?  Will 
they  not  be  in  heaven,  as  on  earth,  part  of 
the  softening,  sanctifying,  endearing  agency 
whereby  we  are  ever  advancing  to  perfection? 

And  is  not'  a  parent,  is  not  a  family  infinitely 
better  for  even  the  transitory  presence  of  a  child 
in  it?  Have  not  deep  springs  of  various  moral 
feelings  been  touched?  have  not  our  hearts 
pondered  many  things  as  we  have  watched  it 
sleeping,  or  nursed  it  waking?  has  it  not  been, 
as  no  other  gift  could  have  been,  a  medium 
through  which  God's  voice  has  spoken  to  us? 
has  not  the  hardest  of  us  been  softened  to  tears, 
the  most  irreligious  of  us  thrilled  into  prayer? 
while,  in  the  pious,  almost  every  religious 
principle  and  emotion  has  been  appealed  to 
more  powerfully  than  by  any  other  thing. 
Were  the  child  to  live,  the  feeling  might  be 
superseded,  the  impression  effaced,  by  its  after 
developments.  It  would  become  a  man.  Its 
death  deepens  and  perpetuates  them.  After 
years  are  passed  it  is  still  and  must  be  ever  to 
us  a  child;  and  all  the  tender,  holy  feelings 
that  it  appealed  to  are  fresh  and  vivid. 

In  many  senses  Christ  says  to  us,  "Suffer 
the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not :  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 


Consolation.  109 

If  destined  to  adult  life  on  earth,  they  are  to  be 
of  His  kingdom  in  childhood,  and  to  retain  the 
heart  of  childhood,  even  to  old  age.  But  we 
may  "  live  in  an  inverted  order."  Parents  may 
close  the  d3'ing  eyes  of  their  children  ;  their 
little  footsteps  may  precede  ours  through  the 
dark  valley  ;  our  faith  may  have  to  put  them 
into  the  arms  of  Jesus,  we  being  forbidden  to 
go  with  them  ;  and  our  fond,  blind  love  may 
hesitate,  so  that  He  may  have  to  say  to  us, 
"  Suffer  them,  suffer  the  little  children  to  come 
unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not."  He  may  have 
need  of  them  for  the  enrichment,  with  child-life 
and  child-beauty,  of  the  Father's  house  which 
He*  has  gone  to  "prepare."  We  know  not 
wherefore  He  calls  this  or  that  particular  child  ; 
and  if  it  be  ours  that  He  calls,  we  may  refuse 
to  be  comforted  ;  we  may  cry  with  a  great  and 
bitter  cry,  "Wherefore  hast  Thou  given  them 
in  vain?"  But  do  not  let  us  forget  that  it  is 
into  Christ's  arms  that  we  put  them,  that  it  is 
He  who  "  takes  them  up  into  His  arms  and 
blesses  them."  They  are  safer  with  Him  than 
they  could  be  with  us.  His  love  can  do  for 
them  what  our  poor  love  cannot  do.  With  our 
children  in  Christ's  arms,  we  ourselves  shall 
follow  more  willingl}^  and  eagerly.  When  our 
dying  hour  comes,  and  we  have  to  commend 
our  spirits  into  His  hands,  we  shall  remember 


no  Consolation. 

that  they  are  the  loving  hands  which  received 
our  children  ;  that  He  has  already  taken  to  Him- 
self, as  it  were,  part  of  us;  our  children  are 
"  preferred  before  us  ;  "  and  we  hasten  to  Him 
who  has  received  and  blessed  them,  and  to  the 
Father's  house  which  they  gladden  and  enrich 
with  their  presence  ;  and  so  shall  we  and  the 
children  which  God  gave  us  be  for  ever  with 
the  Lord. 


THE    CHARM    OF    CHILDHOOD. 
Rev.  Geo.  Gilfillan,  Dundee. 

The  charm  of  childhood,  —  who  has  not  felt 
it?  —  although  it  may  not  always  be  easy  to 
analyze  its  elements.  Some  of  them,  how- 
ever, are  obvious  enough,  and  are  found  in 
the  young  of  all  animals,  and  in  all  youthful 
things.  The  full-grown  tree  has  much  beauty, 
but  more  still  belongs  to  the  tender  sapling, 
which  the  snow  almost  breaks  as  it  descends 
upon  it,  and  which  seems  so  helpless,  yet 
interesting,  in  its  infancy.  The  full-blown 
rose  is  a  gorgeous  object,  but  sweeter  still  the 
rosebud,  peering  out  timidly  through  its  half- 
opened  eye  into  the  strange  atmosphere  of 
earth,  and  making  you  cry  with  the  poet, 


Consolation.  ill 

*'  Sweet  flower,  thou'rt  opening  on  a  world 

Of  sin  and  misery; 
But  this  at  least  consoles  my  mind, 

Thej  cannot  injure  thee." 

The  river,  mature  in  age,  swelled  by  a  hun- 
dred tributaries,  arisen  in  flood,  and  raging  in 
wrath  from  bank  to  brae,  may  be  a  sublime 
sight;  but  surely  it  is  more  attractive  in  its 
youth,  when  a  narrow  strip  of  green,  amidst 
barren  moors,  is  its  only  boundary,  and  one 
star  reflected  on  it  from  the  proud  heavens,  is 
its  sole  companion.  You  tremble  at  the  eagle, 
swooping  and  screaming  through  the  upper 
ether,  with  the  lightning  in  his  eye,  and  the 
lamb  in  his  talons  ;  but  you  love  to  look  at  the 
young  eaglet,  lying  secure  in  its  lofty  eyrie, 
and  expecting  the  arrival  of  its  food-bearing 
father.  The  old  sparrow  is  a  thief,  and,  as 
such,  detested  ;  but  the  young  sparrow  is  the 
favorite  and  pet  of  the  child,  herself  a  pet  and 
a  favorite.  The  sheep  seems  silly  enough, 
while  bleating  in  her  pastures,  and  running 
away  when  no  one  pursueth  ;  but  how  lovely 
and  dear  the  lamb,  suddenly  appearing  by  her 
mother's  side,  as  if  dropped  from  one  of  the 
wliite  spring  clouds,  or  meekly  following  in 
her  train,  even  though  it  be  to  slaughter  and 
death  !  And  so  with  the  children  of  the  human 
family.     Coming   out   of  the   awful   cloud   of 


112  Consolation. 

darkness  which  enshrouds  birth,  they  come 
out  as  stars.  Taken  out  of  earth's  lowest 
parts,  they  shine  forth  as  gems  of' the  purest 
water,  and  the  brightest  colors.  Bursting  up, 
as  it  were,  from  the  bowels  of  the  world,  they 
burst  up  as  flowers  of  the  sweetest  fragrance 
and  the  most  variegated  hues.  Purity,  sim- 
plicity, instinct,  and  unconsciousness,  compose 
at  first  the  elements  of  a  child's  existence. 
There  it  lies,  like  a  thing  of  heaven  and 
eternity,  amidst  the  bustle  and  care  and  evil 
of  the  world ;  nourished  on  smiles,  turning, 
sweet  satellite  !  round  the  orb  of  its  mother's 
face  ;  sending  up  aimless,  but  beautiful  smiles 
of  its  own,  both  when  awake  and  when 
asleep ;  and  dreaming  that  "  strangest  of  all 
things,  an  infant's  dream."  In  what  innocence 
it  is  wrapped,  as  if  in  swaddling-bands  of 
snow  !  No  envy  wrinkles  that  smooth  brow, 
no  lust  and  no  hatred  lurk  in  that  heart,  no 
fury  burns  in  that  clear,  mild  eye  :  its  only 
food  is  milk,  and  its  only  sin  is  tears.  In 
what  blessed  ignorance  it  dwells  !  It  knows 
not  of  God ;  but  neither  does  it  know  of  His 
many  foes  and  rebellious  creatures.  It  knows 
not  of  good  ;  but  neither  does  it  know  of  evil. 
The  alarm  of  war  it  never  heard,  the  blood- 
spotted  and  tear-stained  records  of  the  sad 
history   of   humanity    it    never    read,    of    the 


Consolation,  113 

folly,  falsehood,  cruelty,  impiety,  and  madness 
which  dwell  in  the  heart  and  blacken  the  life 
of  man,  it  is  altogether  unaware;  and  yonder 
spring  rose-bud,  first  meeting  the  smile  of  the 
light,  is  not  more  unconscious  of  the  rude 
realities  of  the  world  than  that  newly-budded 
babe.  Beautiful  all  this  ;  but  there  is  a  period 
a  little  farther  on  when  the  child  becomes 
more  interesting  far ;  that  is  when  the  soul 
awakes  within  it,  and  the  coming  forth  of 
the  evening  star  from  a  mass  of  clouds  is 
not  so  beautiful  as  the  first  awaking  of  im- 
mortal mind  in  a  child's  eye ;  and  when  the 
heart  awakes  within  it,  and  its  smiles  are 
no  longer  undistinguishing  and  no  longer 
aimless,  but  become  deeper  in  their  signifi- 
cance, while  equally  sincere  ;  and  the  under- 
standing aw^akes  within  it,  and  proceeds  to 
ask  questions  which  no  philosophy  and  no 
theology  have  yet  been  able  to  resolve ;  and 
the  power  of  speech  awakes  within  it,  and  its 
tongue  overflows  with  that  artless  but  piercing 
prattle  which  is  more  delightful  than  the  mur- 
mur of  streams,  than  the  bleat  of  lambs,  or 
than  the  stir  of  wind-sw^ept  flowers  ;  because, 
while  equally  unconscious  and  equally  musical, 
it  is  full  of  articulation,  of  meaning,  and  of 
love. 

8 


114 


Consolation, 


THE   EARLY   REMOVAL   OF   CHILDREN   A 
PROOF   OF  DIVINE   GOODNESS. 

Rev,    George   C.    Hutton,    Paisley. 

There  is  a  sinless  grief.  Jesus  Himself 
could  weep.  The  heart,  no  less  than  the 
flesh,  must  bleed  when  wounded,  and  some  of 
its  softest  tendrils  are  torn  when  little  ones  are 
plucked  away.  Still,  this  most  amiable  sor- 
row, the  sorrow  of  Rachel  weeping  for  her 
children,  may  reach  excess.  It  is  possible  to 
nurse  it  in  morbid  luxury  or  desperateness  of 
spirit,  to  the  stoppage  of  all  duty.  The  moan 
may  swell  into  the  murmur,  and  the  smarting 
soul,  Jonah-like,  think  it  well  to  be  angry. 
Yet  why  should  a  living  man  complain? 
There  is  worse  grief  in  Bochim.  "I  would 
rather,"  said  a  gray-haired  sire,  following  his 
son  of  shame,  "have  carried  him  to  the 
grave."  To  have  buried  Hophni  and  Phine- 
has  when  simple  babes,  would  have  cost  less 
anguish  to  Eli,  than  to  hear  of  their  death  at 
Aphek  in  the  "blossom  of  their  sins."  Bitter 
as  it  was  for  David  to  lose  the  child  of  Bath- 
sheba,  it  was  bitterer  far  to  part  with  evil 
Absalom.  It  is  told  of  an  artist  that,  once 
engaged  on  a  painting  of  Innocence,  he  took 
for    his    model    the    face    of    a    lovely    child. 


Consolation.  115 

Long  afterwards,  being  occupied  on  a  com- 
panion picture  of  Guilt,  he  visited  the  dungeon 
of  a  noted  felon  in  search  of  artistic  hints, 
only  to  find  his  cherub-model  of  other  years 
transformed  into  that  dark-visaged  convict. 
So  it  is :  the  cradle  hides  many  unknown 
developments.  Herod  once  smiled  on  the 
breast ;  Cain  once  played  at  the  knees  of  Eve. 
If  it  could  be  said  of  some,  Better  they  had 
not  been  born  ;  it  might  be  thought  of  others, 
Better  they  had  early  died. 

Yes,  mourning  parent,  let  God  alone.  His 
time  and  ways  are  ever  best.  Even  were 
your  offspring  to  be  all  Samuels  and  Timothys 
in  riper  life,  would  it  lessen  the  pang  to  part 
with  them  then?  Did  it  so  with  Jacob  mourn- 
ing Joseph,  or  the  woman  of  Nain  lamenting 
her  manly  son?  Or  if  you  shrink  when  the 
pruning-knife  removes  the  buds  and  blossoms, 
w^ould  you  prefer  that  it  should  be  applied  to 
your  faithful  spouse,  the  earthly  stem  which  is 
better  than  "ten  sons"?  Say  not,  "All  these 
things  are  against  me."  Only  "w^ait  patiendy 
for  the  Lord."  "They  shall  not  be  ashamed 
that  wait  for  Him."  Your  soul  shall  3'et  revive 
as  disconsolate  Jacob's  did,  when  he  saw 
Joseph's  glory  in  Egypt.  This  is  the  furnace 
ordeal,  and  when  God  hath  "tried"  you,  you 
shall  "come  forth  as  gold."     "All  things  work 


1 16  Consolation . 

together  for  good  to  them  that  love  Him." 
The  Lord  hath  but  sent  the  young  ones  on 
before,  that  you  may  more  sweetly  follow. 
Against  you  !  No.  But  deem  not  the  ques- 
tion strange,  —  Is  there  none  to  be  thought  of 
except  yourself?  Is  the  Great  Father  not 
entitled  to  recall  His  own,  or  has  He  only 
your  feelings  to  consider?  What  of  the  inter- 
ests of  the  child,  —  His,  still  more  than  yours? 
Look  that  there  be  not  some  touch  of  self  in 
your  too  eager  love.  When  you  stooped  over 
the  couch  of  the  little  sufferer,  you  felt  you 
could  give  a  world  to  purchase  only  an  hour 
of  ease  for  the  fevered  frame.  In  the  time  of 
health  you  watched  the  budding  morals  of 
your  mirthful  boy  and  your  gentle  girl ;  you 
kept  far  from  their  ears  the  echo  of  impiety, 
and  from  their  eyes  the  spectacle  of  pollution  ; 
you  toiled  and  prayed  for  their  weal  and 
happiness.  And  do  you  now  weep  that  your 
warmest  wishes  have  been  far  exceeded? 
Would  you,  if  you  could,  bring  back  the 
30ung  immortals  from  the  land  where  the 
inhabitant  shall  never  say,  I  am  sick,  to  this 
scene  of  aches  and  pangs ;  from  the  purity 
of  Paradise  to  the  infections  of  the  earth ; 
from  the  clime  of  immortality  ahd  "  God's 
holy  mountain,"  where  "nothing  shall  hurt  or 
destroy,"  to  the  howling  wilderness,  the  Van- 


Consolation.  117 

ity-fair  of  temptations,  and  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death?  "If  ye  loved  me,"  said 
Jesus  to  His  sorrowing  followers,  "ye  would 
rejoice,  because  I  said,  I  go  unto  the  Father." 
In  almost  similar  terms,  might  these  young 
spirits  correct  your  excessive  sorrow.  These 
precious  ones  have  only  now  gone  home. 
They  were  never  so  blessed  in  your  embrace, 
as  now  in  the  hands  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 
You  loved  to  see  their  happiness  here,  and 
sometimes  feared  to  die  lest  they  should  fare 
ill  in  a  cold  world.  That  ground  of  anxiety 
is  now  removed,  and  you  may  die  assured 
that  they  want  no  good  thing.  Their  Guar- 
dian is  He  who  "  gathers  the  lambs  with  His 
arm,  and  carrieth  them  in  His  bosom."  Too 
natural  was  the  mistake  of  Martha  and  Mary, 
"Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother 
had  not  died."  Far  otherwise  does  Jesus 
show  His  love ;  even  by  making  death  gain. 
"  It  is  appointed  unto  men  once  to  die."  Some 
must  precede,  child  or  parent ;  and  first  started 
is  first  arrived.  Grudge  not  the  children  their 
happy  start.  Think  rather  that  they  shall  be 
waiting  for  you  at  the  pearly  gates ;  and  that 
if  their  removal  has  saddened  the  hearth,  it 
has  gladdened  the  skies,  adding  an  element  to 
the  bliss  of  heaven,  and  providing  for  you  a 
store  of  parental  enjoyments  that  shall  never 


ii8  Consolation. 

fail,  in  the  society  of  your  early  lost.  "  For 
our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment, 
worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and 
eternal  weight  of  glory." 


BEREAVED   PARENTS   COMFORTED. 

Rev.  Wm.  M.  Taylor,  M.A.,  Liverpool. 

Bereaved  parents,  do  not  sorrow  murmur- 
ingly  and  without  hope  when  3^our  children  are 
taken  from  you  in  death,  for  in  such  a  dispen- 
sation Jesus  is  only  saying  to  you  in  another 
form  what  He  said  to  His  disciples  long  ago, 
■'Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and 
forbid  them  not :  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
God."  Their  death  is  but  their  going  to  Him, 
for  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  of  the  salvation 
of  infants.  It  is  not  indeed  a  doctrine  distinctly 
revealed  ;  but  it  may,  I  think,  be  inferred  from 
many  passages  of  Scripture,  and  from  the 
whole  character  of  the  gospel  itself.  The  very 
words  which  I  have  quoted,  even  if  there  were 
no  others,  warrant  the  conclusion  that  infants 
are  received  into  that  kingdom  of  God.  which 
stretches  into  eternity  ;  and  if  this  be  so,  where- 
fore should  you  be  like  Rachel "  refusing  to  be 
comforted  "  ? 


Consolation .  119 

Consider  to  whom  they  have  gone.  They 
have  been  taken  to  the  arms  of  Jesus,  and  to 
th'fe  bright  glory  of  the  heavenly  state.  Noth- 
ing now  can  mar  their  felicity,  or  dim  the  lus- 
tre of  their  joy,  or  damp  the  ardor  of  their 
song ;  and  could  they  speak  to  you  from  their 
abode  of  bliss,  they  would  say  to  you,  weep  not 
for  us,  but  weep  for  yourselves,  that  you  are  not 
here  to  share  our  happiness. 

Consider  from  what  they  have  been  taken. 
They  have  been  removed  from  earth,  with  its 
pains  and  privations,  its  sufferings  and  sorrows. 
Look  back  upon  your  own  chequered  histories, 
and  tell  me  if  yon  can  contemplate  without  a 
feeling  of  grief,  the  idea  of  your  children  pass- 
ing through  such  trials  as  those  which  have 
met  you  in  the  world  ?  Would  you  wish  that 
their  hearts  should  be  wrung  as  yours  have 
been,  by  the  harshness  of  an  unfeeling  world, 
or  by  the  ingratitude  of  those  whom  you  have 
served  ?  Nay,  in  view  of  the  agony  of  this  very 
bereavement,  would  you  wish  that  a  similar 
sorrow  should  be  theirs  ?  And  yet  does  not 
their  continuance  in  the  world  involve  in  it  the 
endurance  of  all  these  things  ;  and  ought  it  not, 
therefore,  to  be  a  matter  of  thankfulness  that 
they  have  reached  heaven  without  having 
passed  through  the  full  bitterness  of  earth  ? 
Above  all,  can  you  contemplate  the  spiritual 


1 20  Consolation . 

dangers  with  which  the  world  is  environed,  and 
not  feel  grateful  that  your  little  ones  are  now 
eternally  safe  from  them  ?  Think  of  the  temp- 
tations that  have  beset  you,  and  of  the  dreadful 
battles  which  you  fought  with  them,  and  how 
near  you  were  to  being  conquered  by  them, 
and  let  me  ask  if  in  this  view  you  can  feel  other- 
wise than  glad  that  they  have  gained  the  vic- 
tory without  the  perils  and  hardships  of  the 
fight  ?  Perhaps  had  they  been  exposed  to 
these  dangers  they  would  have  fallen  before 
them  ;  perhaps  had  they  lived  they  would  have 
grown  up  only  to  fill  your  hearts  with  sadness, 
and  ''  to  bring  your  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to 
the  grave  ;  "  but  all  this  is  now  impossible,  for 
they  are  safe  with  Jesus.  It  z's  hard  to  part 
with  your  children  ;  indeed  there  can  be  no 
severer  bereavement,  unless  it  be  the  death  of  a 
husband  or  a  wife.  But,  oh  !  remember  the 
death  of  your  child  is  not  the  heaviest  calamity 
that  could  befall  you,  for  '' a  living  cross  is 
heavier  then  a  dead  one." 

Consider  again  for  what  they  are  taken. 
Perhaps  you  have  been  wandering  away  from 
Christ,  and  He  has  taken  this  way  to  bring  you 
back.  Perhaps  you  have  been  centring  your 
heart  too  much  on  the  earthly  object,  and  He 
has  taken  it  to  Himself,  that  your  treasure  may 
be    still  in    Him.      Perhaps   you    have   never 


Consolation.  121 

known  Him,  and  He  has  taken  this  means  of 
introducing  Himself  to  you,  coming  to  you  as 
He  did  to  His  followers  of  old,  over  the  very 
waves  with  which  you  are  struggling,  and  say- 
ing, *'  It  is  I,  be  not  afraid."  Perhaps  some 
other  member  of  your  family  was  to  be  led 
through  this  affliction  to  the  Lord,  and  thus  one 
little  one  was  taken  from  you  for  a  season,  that 
another  might  abide  with  you  for  ever.  And  if 
this  should  be  so,  can  you  repine  ? 

Consider,  finally,  how  this  bereavement  will 
appear  when  you  come  to  lie  upon  your  death- 
bed. I  have  seen  mothers  and  fathers  not  a 
few  at  that  solemn  hour,  but  never  one  have  I 
heard  expressing  anxiety  for  the  little  children 
who  have  gone  before.  The  great  concern, 
then,  after  their  own  eternal  safety,  has  always 
been  for  those  they  were  leaving  behind.  The 
Lord,  thus,  is  afflicting  thee  now,  that  thy  sorrow 
may  be  mitigated  at  the  last.  Think  of  all  these 
things,  mourning  parents,  and  then  your  be- 
reavement will  seem  to  be,  as  it  in  reality  is,  a 
token  of  love  and  not  of  anger. 

"Oh,  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 
The  Reaper  came  that  day ; 
'Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth, 
And  took  the  flowers  away." 


122  Consolation. 

GRIEF    NOT    FORGOTTEN. 
Rev.  William  Blair,  M.A.  ,  Dunblane. 

When  God  sends  grief  to  any  of  His  children, 
He  has  a  twofold  purpose  in  view  :  to  awaken 
thought  in  them  at  the  time,  and  to  lay  up  for 
them  a  store  of  instruction  and  profit  for  the 
future.  The  immediate  effect  of  God's  visita- 
tions to  us  by  the  death  of  dear  babes  is  prepar- 
atory to  the  higher  end  and  ultimate  effect. 
Grief,  as  the  word  literally  signifies,  is  heavi- 
ness, and  therefore  not  "joyous."  But  the 
heaviness  "  must  needs  be  "  to  create  any  thing 
like  a  real,  deep  impression  in  the  soul.  If 
adversity  is  to  afford '"  sweet  uses,"  the  bitter 
must  be  tasted  first.  No  permanent  benefit 
will  result  from  a  superficial  contact  with  sor- 
row. What  the  poet  sings  of  "  a  little  learn- 
ing "  is  equally  applicable  to  our  experience 
of  grief:  we  must  "drink  deep  or  taste  not," 
if  we  would  enjoy  the  outcome  of  genuine 
tribulation.  It  depends  very  much  on  the 
entertainment  we  give  to  impressions  of  sor- 
row, whether  the  future  will  bring  a  blessing 
back  to  our  bosom.  The  world's  way  is  to 
shut  down  grief  as  it  shuts  down  the  coffin  lid 
on  the  dead,  to  let  the  waves  of  worldliness 
rush    in  as  they  do  behind  the  keel  that  has 


Consolation.  123 

parted  them  asunder.  In  plain  words,  the 
world's  remedy  is  oblivion,  utter  extinction  of 
the  sight  or  sound  of  the  objects  of  buried 
affection  and  hope.  Nor  is  that  fatalistic  way 
of  submitting  to  sorrow  as  an  inevitable  neces- 
sity, as  devotees  beneath  the  wheels  of  inexor- 
able destiny,  one  whit  more  Christian  or 
childlike  than  the  sullen  forgetfulness  of  the 
worldling.  The  virtues  of  submission,  of  holy 
resignation  to  God's  will,  of  softened  and  sanc- 
tified experience,  will  never  grow  on  such  wild 
olives.  Very  significant  are  Paul's  words  of 
warning,  neither  to  "despise  the  chastening 
of  the  Lord,  nor  faint  when  we  are  rebuked 
of  Him."  Those  who  grow  hard  in  the  fire 
affect  to  "despise"  grief  as  a  thing  unmanly, 
womanish,  weak,  and  unworthy  of  being  cher- 
ished in  the  memory  or  the  heart.  And,  to 
some  extent  they  are  right,  when  we  analyze 
the  kind  of  grief  they  indulge. 

It  is  grief  as  a  sefithnent  that  is  weak  and 
"shallow,"  not  as  a  motive  power  in  the  soul. 
Let  sentimental,  sensational  grief  be  unremem- 
bered,  for  it  is  no  better  than  noisy  laughter. 
It  touches  only  the  surface  :  it  has  no  power 
to  stir  the  depths  of  our  nature.  It  weaves  its 
immortelles^  and  hangs  them  around  the  tomb, 
and  straightway  forgets  what  manner  of  man 
it  once  was.     But  genuine,  real   grief  is  not 


124  Consolation . 

forgetful  nor  empty.  It  is  a  fruitful  bough  by 
a  well  whose  branches  run  over  the  wall.  It 
is  a  full  rounded  cluster  wherein  is  the  wine 
of  life  ;  "  destroy  it  not,  for  there  is  a  blessing 
in  it."  Keep  alive  the  memory  of  your  grief, 
the  hallowed  associations  with  which  it  is  en- 
twined, the  nearness  of  your  soul  to  God  when 
heaven  seemed  let  down  to  earth  to  take  from 
you  the  best  of  earth  to  heaven,  the  reality  of 
prayer  then  offered,  and  of  the  answer  re- 
ceived, and  the  rapture  of  heavenly  joy  in 
which  you  walked  when  your  home  was  "  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death."  Cherish  the 
memory,  freshen  the  sense  you  have  of  your 
grief,  not  to  throw  shadows  athwart  your 
pathway,  but  to  brighten  it  with  light  from 
heaven.  Visit  in  thought  the  chamber  where 
the  strife  of  death  was  waged,  and  the  church- 
yard corner  where  you  deposited  the  precious 
dust,  and  think  of  the  transfiguration,  now 
that  the  decease  has  been  accorrjplished,  and 
the  new  link  to  bind  your  heart  to  the  unseen, 
and  the  grand  re-union  coming  nearer  every 
day,  and  then  the  untold  happiness  not  of 
"months  in  the  New  Jerusalem,"  but  of  "for 
ever  with  the  Lord,"  and  with  all  you  have 
loved  and  lost,  but  found  again  when  you 
shall  be  found  of  Christ  at  His  coming. 

Lord    Monboddo   lost    a   beloved    daughter. 


Consolation.  125 

and  grieved  after  a  worldly  sort  over  her. 
Her  picture  on  the  wall  only  reminded  him 
of  his  misery.  A  friend  drew  a  curtain  over 
that  picture  :  upon  which  the  sad  father  said, 
"That  is  kind:  come  now,  and  let  us  read 
Herodotus."  Miserable  comforter,  that  ro- 
mancing father  of  Greek  history  to  a  grieving 
father !  Seek  not  so  to  bury  your  sorrow. 
"Go  and  tell  Jesus,"  as  John's  disciples  did 
when  their  master  was  taken  away.  That  is 
the  way  to  get  your  grief  assuaged,  to  have  it 
transfigured  so  that  the  ca7'te  in  the  album,  or 
the  bust  on  the  wall,  or  the  head-stone  at  the 
grave,  will  bring  no  shade  of  gloom  around 
your  brow  ;  but  each  remembrancer  of  your 
little  one  may  prove  a  beckoning  light  up 
through  the  darkness  to  the  light  that  is  inac- 
cessible and  full  of  glory.  That  is  the  way  to 
get  the  breach  healed.  It  may  be  that  in  the 
first  outburst  of  your  sorrow,  when  your  sons 
and  daughters  rose  up  to  comfort  you,  you 
put  aside  their  ministry  of  consolation,  and, 
like  Jacob,  said,  "  I  will  go  down  into  the 
grave  unto  my  son  mourning."  But,  in  the 
end  of  the  days  when  parting  words  are 
spoken,  Benoni,  the  son  of  sorrow,  has  become 
Benjamin,  the  son  of  my  right  hand,  and  the 
crowning  benediction  rests  on  the  head  of  him 
that  was  separate  from  his  brethren.      Then, 


126  Consolation, 

in  the  light  of  Heaven,  every  shadow  of  earth's 
darkness  will  flee  away,  every  Gethsemane 
become  an  Olivet,  every  step  in  the  vale  of 
tears  a  step  in  your  ascension  to  the  everlast- 
ing Kingdom. 


ARE    THERE    INFANTS    IN    HEAVEN? 
Rev.   Dr.  J.   Logan  Aikman,  Glasgow. 

Do  deceased  infants  remain  infants  in 
heaven?  It  is  surely  worse  than  trifling  with 
scripture  to  make  the  phrase,  "small  and 
great,"  place  infants,  as  such,  before  the  judg- 
ment-throne. To  talk  of  the  lisping  lips  and 
pattering  feet  of  children  on  the  floor  of 
heaven  is  truly  painful.  Had  these  infants 
lived  to  riper  years,  some  of  them  might  have 
loved  and  served  Christ,  and  gone  from  man- 
hood's prime  to  fill  lofty  thrones.  Can  any 
sense  of  privation  flow  from  God's  removal 
of  them  into  His  own  glorious  presence? 
Can  they  be  inferior  in  heaven  to  what  they 
might  have  become  upon  the  earth? 

The  idea  of  continued  infancy  carries  in  it 
the  thought  of  privation.  Some  would  assure 
mourning  mothers .  of  having  their  beloved 
infants  restored  to  their  fond  embrace.  Do 
they   seriously    reflect   upon    what   they    say? 


Consolation.  127 

Were  distance,  and  not  death,  the  form  of 
separation,  they  would  be  justly  viewed  as 
"miserable  comforters."  Tell  a  mother,  part- 
ing from  her  child  because  of  climate,  that 
she  will  again  receive  him,  ten  or  twenty 
years  hence,  in  -precisely  the  same  condition. 
Would  she  not  resent  it  as  an  insult  thus  to 
dwarf  her  noble  boy,  and  imprison  him  for 
years  in  an  infant's  frame?  Surely  the^  same 
reasoning  applies  to  death  as  to  distance,  and 
equally  to  heaven  and  earth.  Our  whole 
nature,  instinctively,  appeals  to  the  law  of 
progress  as  the  law  of  life.  To  contemplate 
eternal  infancy  in  heaven  is  to  think  of  igno- 
rance in  the  land  of  vision,  of  weakness  in 
the  scene  of  power,  and  of  imprisoned  facul- 
ties in  the  presence  of  the  glorified  Redeemer. 
When  infants  rise  to  heaven  they  are  subject 
to  the  law  of  life,  and  advance  in  the  develop- 
ment of  their  being  at  a  pace  unknown  on 
earth.  When  we  ask  the  mother  to  look 
beyond  her  own  loss  to  her  child's  gain,  we 
think  of  that  sainted  spirit  as  rising  more 
rapidly  to  manhood's  fulness,  and  heaven's 
excellence,  than  if  he  had  lived  on  earth. 
How  can  an  intellig^ent  mother  ever  become 
reconciled  to  her  personal  loss,  or  even  rise 
above  the  thought  of  her  child's  loss,  if,  as  she 
sees    the   remaining    members    of   her   family 


128  Consolation, 

increase  in  stature,  knowledge,  and  wisdom, 
she  must  needs  think  of  the  brightest  and  best 
of  them,  whom  God  has  sainted,  as  retained 
in  perpetual  infancy?  Much  as  that  mother 
marvels  at,  and  rejoices  over  the  dawning  and 
advancing  intelligence  of  her  little  circle,  one 
glimpse  of  her  sainted  boy  should  convince 
her  that  a  few  short  years  in  heaven  have 
done  more  for  him,  than  a  long  and  well-spent 
life  can  possibly  do  for  them. 

Yet  what  wonderful  compensation  in  the 
Divine  economy  !  Ripe  Christians  must  begin 
their  heaven  on  a  loftier  platform,  and  pro- 
gress at  a  quicker  pace  in  the  ever-upward 
march  towards  perfection,  than  those  who 
have  all  to  learn  after  they  have  entered  upon 
glory.  Looking  from  the  earthward  side  of 
life  we  say  —  happy  souls,  translated  to  heaven, 
in  blessed  unconsciousness  of  sin  and  sorrow  ! 
Looking  from  the  heavenward  side  we  ex- 
claim, Blessed  ye,  who  lived  and  served  on 
earth,  to  have  your  manifold  labors  recited 
and  rewarded  by  the  Saviour-Judge !  We 
may  speculate  on  the  comparative  advantages 
of  early  and  later  removals,  —  of  inhincy  with 
its  unconsciousness  of  sin,  and  its  feebler 
spiritual  life,  and  of  manhood  with  its  large 
experience  and  greater  power  of  progress 
within   the    one    kingdom, — but    ever   to    fall 


Consolation.  129 

back  for  comfort  upon  the  all-wise  God,  and 
in  adoring  gratitude  to  say  unto  Him,  "Even 
so,  Father  :  for  so  it  seemed  good  in  Thy  sight." 

The  law  of  development  is  the  law  of  life, 
alike  on  earth  and  in  heaven.  Exercise  ex- 
p'ands  and  invigorates  the  faculties.  Enlarged 
capacities  demand  an  ever-widening  sphere  of 
action.  Why  restrict  to  manhood  and  not 
extend  to  infancy  the  gracious  provisions  of 
that  Divine  law?  Why  not  stereotype  ex- 
hausted age  as  well  as  unfledged  infancy? 
Must  these  germs  of  activity  never  rise  into 
action?  Shall  the  blossom  never  ripen  into 
fruit?  Can  the  noble  faculties  of  mind  and 
heart  find  an  everlasting  prison  in  the  bosom 
of  infancy  ?  Must  that  child  carry  in  him  all 
the  elements,  and  yet  never  reach  the  stature 
of  a  perfected  manhood?  To  ask  these  ques- 
tions is  to  answer  them,  and  so  as  to  affirm 
that  man's  loftiest  hopes  fall  far  short  of  God's 
glorious  fulfilment. 

The  very  thought  of"  heaven  suggests  the 
absence  of  all  imperfection, — the  non-appear- 
ance of  feeble  infancy  and  time-worn  age, 
the  universal  manifestation  of  manhood  in 
immortal  beauty  and  strength.  The  finished 
work  of  Christ  demands  a  complete  humanit}' ; 
and  man  is  still  seriously  incomplete  in  child- 
hood. Soon  the  infant  in  heaven  rises  out  of 
9 


130  Consolation, 

his  infancy,  and  attains  to  a  knowledge,  wis- 
dom, and  spirituality,  greater  far  than  if  he 
had  lived  and  loved  Christ  for  a  hundred  years 
upon  the  earth. 

Great,  however,  as  the  progress  may  be 
prior  to  the  resurrection  of  the  body,  and  fully 
as  entrance  into  heaven  must  compensate  for 
an  early  removal  from  earth,  let  it  be  remem- 
bered that  the  spirit  in  heaven  is  not  humanity 
perfected.  The  body  must  needs  be  raised, 
and  in  a  form  adapting  it  for  union  and  part- 
nership with  the  glorified  soul,  ere  heaven  can 
be  enjoyed  in  its  fulness.  The  recovery  of 
the  entire  man  into  the  likeness  of  Christ  is 
the  finishing  of  the  work  of  redemption,  and 
must  be  the  introduction  of  ransomed  and  per- 
fected humanity  into  the  fulness  of  promised 
and  prepared  glories. 

When  musing  sadly  on  the  recent  removal 
of  our  endeared  Theodore  from  our  family 
circle,  narrowed  so  much  by  three  beloved 
ones  withdrawn  before  him,  the  tender  and 
timely  sympathy  of  a  much  loved  friend  whis- 
pered the  precious  sentence,  "  Christ's  cove- 
nant with  His  Father,  that  He  should  have  all 
the  infant  spirits  for  His  kingdom,  is  our  only 
satisfactory  foundation."  The  comfort  in  these 
priceless  words  is  affectionately  offered  to  all 
bereaved  and  sorrowing  parents. 


Consolation.  131 

ON  THE   DEATH   OF   CHILDREN. 
Rev.  J.  P.  Chown,  Bradford. 

Sometimes  the  child  is  taken,  when  God 
sees  if  it  were  spared  it  would  engross  too 
much  of  the  parents'  affections,  it  would  be 
idolized  instead  of  loved,  would  be  in  the  place 
of  the  Saviour  and  heaven  to  the  parents,  and 
that  would  not  be  well  either  for  them  or  the 
child.  Sometimes  the  child  is  taken  instead 
of  the  parent.  Justice  does  not  say,  "Thou 
fool,  this  night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of 
thee,"  but  Mercy  says,  instead,  "I  will  call  the 
child,  and  that  may  arrest  him  in  his  course, 
and  the  shock  may  break  the  ties  that  bind 
him  to  sin."  And  so  the  child,  who  is  ready 
for  heaven,  is  taken  ;  the  parent,  who  must 
have  been  cast  down  to  hell,  is  spared.  Some- 
times God  sees  that  our  affections  are  becomincr 
too  closely  entwined  around  earthly  objects, 
and  He  takes  the  child,  that  those  affections 
may  be  drawn  up  to  heaven  with  it ;  it  needs  a 
painful  wrench  to  tear  them  away,  and  it  is 
thus  He  snatches  from  us  a  present  treasure,  to 
lead  us  to  seek  after  future  and  everlasting 
joys.  And  then  we  know  they  are  not  lost,  — 
these  dear  departed  children.  The  flower  was 
given,  and  had  just  begun  to  bloom  in  its 
beauty  and  breathe  its  fragrance  through  your 


132  Consalation. 

dwelling,  and  now  it  is  gone ;  but  it  is  not 
withered,  it  is  not  stolen,  it  is  not  destroyed ; 
the  Lord  of  the  garden  has  sent  His  messenger, 
and  he  has  plucked  it,  and  borne  it  up  from  the 
desert  world,  whose  rude  blasts  chilled  it,  to 
the  Paradise  where  it  shall  bud  and  bloom  in 
the  sunlight  of  heaven  for  ever.  Remember, 
too,  how  many  parents  would  have  rejoiced 
if  their  flowers  had  been  taken  to  Paradise, 
instead  of  being  spared  to  be  the  poor  wretched, 
withered,  down-trodden  things  they  are  now, 
—  rather  weeds,  indeed,  than  flowers, — or 
crushed,  it  may  be,  almost  out  of  existence 
altogether.  And  think,  also,  that  if  our  little 
ones  were  taken  from  heaven  to  earth,  or  even 
if  it  were  from  earth  to  an  unknown  place,  or 
to  a  worse  place,  then  we  might  grieve  over  it ; 
but  it  is  not  so,  if  we  have  them  not  here 
we  have  them  in  heaven.  About  whomsoever 
we  may  have  doubts  over  their  departure, 
there  is  no  room  for  doubt  here  ;  the  Saviour 
who  gathered  them  around  Him  upon  earth, 
and  blessed  them,  is  gathering  them  around 
Him  in  heaven,  and  blessing  them  in  a  manner 
of  which  we  can  form  no  conception  ;  and  so 
they  are  there,  dwelling  in  His  presence, 
blessed  in  His  smile,  rich  in  His  glory,  and 
waiting  to  welcome  those  who  shall  follow 
them,  to  their  portion  of  everlasting  peace 
and  joy. 


Consolation.  133 

"IT  IS  WELL." 
Rev.  Dr.  John  Bruce,  Newmilns,  Ayrshire. 

Surely  it  should  not  require  many  words  to 
persuade  bereaved  Christian  parents,  that  with 
their  children  also  "it  is  well."  They  may 
think  on  the  object  of  their  tenderest  affection 
as  for  ever  withdrawn  from  them,  and  laid  in 
the  dreary,  desolating  grave.  The  bhmk  pro- 
duced in  their  family  circle,  with  its  mournful 
associations,  may  ever  and  anon  obtrude  itself 
on  their  view.  And  when  they  reflect  on  the* 
days  when  the  candle  of  the  Lord  shone  upon 
them,  and  when  all  was  cheerful  in  the  midst 
of  their  dwellings,  they  may  be  overpowered 
and  overwhelmed,  and  for  a  time  may  even 
"refuse  to  be  comforted."  But,  by  and  by, 
the  tumiult  of  the  soul  is  allayed  \  by  and  by 
the  precious  promises  are  attended  to ;  by 
and  by  the  Spirit,  with  its  consoling  influences, 
gets  access  to  the  mind,  and  then  the  bereaved 
and  sorrowing  parent  can  look  at  the  bright 
side  of  the  dispensation,  and  can  say.  It  is  well. 
Musing  on  God's  ways  towards  him,  he  may  be 
supposed  to  indulge  in  such  thoughts  as  these, 
—  He  was  indeed  a  pleasant  child  that  was 
removed  from  me,  and  one  on  whom  my  heart 
was  set.  I  had  fondly  hoped  to  see  him  grow 
in  strength  and  beauty,  and  to  be  usefully  and 


134  Consolation. 

honorably  active  in  life.  I  had  anticipated  the 
period  when  he  should  be  my  companion, 
my  counsellor,  my  comforter,  my  pride.  But 
God  in  His  sovereignty  has  ordered  it  other- 
vvrise  ;  and  shall  I  complain?  Shall  I  complain 
because,  in  a  different  w^ay  from  that  w^hich 
my  own  imaginings  had  pictured,  my  highest 
wish  for  my  child  is  fulfilled?  Shall  I  com- 
plain because  the  warfare  has  been  so  short, 
and.  the  victory  so  easily  and  speedily  won? 
because  the  lamb  has  been  so  soon  gathered 
into  the  fold,  and  sheltered  from  the  rough  and 
ruthless  blast?  because  the  little  voyager  on 
life's  wide  ocean  has  escaped  so  completely 
the  perils  of  life,  and  has  entered  so  soon  the 
peaceful  haven?  because  the  immortal  spirit, 
the  heir  of  heaven,  lingered  for  so  short  a  time 
in  this  land  of  darkness,  and  passed  so  soon 
into  the  realms  of  light?  Shall  I  complain  for 
these  and  similar  reasons?  Verily,  No.  Fond 
nature,  cease  thy  unwarrantable  murmuring. 
Look  to  thy  child  in  his  glorified  state ;  "  for 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Think 
of  him  as  raised  above  all  sorrow,  and  suf- 
fering, and  imperfection,  and  mingling  with 
the  innumerable  company  of  the  redeemed. 

"Forgive,  blest  shade,  the  tributary  tear, 

That  mourns  thine  exit  from  a  world  like  this  : 
Forgive  the  wish  that  would  have  kept  thee  here, 
And  staj'd  thj  progress  to  the  realms  of  bliss  " 


Consolation,  1^5 

GOD'S   RELATIONSHIP  TO   CHILDREN. 

Rev.  John  Guthrie,  A.M.,  Glasgow. 

Our  Father  in  Heaven,  the  infinite  Parent 
of  us  all,  and  the  Saviour,  who  did  what  no 
parent  has  done,  —  shed  His  blood  to  redeem 
them,  —  have  a  closer  relation  to  our  children, 
and  a  better  right  to  them,  than  we.  Be  it  the 
endeavor,  then,  of  mourning  parents  to  exclaim 
with  the  bereft  patriarch,  and  as  much  as  pos- 
sible in  that  patriarch's  spirit  and  power,  "^  The 
Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away ; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  Yea,  let 
them  overflow  with  hallelujahs,  that,  in  the 
Atonement  of  Jesus,  they  have  such  an  im- 
pregnable ground  of  hope  in  respect  to  their 
deceased  children.  The  fact  that  these  chil- 
dren are  in  heaven,  among  the  shining  throng, 
white-robed,  and  vocal  with  the  praises  of 
redeeming  love,  should  endear  Jesus  to  them 
the  more,  through  the  ransom  of  whose  precious 
blood  their  darlings  are  now  in  an  infinitely 
happier  than  the  parental  home.  This  will 
help  you,  desolate  parent,  better  to  appreciate 
and  realize  the  claims  of  that  bright  world 
to  which  they  have  been  summoned.  You 
know  not  what  use  God  may  have  for  them 
there.     Who  knows  to  what  glorious  account 


136  Consolation, 

Jesus,  even  now  while  you  weep,  may  there  be 
turning  their  little  radiant  spirits?  He  has  the 
ripened  spirits  there  of  "just  men  made  per- 
fect ; "  and  with  these  He  gems  and  jewels  His 
crown  of  many  stars.  But  He  has  also  use 
there  for  the  infant  spirit  in  its  loveliness.  If 
the  ripened  saints  are  the  stars  that  grace  His 
crown,  He  whose  delight  is  to  take  the  lambs 
into  His  arms  may  well  cull  also  the  buds  and 
flowerets  of  childhood  to  cluster  as  a  garland 
round  His  bosom  of  love.  Your  children's 
precious  dust  is  at  present  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy;  but  that  enemy,  —  "the  last  enemy," 
—  shall  be  destroyed,  and  you  and  the  tender 
objects  of  your  regret,  if  you  are  only  faithful 
to  that  Saviour  whose  blood  has  saved  therii, 
and  persevere  in  the  faith  and  love  of  Him 
to  the  end,  will  meet  again  ere  long,  tri- 
umphant over  death,  the  grim  foe  that  has 
despoiled  you,  and  spend  a  long  and  happy 
Forever  in  the  presence  of  your  Lord. 

We  would  say,  in  conclusion,  to  the  bereft 
parent,  through  whose  heart  grief  has  driven  its 
rude  ploughshare,  and  whose  wounds,  it  may 
be,  are  yet  green,  "Mourn  not  as  those  who 
have  no  hope,",  for,  as  respects  your  children, 
"there  is  hope  in  their  end."  In  their  material 
part  only,  they  are,  like  Rachel's  of  old,  "  in  the 
land  of  the  enemy  : "  their  nobler  part  is  in  the 


Consolation .  1 37 

land,  and  in  the  embrace,  of  the  Infinite  Friend. 
Nor  is  that  Friend  forgetful  of  their  sleeping 
dust.  It  is  precious  in  His  sight.  "  The 
redemption  of  the  body "  is  as  sure  as  "  the 
redemption  of  the  soul."  That  enemy,  "  the  last 
enemy,"  shall  one  day  be  destroyed ;  and  on 
that  eventful  day,  "your  children  shall  come 
again."  Only  see  to  it,  now^  like  David,  that 
you  will,  by  faith,  "  go  to  them,"  and  Jesus 
will  see  to  it  then  that  they  shall  "  come  to  you." 
"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  ;  refrain  thy  voice  from 
weeping  and  thine  eyes  from  tears  ;  for  thy 
work  shall  be  rewarded,  saith  the  Lord;. and 
they  shall  come  again  from  the  land  of  the 
enemy."  What  a  rapturous  prospect  for  the 
Christian  parent ! 


THE   CHILDREN   SAFELY  FOLDED. 
Rev.  Dr.  Joseph  Brown,  Glasgow. 

I  HAVE  a  full  persuasion  in  my  own  mind 
that  "it  is  well  with  the  child"  that  dies  in 
infancy ;  and  I  have  often  felt  thankful  that  I 
had  satisfied  myself  oh  that  head  before  I  was 
led  to  secure  the  possession  of  a  burying  place 
for'  my  own  infant  children  ;  but  my  faith  rests 
less  on  any  particular  passage  than  on  the 
genius  of  the  gospel  scheme.     Just  as  I  find 


138  Consolation. 

that  the  divinity  of  our  Lord  is  the  key  to  the 
interpretation  of  the  current  representation  of 
Scripture,  so  I  think  that  the  salvation  of  infant 
children  is  in  best  accordance  with  many 
portions  of  the  holy  oracles. 

I  had  occasion  to  glance  at  the  subject 
of  infant  salvation  recently,  w^hen  speaking 
of  Christ's  being  "  glorified  in  "  the  number'  of 
"  His  saints  in  that  day,"  and  in  endeavoring 
to  establish  the  position  that  the  redeemed  will 
greatly  outnumber  those  that  perish.  I  believe 
that  even  in  past  times  the  number  of  the 
saints  may  have  been  greater  than  a  con- 
tracted charity  has  supposed,  than  the  spirit 
of  bigotry  has  allowed.  I  believe  that,  in 
the  long  ages  of  rest  and  triumph  in  store 
for  the  Church,  "the  nations  of  the  saved" 
will  soon  counterbalance  the  deficiencies  of 
many  generations.  And  even  in  reference 
to  those  periods  in  which  sin  and  Satan  have 
most  prevailed,  I  comfort  myself  with  the 
thought  that  death  has  been  employed  by  Him 
who  has  the  power  of  the  keys,  in  securing  a 
great  ingathering  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
from  those  who  have  died  in  infancy. 

I  remember  conversing,  many  years  ago,  on 
this  subject,  with  the  late  Ebenezer  Brown, 
of  Inverkeithing,  and  of  marking  the  delight 
he  seemed  to  gather  from  the  thought  that  the 


Consolation,  139 

multitudes  of  children  who  die  in  heathen 
countries,  and  in  the  heathen  parts  of  our  own 
country,  ay,  and  even  those  that  are  violently 
taken  away  by  the  cruel  hands  of  superstition 
and  idolatry,  are  "  caught  up  to  God  and  to 
His  throne,"  to  swell  the  numbers  of  the 
ransomed,  and  to  enlarge  the  honors  of  the 
Redeemer. 


LITTLE   ONES   IN   HEAVEN. 
Rev.  Dr    Robkrt   Ferguson,  London. 

We  are  not  forbidden  to  mourn  over  the  loss 
of  those  who  have  been  taken  from  us  ;  but  our 
sorrow  should  be  moderated  by  the  reflection 
that  our  loss  is  their  gain.  The  joy  which  was 
felt,  and  whose  expression  could  not  be  re- 
pressed at  the  birth  of  the  child,  is  surely  not 
to  become  extinct  in  the  event  of  his  departure 
and  introduction  to  a  nobler  state  of  being. 
Are  all  those  delightful  emotions  which  took 
possession  of  our  breasts  when  he  began  to 
develop  his  intellectual  power,  or  his  spiritual 
life,  to  die  out  when  that  very  same  child  is 
taken  up  into  the  society  of  perfected  spirits,  in 
whose  midst  his  mental  powers  and  his  inner 
life  will  be  revealed  as  they  never  could  have 
been  in  this  inferior  state  ?  Is  it  nothing  that 
we  have  given  birth  to  one  who  is  now  num- 


T  40  Consolation . 

bered  with  the  sons  of  glory,  and  whose  pres- 
ence in  heaven  has  widened  the  circle  of  the 
redeemed  around  the  throne  of  God  ?  If  death 
be  a  condition  of  life,  then  those  whom  we  may 
have  lost  by  death  are  not  lost,  but  gone  before. 
They  are  not  dead,  but  live  ;  and  with  the  liv- 
ing only  do  they  hold  communion.  If  the 
highest  type  of  created  life  be  that  of  the  re- 
deeined  and  the  glorified,  then  our  joy  ought 
to  be  proportioned  to  those  higher  conditions 
of  being  and  of  bliss  to  which  they  have  been 
raised. 

Christian  parent !  dry  up  thy  tears  ;  or  if  you 
must  weep,  make  a  rainbow  of  your  tears. 
Let  joy  rise  above  grief  as  heaven  rises  above 
earth.  If  the  birth  of  your  child  filled  your 
breast  with  emotions  which  no  human  words 
can  express,  and  if  on  his  being  born  again 
you  became  the  subjects  of  feelings  yet  more 
tender  and  peculiar,  then  think  of  him  now 
amid  the  beatitudes  and  the  blessedness  of  the 
heavenly  world,  sinless  in  character,  deathless 
in  life,  exhaustless  in  energy,  ceaseless  in  ac- 
tivity, and  through  the  ages  on  ages,  ever  mov- 
ing in  the  light  of  the  throne,  expatiating  amid 
its  unquenchable  glories,  and  upholding  com- 
munion with  the  Eternal  Life. 

How  delightful  the  idea  that  some  of  our 
little  ones  are  there,  ever  beholding  the  face  of 


Consolation.  141 

their  Father,  reposing  in  His  immutable  love, 
and  being  filled  with  the  fulness  of  joy  !  How 
cheering  the  thought  that  they  have  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  society  and  the  fellowship  of  per- 
fected spirits,  are  now  the  companions  and 
associates  of  patriarchs,  and  prophets,  and 
apostles,  of  martyrs  and  confessors,  of  the 
mightiest  and  the  noblest  dead,  and  hold  the 
most  intimate  intercourse  with  them  on  all  that 
is  holy  and  true,  unchangeably  good  and  sub- 
limely grand  !  How  inspiring  the  belief,  that 
the}^  are  now  waiting  our  arrival,  and  are  beck- 
oning us  onward  and  upward  to  join  their  wider 
circle,  to  enter  with  them  on  brighter  scenes, 
and  to  enjoy  life  with  them  in  its  fulness  and 
its  fruitions  !  If  we  have  ties  on  earth  we  have 
ties  also  in  heaven.  Nor  let  us  forget  that 
heaven  is  our  home,  as  it  is  the  home  of  those 
little  ones  now  in  glory.  It  is  there  that  we 
are  to  meet  them  again,  to  be  reunited  in 
indissoluble  bonds,  and  to  dwell  in  endless 
life.  Their  very  existence  there  is  meant  to 
charm  our  spirits  up  to  their  bright  abode. 
Let  us,  then,  set  our  affections  on  that  higher 
world;  let  us  yield  to  its  attractive  inffuence  ; 
and  let  us  rejoice  in  this  prospect  of  mingling 
for  ever  with  our  little  ones  and  our  loved  ones 
in  scenes  of  ineffable  light  and  life,  of  glorious 
love  and  boundless  joy. 


142  ..       Consolation. 


MUTUAL  RECOGNITION   IN  HEAVEN. 
Rev.  Dr.  George  Smith,  Poplar,  London. 

The  hope  of  reunion  in  a  future  state  of  be- 
ing has  been  prevalent  amongst  devout  and 
thoughtful  persons  in  all  ages  of  time,  and  under 
the  various  dispensations  of  divine  truth  which 
have  passed  over  men.  Some  glimmerings  of 
this  expectation  have  visited  communities  and 
individuals  unblest  with  the  light  of  a  written 
revelation,  but  who  probably  derived  their 
impressions  from  traditionary  recollections  of  a 
primitive  faith.  A  definite  and  ever-brighten- 
ing impression  of  the  truth  has  been  obtained 
under  the  Patriarchal,  the  Jewish,  and  the 
Christian  economies.  This  hope  has  been  a 
great  comfort  to  mourners  in  seasons  of  bereave- 
ment. They  have  felt  as  did  the  monarch  of 
Israel,  who  when  lamenting  the  decease  of  his 
child,  encouraged  his  heart  by  uttering  the 
well-known  words,  "I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he 
shall  not  return  to  me."  .   .    . 

By  many  of  those  who  receive  the  kingdom 
of  God  as  little  children,  this  consoling  doctrine 
is  admitted  without  gainsaying,  and  is  almost 
intuitively  perceived.  Not  very  long  since,  an 
aged  disciple,  a  highly  valued  relative  of  mine, 
fell    asleep  in  Jesus    at  the  advanced  age  of 


Consolation.  143 

eighty-one  years.  On  hearing  of  the  event, 
his  sistej:,  more  aged  than  he,  said,  "  How  glad 
my  dear  mother  will  be  to  see  her  darling  boy 
again  ! "  When  the  tidings  of  death  reached 
my  home,  a  grandchild  of  the  departed  saint, 
my  own  youngest  boy,  Richard  Morley,  being 
then  only  in  his  fifth  year,  exclaimed,  "  How 
delighted  grandmamma  will  be  to  see  him 
again  !  "  Thus  youth  and  age,  both  taught  of 
God,  testified  to  a  glorious  truth.  They  have 
both  since  then  passed  into  the  world  of  light ; 
the  child  after  a  few  weeks  only,  and  they  are 
doubtless  reunited  to  the  loved  ones  of  whom 
the}^  believingly  spoke. 

This  subject  is  adapted  to  comfort  the  orphan 
deprived  of  parental  support,  and  cast  on  the 
fatherhood  of  God.  It  is  equally  suited  to 
bind  up  the  wounds  of  parents  who  mourn,  like 
Rachel,  over  their  children,  because  they  are 
not.  Nor  is  it  less  fitted  to  support  the  mind 
of  others  who  are  deprived  of  companions  in 
labor,  and  sorrow,  and  joy.  We  can  follow 
them  b}^  faith  within  the  veil,  and  behold  their 
ever  increasing  happiness.  We  can  listen  to 
the  voice  of  revelation,  which  assures  us  that 
they  without  us  cannot  be  perfect ;  and  we  can 
look  forward  with  hope  to  the  time  when, 
knowing  as  we  are  known,  we  shall  rejoin  them 
in  the  climes  of  bliss,  and  with  them  place  the 


144  Consolation. 

crown  of  redemption  at  the  feet  of  the  Re- 
deemer. With  Richard  Baxter,  the  eloquent 
discourser  on  "  The  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest," 
we  may  say,  addressing  the  Captain  of  our 
salvation,  — 

"As  for  my  friends,  they  are  not  lost; 
The  different  vessels  of  Thy  fleet 
Though  parted  now,  bj  tempests  tost,  ' 

At  length  shall  in  the  haven  meet." 


SAFE  WITH   CHRIST. 
Rev.  Charles  Garrett,  Manchester. 

Oh,  weeping,  trembling  mother,  the  Good 
Shepherd  who  carries  the  lambs  in  His  bosom, 
looks  pityingly  upon  you,  and  says  in  loving 
tones,  "  Can  you  not  trust  your  child  with  Me  f^ 
Surely  your  heart,  in  the  midst  of  its  agony, 
wdll  reply,  "Yes,  Lord,  I  can."  You  have 
often  said  to  an  earthly  friend,  "  I  have  no  fear 
nor  anxiety  about  my  child  when  it  is  with 
you.'''  And  if  this  be  true,  for  it  to  be  with 
Christ  must  be  far  better.  Think  of  His  un- 
erring wisdom,  His  almight}^  power,  His  bound- 
less resources,  His  unutterable  tenderness,  and, 
above  all.  His  infinite  love,  and  your  faith  will 
be  strengthened  and  steadied.    Remember  that 


Consolation.  145 

He  loves  your  sainted  child  as  tenderly  as 
if  there  were  not  another  child  in  the  universe, 
and,  oh,  how  safe,  how  happy  it  must  be  with 
Him!  Bear  in  mind,  also,  that  the  separation 
is  only  for  a  "little  while,"  as  little  as  is 
consistent  with  your  eternal  welfare.  Your 
heavenly  Father  is  far  more  anxious  to  have 
you  in  heaven  than  you  are  to  get  there.  All 
the  events  of  your  life  are  working  together  for 
this  end.  You  may  not  be  able  to  see  how 
this  can  be,  but  His  eyes  are  clearer  than 
yours.  He  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning. 
If,  therefore,  you  cannot  -praise  Him  for  this 
"  fiery  trial,"  don't  murmur.,  be  "  dumb,  and 
open  not  your  mouth,"  because  He  has  done  it. 
He  will  understand  your  silence.  "  He  knoweth 
our  frame  ;  He  remembereth  that  we  are  dust." 
His  purposes  will  soon  be  accomplished,  and 
then  amidst  the  glories  of  heaven  you  will  meet 
again  ;  so  shall  you  "obtain  joy  and  gladness, 
and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away." 


UNCONVERTED   PARENTS   ADMONISHED. 
Rev.  Professor  M'Michael,  D  D.,  Dunfermline. 

Perhaps  there  is  a  danger,  in  themes  of  this 
description,  of  overlooking  the  case  of  mourn- 
ing  parents,    who  are    themselves    in    an  un- 


146  Consolation, 

sanctified  state,  and  who  are  destitute  of  a 
saving  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus.  This  book 
may  fall  into  their  hands,  and  to  them  I  would 
now  address  a  word  of  kind  and  faithful  ex- 
postulation. May  it  be  abundantly  blessed, 
through  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  promote  their 
eternal  interests  ! 

My  supposition  is,  Death  has  entered  your 
dwelling,  and  has  snatched  a  loved  one  from 
your  embrace.  That  child,  I  believe,  is  safe, 
—  safe  in  heaven  ;  but  you  yourselves  are  still 
living  in  sin  and  unbelief.  What  a  monstrous 
contradiction  is  here  !  Your  child  in  heaven, 
while  you  are  on  the  broad  road  to  hell !  That 
child  was  dear,  inexpressibly  dear  to  you ;  but 
the  Lord  took  him.  Perhaps  it  was  done  for 
your  spiritual  benefit.  Had  it  not  been  for  this 
gracious  purpose,  he  might  have  been  still 
Avith  you,  cheering  your  heart.  More  fre- 
quently than  is  imagined,  children  become 
martyrs  for  the  sake  of  their  ungodly  parents. 
For  them  they  wither,  and  for  them  they  die. 
But  has  this  divine  visitation  produced  the 
effect  which  it  ought  to  have  done?  Did  you 
actually  look  upon  your  own  child  in  the  con- 
vulsions of  death?  did  you  place  it  in  its  little 
coffin,  and  lay  its  head  in  the  grave,  without 
a  piercing  consciousness  of  the  evil  of  sin? 
There  would  have    been    nothing    surprising. 


Consolation.  147 

though  God  had  smitten  jk<??^  dead,  and  friends 
had  been  summoned  to  your  funeral.  Laden 
with  sin,  as  all  of  us  are  who  have  arrived  at 
mature  years,  that  was  just  what  might  have 
been  expected,  and  what  would  assuredly  1  ap- 
pen  did  not  infinite  mercy  prevent.  But  did  it 
never  occur  to  you,  how  dreadful  sin  must 
appear  in  the  sight  of  God,  when  even  that 
young  child  of  yours  paid  the  awful  penalty? 
The  wages  of  sin  is  death.  Did  it  never  occur 
to  you,  that  if  there  were  nothing  inconsistent 
in  divine  goodness  and  justice  sending  disease 
and  death  upon  that  little  one,  what  must  be 
your  own  condition,  should  you  die  impenitent 
and  be  summoned  into  the  presence  of  the 
Judge  with  all  your  guilt  upon  your  head? 
Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  what  additional 
misery  shall  be  yours  in  the  place  of  perdition, 
when  you  remember  there,  that  you  have  a 
darling  child  in  heaven,  and  that  had  you 
profited  by  the  lesson  which  its  premature 
death  was  intended  to  teach,  3^ou  might  your- 
selves have  been  with  it,  and  with  the  other 
glorified  inhabitants,  singing  the  higli  praises 
of  our  God?  By  the  memory  of  that  child 
so  dear  to  you ;  by  the  value  of  your  own 
immortal  souls  which  are  in  danger  of  perish- 
ing ;  by  the  terrors  of  the  day  of  judgment, 
when    each  one    of  us  must  give  an  account 


148  Consolation, 

of  himself  unto  God  ;  and  by  the  precious  blood 
of  Christ,  which  cleanseth  from  all  sin,  I 
beseech  you  now  to  repent  and  to  accept  the 
overtures  of  divine  compassion.  Mercy  there 
is  for  you  still,  much  as  you  have  hitherto 
hardened  your  hearts  and  despised  the  chas- 
tisements of  Jehovah.  Flee,  without  delay,  to 
the  Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  your  souls,  and 
surrender  yourselves  freely  unto  Him.  Then  it 
will  be  in  your  power  to  say,  with  the  bereaved 
Shunammite,  "  It  is  well ;  "  and  also  to  adopt 
the  language  of  David,  with  reference  to  his 
dead  son,  "I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not 
return  to  me." 


A  WORD   IN  SEASON. 
Rev.  Henry  Batchelor,  Glasgow. 

You  need  not  ask  the  Prophet's  question, 
"Is  it  well  with  the  child?''  The  "Good 
Shepherd  "  always  carries  the  drooping  lamb 
in  His  bosom,  and  the  last  breath  is  the  token 
that  it  has  reached  the  sacred  and  guarded  fold, 
and  that  its  spirit  has  found  rest.  Death  to  a 
little  one  is  like  liberating  a  bird  to  seek  its 
native  clime.  Its  unsoiled  pinion  and  virgin 
song   are  for  a  sunnier  realm.     The  light  in 


Consolation,  149 

which  it  is  lost  to  thee  is  the  radiance  of  the 
better  land.  "  For  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
God.  But  oh !  parent,  what  of  thine  own 
soul?  Hast  thou  one  so  near  to  thee,  one  that 
thou  thoughtest  inseparable  from  thy  life  and 
love,  in  heaven?  Are  the  little  feet  touching 
the  blissful  shore  that  thou  shalt  never  tread? 
Is  its  ear  filled  with  sounds  that  shall  never 
come  to  thine?  Is  its  young  and  tender  form 
lustrous  with  a  glory  which  shall  never  shine 
on  thee?  Is  it  now  looking  on  the  face  which 
thine  eye,  through  all  the  eternal  ages,  shall 
never  see? 

Is  thy  little  one  so  much  to  thee^  and  art  thou 
less  to  Godf  "  We  are  His  oifspring."  The 
Great  Teacher  enjoined,  "When  ye  pray,  say, 
our  Father.^''  Ye  have  a  place  in  the  paternal 
love  of  God.  Thy  burdens  are  His  care.  An 
imperilled  soul  is  more  to  Him  than  all  his 
vast  dominions.  He  has  taken  to  Himself  the 
little  life  so  precious  to  thee,  to  draw  thee 
after.  This  is  God's  most  loving  act  to  thee. 
Many  a  time  thou  hast  heard  His  voice,  and 
didst  not  heed  it.  He  gave  His  only-begotten 
Son  to  agony  and  death  for  thee,  and  it 
touched  thee  not;  now,  He  has  taken  thine 
own  loved  one  from  thee.  It  is  not  the  first 
time  that  a  little  golden  head  has  attracted 
hoary  hairs  to   heaven.     Tiny  pattering   feet 


150  Consolation. 

trace  for  strong  men  the  way  to  God,  and 
lead,  by  silken  cords  of  love,  to  His  blest 
abode.  "  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings  Thou  hast  -perfected  ■praise'''  May 
it  be  thy  comfort  that  every  step  in  life  is 
guiding  thee  to  embrace  thy  little  one  again, 
where  flowers  never  wither,  and  immortality 
beams  in  every  countenance. 


APPEAL    TO    PARENTS. 
Rev.   William  Bathgate,   Kilmarnock. 

Christian  parent,  bereaved  of  an  infant- 
child,  one  word  of  appeal  to  3'OU.  Sore  was 
your  heart  in  the  sad  hour  which  struck  the 
departure,  to  another  home  and  bosom,  of  your 
darling  child.  Though  seasons  may  have 
come  and  gone,  though  years  of  vicissitude 
may  have  fled  since  you  kissed  for  the  last 
time  the  infant-clay  in  its  snow-white  dress, 
or  heard  the  first  clod  fall  relentlessly  on  the 
coffin  which  contained  the  pride  of  your  heart, 
the  tear  still  starts,  and  the  lip  still  quivers, 
over  the  name  and  image  of  your  beloved  in- 
fant. Sorrow  not  for  him.  He  stands  on  the 
other  bank  of  the  Jordan,  ready  to  hail  you  as 
you  rise  from  the  troubled  river.     He  tunes  his 


Consolation,  151 

infantine  harp  to  give  you  a  gladsome  wel- 
come to  the  mansions  above.  Wish  him  not 
"back  again,"  for  the  wish  is  unkind  as  well  as 
vain.  Comfort  yourself  with  the  assurance 
that  you  "shall  go  to  him."  Your  child  is  not 
among  strangers.  The  angels  wait  on  him. 
The  Saviour  carries  him  in  His  bosom. 
Never  was  he  so  much  at  home.  He  has  the 
blessed  fortune  to  advance  beneath  the  care 
and  education  of  heaven.  He  is  in  the  train 
of  the  blessed  Saviour,  for  whose  glorious  ap- 
pearing you  daily  look.  Oh,  let  your  affections 
be  jixcd  on  the  heavenly  world.  The  Great 
Spirit  will  not  charge  you  with  idolatry  should 
you  quicken  your  pace  to  glory  because  your 
departed  child  wearies  for  your  coming.'  God 
smilingly  looks  on  the  reunion  of  sire  and  son. 
Christless  parent,  bereaved  of  an  infant- 
child,  what  shall  we  say  to  you?  It  is  well 
even  with  the  spirit  of  your  little  one.  This  is 
a  gratifying,  gladdening  truth,  even  to  a  parent 
bound  for  a  dread  futurity.  But,  then,  though 
you  are  welcome  to  all  the  consolation  which 
such  a  truth  is  fitted  to  impart,  does  not  the 
truth  flash  across  your  benighted  soul  a  terri- 
ble suggestion?  Oh,  see  you  not  that  if  you  die 
Christless  as  you  are  living  Christless,  your 
little  one  and  you  shall  never  meet.  Should 
it  often  watch  for  its  mother's  spirit  emerging 


152  Consolation, 

with  a  song  of  victory  from  the  billows  of  the 
Jordan,  it  shall  watch  in  vain.  Should  it  on 
the  morning  of  judgment  recognize  its  mother's 
face  and  hold  aloft  its  tiny  hands,  it  shall  hold 
them  up  in  vain.  Ah  !  bereaved  mother,  you 
have  drunk  the  bitterest  of  earth's  cups. 
Death  tore  from  you  the  idol  o-f  your  heart. 
But,  continue  Christless,  remain  unsaved,  and 
you  will  see  your  child  rising  in  glory,  while 
you  yourself  are  sinking  into  hell.  Can  you 
stand  that  ■prospect  f  Take  your  infant's  Sa- 
viour as  your  Saviour.  Rend  not  the  heart  of 
the  soul-loving  and  soul-saving  Jesus  by  con- 
tinuing unsaved,  and  constraining  Him  to  bid 
you  depart  far  from  your  child,  and  far  from 
Himself. 


A  TRANSPLANTED   FLOWER. 
Wm.   B.   Bradbury. 

Katie  is  gone.  Where?  To  heaven.  An 
angel  came  and  took  her  away.  She  was  a 
lovely  child,  —  gentle  as  a  lamb  ;  the  pet  of  the 
whole  family.  The  youngest  of  them  all. 
But  she  could  not  stay  with  us  any  longer,  she 
had  an  angel  sister  in  heaven,  who  was  wait- 
ing for  her.  The  angel  sister  was  with  us 
only  a  few  months,  but  she  has  been  in  heaven 


Consolation.  153 

many  years,  and  she  must  have  loved  Katie, 
for  everybody  loved  her.  The  loveliest  flowers 
are  often  soonest  plucked.  If  a  little  voice 
sweeter  and  more  musical  than  others  was 
heard,  I  knew  Katie  was  near.  If  my  study- 
door  opened  so  gently  and  slyly  that  no  sound 
could  be  heard,  I  knew  that  Katie  was  coming. 
If,  after  an  hour's  quiet  play,  a  little  shadow 
passed  me,  and  the  door  opened  and  shut  as 
no  one  else  could  open  and  shut  it,  "so  as  not 
to  disturb  papa,"  I  knew  Katie  was  going. 
When,  in  the  midst  of  my  composing,  I  heard 
a  gentle  voice  saying,  "Papa,  may  I  stay  with 
you  a  little  while?  I  will  be  very  still,"  I  did 
not  need  to  look  off  my  work,  to  assure  me 
that  it  was  my  little  lamb.  You  stayed  with 
me  too  long,  Katie,  dear,  to  leave  me  so  sud- 
denly ;  and  you  are  too  still  now.  You  be- 
came my  little  assistant  —  my  home  angel — 
my  youngest  and  sweetest  singing-bird,  and  I 
miss  the  litde  voice  that  I  have  heard  in  the 
adjoining  room,  catching  up  and  echoing  little 
snatches  of  melody  as  they  were  being  com- 
posed. I  miss  those  soft  and  sweet  kisses. 
I  miss  the  little  hand  that  was  always  first  to 
be  placed  upon  my  forehead,  to  "  drive  away 
the  pain."  I  miss  the  sound  of  those  litde  feet 
upon  the  stairs.  I  miss  the  little  knock  at  my 
bedroom   door  in  the  morning,  and  the  triple 


154  Consolation, 

good-night  kiss  in  the  evening.  I  miss  the 
sweet  smiles  from  the  sunniest  of  faces.  I 
miss,— oh,  how  I  miss  the  foremost  in  the 
little  group  who  came  out  to  meet  me  at  the 
gate  for  the  first  kiss  !  I  do  not  stoop  so  low 
now,  Katie,  to  give  that  first  kiss.  I  miss  you 
at  the  table  and  at  family  worship.  I  miss 
your  voice  in  "  /  want  to  be  an  angel ^^^  for  no- 
body could  sing  it  like  you.  I  miss  you  in  my 
rides  and  walks.  I  miss  you  in  the  garden. 
I  miss  you  everywhere  ;  but  I  will  try  not  to 
miss  you  in  heaven.  "Papa,  if  we  are  good, 
will  an  angel  truly  come  and  take  us  to  heaven 
when  we  die?"  When  the  question  was  asked, 
how  little  did  I  think  the  angel  was  so  near ! 
But  he  did  "truly"  come,  and  the  sweet  flower 
is  transplanted  to  a  more  genial  clime.  "  I  do 
wish  papa  would  come."  Wait  a  little  while, 
Katie,  and  papa  will  come.  The  journey  is 
not  long.     He  will  soon  be  "  Home." 


A  SWEET   SORROW. 
Rev.  Dr.  Schaff. 


Now,  farewell,  my  precious  boy !  Till  I 
see  thee  again,  farewell !  With  a  saddened 
heart  have  I  performed  the  last  act  of  earthly 


Consolation,  155 

love ;  and  now  I  resign  thee  into  the  hands  of 
higher  and  better  parental  care.  Short  was 
thy  visit  in  this  rough  and  tempestuous  world  ! 
The  heavenly  gardener  has  early  transplanted 
the  fragrant  lily  of  thy  life  into  a  milder  and 
purer  clime.  Thy  life  was  not  yet  darkened  and 
imbittered  by  the  fearful  curse  of  sin  and  death. 
As  a  tender  lamb  of  Christ,  thou  didst  bear  thy 
cross  in  friendly  innocence,  like  the  infants  of 
Bethlehem,  who  were  slain  by  the  tyrant-sword 
of  Herod,  as  the  first^martyr  fruits  offered  to  the 
new-born  Saviour,  to  whom  the  ancient  church 
has  devoted  the  third  day  after  Christmas  as 
an  anniversary-day  of  special  remembrance. 
Thou  art  now  happy  with  them,  and  with  the 
pleasant  angels,  far  away  from  the  sultry  and 
sickly  atmosphere  of  earth  and  sin,  in  serene 
celestial  heights,  in'  the  green  peaceful  bowers 
of  Paradise,  led,  and  fed,  and  refreshed  by  the 
Great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep  and  of  the  lambs, 
who  was  Himself  once  a  child,  that  He  might 
sanctify  the  tender  age  of  infancy,  and  who,  in 
the  days  of  His  flesh,  pressed  infants  to  His 
bosom,  speaking  those  words  of  comfort :  "  Suf- 
fer little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not :  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God." 
His  thou  wert  by  birth  ;  and,  as  He  formed 
fliy  beautiful  body,  so  did  He  also,  by  His 
Holy  Spirit,  silently,  and  unconsciously  to  thee, 


156  Consolation. 

early  prepare  thy  spirit  for  that  holy  world 
where  now  thou  art  at  home.  It  was  He  that 
taught  thee  to  lisp,  as  thou  didst  in  the  midst 
of  thy  suffering,  with  infant  joy  :  "  Heaven  is  a 
beautiful  place ;  God  is  there,  Christ  is  there, 
the  angels  are  there,  all  good  people  are 
there  !  "  Yes,  my  hopeful,  pious  boy  Lthey  are 
all  there,  old  and  young,  great  and  small,  — 
all  who  have  overcome  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb  !  There  also  dost  thou  bloom  for  ever^ 
in  the  unfading  beauty  of  the  loveliest  age  ! 
Thither  also  do  thy  parents,  by  God's  grace, 
hope  to  arrive,  when  their  hour  shall  strike,  to 
embrace  thee,  the  beloved  of  their  hearts,  in 
glorified  youth,  and  to  lose  thee  no  more  for 
ever  I    Oh,  the  joy  of  such  a  meeting  I 


"LITTLE   EDWARD." 
Rev.  Edward  Irving,  London. 

Whoso  studieth  as  I  have  done,  and  rellect- 
eth  as  I  have  sought  to  reflect,  upon  the  first 
twelve  months  of  a  child  ;  whoso  hath  had  such 
a  child  to  look  and  reflect  upon,  as  the  Lord 
for  fifteen  months  did  bless  me  with  il  (whom 
I  would  not  recall,  if  a  wish  could  recall  him, 
from  the   enjoyment   and   service  of  our  dear 


Consolation.  157 

Lord),  will  rather  marvel  how  the  growth  of 
that  wonderful  creature,  which  put  forth  such 
a  glorious  bud  of  being,  should  come  to  be  so 
cloaked  by  the  flesh,  cramped  by  the  world, 
and  cut  short  by  Satan,  as  not  to  become  a 
winged  seraph ;  will  rather  wonder  that  such 
a  puny,  heartless,  feeble  thing  as  manhood 
should  be  the  abortive  fruit  of  the  rich  bud  of 
childhood,  than  think  that  childhood  is  an  im- 
perfect promise  and  opening  of  the  future  man. 
And  therefore  it  is  that  I  grudged  not  our  noble, 
lovely  child,  but  rather  do  delight  that  such  a 
seed  should  blossom  and  bear  in  the  kindly 
and  kindred  Paradise  of  my  God.  And  why 
should  not  I  speak  of  thee,  my  Edward  !  see- 
ing it  was  in  the  season  of  thy  sickness  and 
death  the  Lord  did  reveal  in  me  the  knowledge 
and  hope  and  desire  of  His  Son  from  heaven  ? 
Glorious  exchange  !  He  took  my  son  to  His 
own  more  fatherly  bosom,  and  revealed  in  my 
bosom  the  sure  expectation  and  faith  of  His 
own  eternal  Son  !  Dear  season  of  my  life  !  ever 
to  be  remembered,  when  I  knew  the  sweet- 
ness and  fruitfulness  of  such  joy  and  sorrow.   - 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Irving,  when  on  his  solitary  journey 
homew^ard,  over  the  moors,  on  foot,  dated 
Annan,  i8th  October,  1825  :  — 

Here  I  winded  the  Yarrow  at  the  foot  of  the 


158  Consolation . 

loch,  under  the  crescent  moon,  where,  finding 
a  convenient  rock  beneath  some  overhanging 
branches  which  moaned  and  sighed  in  the 
breeze,  I  sat  me  down,  while  the  wind,  sweep- 
ing, brought  the  waters  of  the  loch  to  my  feet ; 
and  I  paid  my  devotions  to  the  Lord  in  His 
own  ample  and  magnificent  temple  ;  and  sweet 
meditations  were  afibrded  me  of  thee,  our 
babe,  and  our  departed  boy.  My  soul  was 
filled  with  sweetness.  "  I  did  not  ask  for  a 
sign,"  as  Colonel  Blackadder  says  ;  but  when 
I  looked  up  to  the  moon,  as  I  came  out  from 
the  ecclesia  of  the  rock,  she  looked  as  never  a 
moon  had  looked  before  in  my  eye,  —  as  if  she 
had  been  washed  in  dew,  which,  speedily 
clearing  ofi:',  she  looked  so  bright  and  beau- 
tiful ;  and,  on  the  summit  of  the  opposite  hill, 
a  little  b?'ight  star  gleamed  upon  me,  like  the 
bright,  bright  eye  of  ojcr  darling.  Oh,  how  I 
wished  you  had  been  with  me  to  partake  the 
sweet  solacement  of  that  moment ! 


GERMS    OF    IMMORTALITY. 

Rev-   Dr.  John    Gumming,  London. 

Christianity  alone  looks  with  sympathy 
on  infants,  loves  them  more  than  angels,  pro- 
vides for  their  future  state,  and  plants  in  the 


Consolation,  1^9 

sorrowing  hearts  of  those  who  have  lost  them 
bright  hopes  of  restored  union  and  communion 
in  glory.  Christianity  takes  the  int''ant  close 
to  her  mother-bosom,  spreads  over  it  the  warm 
wing  of  love,  sprinkles  on  its  bright  brow 
waters  from  that  river  whose  streams  make 
glad  the  city  of  our  God,  and  gives  utterance 
to  the  deep  sympathies  of  her  heart  in  these 
words :  "  Suifer  little  children  to  come  unto 
me,  and  forbid  them  not :  for  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  Babes  are  not  too  insig- 
nificant in  her  thoughts.  Her  Incarnate  One 
controls  the  exalted  hierarch  beside  the  throne, 
and  also  stoops  to  teach  and  bless  an  orphan 
child.  Never  did  He  who  spake  as  never 
man  spake  breathe  a  more  beautiful  or  touch- 
ing thought,  or  bequeath  to  mourning  mothers 
bereaved  of  their  infants  a  more  precious 
legacy,  than  when  He  rebuked  the  stern 
frowns  which  His  disciples  cast  on  the  mothers 
that  crowded  round  Him  with  their  babes,  and 
took  up  the  unconscious  infants  in  His  arms, 
and  blessed  them,  and  said,  "Sutler  little  chil- 
dren to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not : 
for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Who- 
soever may  undervalue  these  germs  of  immor- 
tality, these  folded  buds  of  promise,  these 
tenants  of  earth  in  training  for  heaven, — the 
Son  of  God  does  not.      He  spreads  over  them 


i6o  Consolation, 

the  shield  of  His  power,  and  covers  them  with 
the  feathers  of  His  wing.  He  saw  immortal- 
ity beam  from  their  countenances,  in  their 
bosoms  His  ear  heard  the  beatings  of  a  life 
that  can  never  die ;  and  capacities  which  all 
the  treasures  of  time  and  earth  cannot  fill, 
disclosed  themselves  to  the  eye  of  Him  to 
whom  the  most  secret  structure  of  mind  and 
body  is  thoroughly  unveiled.  It  is  relation  to 
eternity  that  makes  the  feeblest  strong,  and 
the  smallest  great. 


THE    BLACKSMITH   AND    HIS   WIFE  AT   "WEE 
DAVIE'S"   COFFIN. 

Rev.   Dr.  Norman    Macleod,  Glasgow. 

The  little  black  coffin  was  brought  to  the 
smith's  the  night  before  the  funeral.  When 
the  -house  was  quiet,  Davie  was  laid  in  it 
gently  by  his  father.  Jeanie  stood  by  and 
assumed  the  duty  of  arranging  with  care  the 
wliite  garments  in  which  her  boy  was  dressed, 
wrapping  them  round  him,  and  adjusting  the 
head  as  if  to  sleep  in  her  own  bosom.  She 
brushed  once  more  the  golden  ringlets,  and 
put  the  little  hands  in  their  right  place,  and 
opened  out  the  frills  in  the  cap,  and  removed 


Consolation.  i6i 

every  particle  of  sawdust  which  soiled  the 
shroud.  When  all  was  finished,  though  she 
seemed  anxious  to  prolong  the  work,  the  lid 
was  put  on  the  coffin,  but  so  as  to  leave  the 
face  uncovered.  Both  were  as  silent  as  their 
child.  But  ere  they  retired  to  rest  for  the 
night,  they  instinctively  went  to  take  another 
look.  As  they  gazed  in  silence,  side  by  side, 
the  smith  felt  his  hand  gently  seized  by  his 
wife.  She  played  at  first  nervously  with  the 
fingers,  until  finding  her  own  hand  held 
by  her  husband,  she  looked  into  his  face  with 
an  unutterable  expression,  and  meeting  his 
eyes  so  full  of  unobtrusive  sorrow,  she  leant 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  "Willie, 
this  is  my  last  look  o'  him  on  this  side  the 
grave.  But,  Willie  dear,  you  and  me  maun 
see  him  again,  and  mind  ye,  no  to  pairt ;  na, 
I  canna  thole  that !  We  ken  whaur  he  is,  and 
we  maun  gang  till  him.  Noo  promise  me  — 
vow  alang  wi'  me  here,  that  as  we  love  him 
and  ane  anither,  we'll  attend  mair  to  what's 
guid  than  we  hae  dune,  that  —  O  Willie! 
forgie  me,  for  it's  no  my  pairt  to  speak,  but 
I  canna  help  it  enoo,  and  just,  my  bonnie 
man,  just  agree  wi'  me  —  that  we'll  gie  our 
hearts  noo  and  for  ever  to  our  ain  Saviour, 
and  the  Saviour  o'  our  wee  Davie  ! "  These 
words  were  uttered  without  ever  lifting  her 
II 


1 62  Consolation. 

head  from  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  in  low, 
broken  accents,  half  choked  with  an  inward 
struggle,  but  without  a  tear.  She  was  encour- 
aged to  say  this  —  for  she  had  a  timid  awe 
for  her  husband  —  by  the  pressure  ever  and 
anon  returned  to  hers  from  his  hand.  The 
smith  spoke  not,  but  bent  his  head  over  his 
wife,  who  felt  his  tears  falling  on  her  neck,  as 
he  whispered,  "Amen,  Jeanie  !  so  help  me, 
God  !  "  A  silence  ensued,  during  which  Jeanie 
got,  as  she  said,  "a  gude  greet,"  for  the  first 
time,  which  took  a  weight  off  her  heart.  She 
then  quietly  kissed  her  child  and  turned  away. 
Thornburn  took  the  hand  of  his  boy  and  said, 
"Farewell,  Davie,  and  when  you  and  me  meet 
again,  we'll  baith,  I  tak'  it,  be  a  bit  diflferent 
frae  what  we  are  this  nicht !-  He  then  put  the 
lid  on  mechanically,  turned  one  or  two  of  the 
screws,  and  then  sat  down  at  the  fireside  to 
chat  about  the  arangements  of  the  funeral  as 
on  a  matter  of  business. 

After  that,  for  the  first  time,  William  asked 
his  v/ife  to  kneel  down,  and  he  would  pray 
before  they  retired  to  rest.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
was  sincere  as  ever  man  was  ;  and  never  after 
till  the  day  of  his  death  did  he  omit  this  "  exer- 
cise," which  once  a  day  was  universal  in 
every  family  whose  head  was  a  member  of 
the  church ;  and  I  have  known  it  continued  by 


Consolation.  163 

the  widow  when  her  head  was  taken  away. 
But  on  this,  the  first  night,  when  the  smith 
tried  to  utter  aloud  the  thoughts  of  his  heart, 
he  could  only  say,  "Our  Father — !"  There 
he  stopped.  Something  seemed  to  seize  him, 
and  to  stop  his  utterance.  Had  he  only 
known  how  much  was  in  these  words,  he 
possibly  might  have  said  more.-  As  it  was, 
the  thoughts  of  the  father  on  earth  so  mingled, 
he  knew  not  why,  with  those  of  the  Father  in 
heaven,  that  he  could  not  speak.  But  he  con- 
tinued on  his  knees,  and  spoke  there  to  God 
as  if  he  had  never  spoken  before.  Jeanie  did 
the  same.  After  a  while  they  both  rose,  and 
Jeanie  said,  "Thank  ye,  Willie;  it's  a  beau- 
tifu'  beginning,  and  it  wull,  I'm  sure,  hae 
a  braw  ending."  "It's  cauld  iron,  Jeanie, 
woman,"  said  the  smith,  "but  it  wull  melt  and 
come  a'  richt." 


THE   FLOWERS    OF   PARADISE. 
Rev.   Dr.   Thomas    Guthrie,    Edinburgh. 

Heaven  is  greatly  made  up  of  little  chil- 
dren,—  sweet  buds  that  have  never  blown,  or 
which  Death  has  plucked  from  a  mother's 
bosom  to  lay  on  his  own  cold  breast,  just  when 
they    were    expanding,  flower-like,  from    the 


164  Consolation. 

sheath,  and  opening  their  engaging  beauties 
in  the  budding  time  and  spring  of  Hfe.  "  Of 
such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  How  sooth- 
ing these  words  by  the  cradle  of  a  dying  infant ! 
They  fall  like  balm  drops  on  '  our  bleeding 
heart,  when  we  watch  the  ebbing  of  that  young 
life,  as  wave  after  wave  breaks  feebler,  and 
the  sinking  breath  gets  lower  and  lower,  till 
with  a  gentle  sigh,  and  a  passing  quiver  of  the 
lip,  our  sweet  child  leaves  its  body  lying  like 
an  angel  asleep,  and  ascends  to  the  beatitudes 
of  heaven  and  the  bosom  of  its  God.  Perhaps 
God  does  with  His  heavenly  garden  as  we  do 
with  our  own.  He  may  chiefly  stock  it  from 
the  nurseries,  and  select  for  transplanting 
what  is  yet  in  its  young  and  tender  age,  — 
flowers  before  they  have  bloomed,  and  trees 
ere  they  begin  to  bear. 


THE  INTELLIGENCE  OF  A  GLORIFIED  INFANT. 
Rev.   Dr.   Alexander  Fletcher,   London. 

Has  it  never  struck  you,  my  friend,  the  glo- 
rious change  which  is  effected  upon  the  mind 
of  an  infant,  the  moment  its  disembodied  spirit 
is  admitted  among  the  holy  and  intelligent  cit- 
izens of    the  new  Jerusalem?     I    have    often 


Consolation .  1 65 

thought  of  it  with  surprise  and  dehght.  In 
one  instant,  there  is  a  greater  influx,  a  greater 
communication  of  Hght  into  its  glorified  under- 
standing, than  all  the  accumulated  light  which 
glowed  with  splendor  for  many  years,  in  the 
mind  of  the  greatest  philosopher,  who  has 
added  lustre  to  his  country,  to  his  species,  to 
the  world.  All  the  experienced  Christians  and 
divines  whom  that  dear  babe  has  left  behind 
it,  are  as  much  behind  it  in  the  degree  of  their 
knowledge,  and  in  the  enlargement  of  their 
capacity,  as  they  are  behind  it  in  place. 
Heaven  does  not  exceed  this  world  more  in  its 
grandeur  and  glory,  than  this  glorified  infant 
does  the  greatest,  the  wisest,  and  the  best  of 
human  beings,  living  in  this  vale  of  tears.  Oh, 
how  much  this  should  reconcile  pious  parents 
to  the  departure  of  their  dear  babes  from  a 
world  of  ignorance  and  of  suffering,  to  a  land 
of  unclouded  intelligence  and  unceasing  en- 
joyment. 


HEAVENLY  RELATIONSHIP. 
Rev.   p.   B.  Power,   M.A.  ,  Kent. 

Remember,  poor  mourner,  that  the  child 
that  hath  left  thy  home  hath  found  another 
home.     Thy  little  one  is  not  homeless  :  doth 


i66  Consolation. 

not  that  thought  in  itself  pour  oil  and  balm 
upon  thy  heart?  Think  no  more  of  the  isola- 
tion and  loneliness  of  the  body's  grave,  but 
think  of  the  companionship  and  joyousness  of 
the  spirit's  home.  Life,  love,  joy,  warmth, 
all  cluster  themselves  about  the  name  of  home  : 
let  them  cluster  in  thy  thoughts  around  thy 
child  who  is  at  home.  Oh,  what  loving  care 
and  thoiight  were  spent  upon  thy  little  one ! 
and  oh,  bitter  grief!  thou  canst  spend  them 
now  no  more ;  the  departed  one  is  out  of  the 
reach  of  thy  ministry ;  that  thou  canst  no 
longer  do  any  thing  for  it  is  part  of  thy  bitter 
woe.     But  think  ! 

"Thy  flower  hath  found  a  home  with  One, 
Who  well  its  value  knows." 

A  voice  softer  than  thine  whispers  to  it,  hands 
more  gentle  than  thine  minister  to  it,  eyes 
more  loving  than  thine  look  upon  it ;  if  thou 
lovest  as  a  parent  should  love,  be  content  to  be 
outdone ;  thou  art  conquered  in  life's  strife 
only  by  beings  of  another  world,  and  thy  child 
reapeth  the  victory  of  thy  defeat ;  thou  wouldst 
have  done  much  for  it  had  it  lived,  they  do" 
more  now  that  it  is  dead  ;  thou  wouldst  have 
set  great  price  upon  it  had  it  tarried  with  thee 
here,  a  price  far  greater  still  is  set  upon  it  by 
Him  that  has  taken  it  to  Himself. 


Consolation,  167 

THE   FADED   FLOWER. 
Rev.  John  Jameson,   Methven,   Perthshire. 

So  quickly,  so  lightly,  and  so  placidly  passed 
she,  that  ere  we  had  the  courage  to  think  she 
was  going,  already  she  was  not.  With  all 
the  simplicity  of  an  infant,  she  had  said  to  her 
mother,  the  day  before  she  fell  ill,  that  she 
was  going  to  die.  Just  as  she  was  departing^ 
she  revived  for  a  moment,  gathered  strength, 
and  throwing  one  full  look  of  kindness  on  her 
trembling  parent,  breathed  her  last.  "  That 
look,"  said  her  mother  to  me,  "  I  can  never  for- 
get ;  that  look  was  all  the  portion  she  had  to 
bequeath ;  and  that  look  now  lifts  me  up." 
There  w^as  something  very  fine  in  the  scene. 
Little  Johnnie,  heedless  of  his  own  grief,  —  and 
he,  too,  had  been  crying  bitterly, — when  he 
beheld  his  mother  weeping,  sprung  to  her, 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  clapped  her  with  all 
his  gentleness,  and  kissed  the  tears  from  her 
cheeks. 

This  world  of  ours,  my  dear  Mary,  is  just 
a  green-house,  where  there  are  flowers  of 
every  standing.  Those,  generally,  of  a  com- 
moner and  lowlier  sort  hang  long,  and  from 
month  to  month,  unfading  still,  deal  out,  with 
unchanging  hue,  their  daily  meed  of  fragrance, 


1 68  Consolation, 

—  it  maybe,  little  felt  and  little  noticed,  but 
still  they  are  there.  Those,  again,  of  grander 
flowering,  with  their  bright  and  delicate  and 
sparkling  beauty,  which  rivets  our  gaze,  soon, 
right  soon,  alas !  fade  away.  There  is  a 
flower,  they  tell  us,  the  most  exquisite  of  all 
that  blossoms,  which  blooms  during  night,  as 
if  day  were  too  strong  for  the  delicacy  of  its 
sweetness.  In  such  haste  is  it  to  be  gone, 
that  in  the  self-same  hour  in  which  it  opens 
and  spreads  its  loveliness,  it  sheds  it,  and  its 
leaf  falls  off.  The  gardener  alone,  curious 
and  deeply  interested,  who  has  sat  up  and 
watched  to  see,  has  catched  and  felt  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  passing  sight.  Your  little  Maggie 
was  such  a  flower.  Why  should  we  think  it 
strange  when  the  flower  is  faded?  "The  spirit 
of  the  Lord  bloweth  upon  it."  The  flower 
has  lived  its  own,  its  appointed  time ;  and 
could  tarry  no  longer,  by  no  means.  A 
child  may  cry  when  its  lovely  flower  is  gone  ; 
far  otherwise  the  gardener  himself, — he  is 
satisfied,  nay,  is  quite  delighted,  that  ever  such 
a  flower  was  his. 


Consolation,  169 


A    HEBREW  STORY. 
Rev.  Alex.  B.  Grosart,  Blackburn. 

I  GATHER  up  what  I  havc  submitted  thus 
far,  by  telling  an  old  Hebrew  story.  Rabbi 
Meir  —  so  it  runs — sat  during  the  whole  of 
one  Sabbath-day  in  the  public  school,  and 
instructed  the  people.  During  his  absence 
from  home,  his  two  boys,  both  of  them  of 
uncommon  beauty,  died.  His  wife,  their 
mother,  bore  them  to  her  chamber,  laid  them 
upon  the  marriage-bed,  and  spread  a  white 
covering  over  their  bodies.  Towards  evening, 
Rabbi  Meir  came  home.  "  Where  are  my 
beloved  sons,"  he  asked,  "  that  I  may  give 
them  my  blessing?"  "They  are  gone  to  the 
school,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  repeatedly  looked 
round  the  school,"  he  replied,  "and  I  did  not 
see  them  there."  She  reached  him  a  goblet ; 
he  praised  the  Lord  at  the  going  out  of  the 
Sabbath,  drank,  and  again  asked,  "  Where 
are  my  boys,  that  they  may  drink  of  the  cup 
of  blessing?  "  "  They  will  not  be  far  off,"  she 
said,  and  placed  food  before  him,  that  he  might 
eat.  He  was  in  a  gladsome  and  genial  mood  ; 
and  when  he  had  said  grace  after  the  meal, 
she  thus  addressed  him :  "  Rabbi,  with  thy 
permission  I   would   fain  propose  to  thee  one 


1 70  Consolation . 

question."  "Ask  it  then,  my  love  !  "  he  replied. 
"A  few  days  ago,  a  person  intrusted  some  jewels 
to  my  custody,  and  now  he  demands  them 
again  :  should  I  give  them  back  again? "  "This 
is  a  question,"  said  Rabbi  Meir,  "  which  my  wife 
should  not  have  thought  it  necessary  to  ask. 
What !  wouldst  thou  hesitate  or  be  reluctant  to 
restore  to  every  one  his  own?"  "No,"  she 
replied,  "but  yet  I  thought  it  best  not  to  restore 
them  without  acquainting  thee  therewith."  She 
then  led  him  to  their  chamber,  and,  stepping 
to  the  bed,  took  the  white  covering  from  their 
bodies.  "  Ah  !  my  boys,  my  boys  !  "  thus 
loudly  lamented  the  father;  "my  boys!  the 
light  of  mine  eyes ! "  The  mother  turned 
away  and  wept.  At  length  she  took  her  hus- 
band by  the  hand,  and  said,  "  Rabbi,  didst 
thou  not  teach  me  that  we  must  not  be  reluc- 
tant to  restore  that  which  was  intrusted  to  our 
keeping?  See,  the  Lord  gave,  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away,  and  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord  !  "  "  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  " 
answered  Rabbi  Meir.  It  is  well  for  bereaved 
parents  to  say,  with  Rabbi  Meir,  under  their 
loss,  "  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 


Consolation,  171 


THE   LILIES   GATHERED. 
Rev.  Ebenezer  Erskine,  Stirling. 

Upon  the  7th  day  of  December,  my  dear, 
sweet,  and  pleasant  child,  Isabel  Erskine,  died. 
I  got  freedom  during  her  sickness,  particularly 
the  same  forenoon,  before  she  died,  to  present 
her  before  the  Lord,  and  to  plead  His  covenant 
on  her  behalf.  The  Lord  enabled  me  to  quit 
her  freely  to  Him,  on  this  account,  that  He  had 
a  far  better  title  to  her  than  L  She  was  mine, 
only  as  her  earthly  father,  she  is  His  by 
creation,  preservation,  by  dedication  to  Him  in 
baptism,  and  His  also,  I  hope,  by  covenant 
and  redemption,  and  therefore,  I  am  persuaded, 
she  is  now  His  by  glorification  ;  and  that  she  is 
with  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  with  her  dear  mother, 
triumphing  with  God  in  glor}^  I  had  a  par- 
ticular affection  for  the  child,  and  doted  but 
too  much  upon  her,  because  she  was  the 
likest  her  mother  of  any  of  the  children,  both 
as  to  her  countenance  and  humor.  But  I  see 
that  the  Lord  will  not  allow  me  to  have  any 
idols,  but  will  have  the  whole  of  my  heart  to 
Himself.  And,  Lord,  let  it  be  so !  Amen, 
and  amen.  She  died  pleasantly,  without  any 
visible  pang  or  throe  ;  her  soul,  I  hope,  being 
carried  by  angels  into  Abraham's  bosom,  and 


172  Consolation, 

her  body  buried  by  her  mother's  side  in  her 
brother's  grave.  I  take  it  kindly  that  the  Lord 
comes  to  my  family  to  gather  lilies  wherewith 
to  garnish  the  upper  sanctuary  !  "  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven."  And  oh,  it  some- 
times affords  me  a  pleasing  prospect,  to  think 
I  have  so  much  -plenishing  in  heaven  before 
me ;  and  that,  when  I  enter  the  gates  of  glory, 
I  shall  not  only  be  welcomed  by  the  whole 
general  assembly  of  saints  and  angels,  but  that 
my  wife  and  four  pleasant  babes  will,  in  a 
particular  manner,  welcome  me  to  those  regions 
of  glory,  and  that  I  shall  join  in  the  hallelujahs 
of  the  Higher  House,  which  shall  never  have 
an  end. 


CHILDREN   BEFORE  THE  THRONE. 
Rev.  Thomas  Boston,  Ettrick. 

I  HAD  your  letter  of  May,  1726,  with  the 
affecting  account  of  your  loss  of  a  dear  child. 
I  travelled  that  gloomy  road  six  times,  and 
learned  that  God  has  other  use  for  children 
than  our  comfort,  an  use  far  more  honorable 
and  happy  for  them  ;  and  the  parents  come  to 
see  afterwards,  that  it  is  a  peculiar  kindness 
to  the  poor  babes  they  were  so  early  carried 


Consolation.  173 

off.  It  likewise  serves  to  let  into  that  Word 
in  particular,  in  its  sweetness,  "  I  will  be  thy 
God,  and  the  God  of  thy  seed,"  while  parents 
are  taken  up  for  the  salvation  of  their  dying 
little  ones,  and  look  about  to  see  what  the 
Word  says  with  relation  to  the  case.  Oh,  do  not 
grudge  the  freedom  the  Lord  has  used  with 
you,  in  pitching  upon  a  precious  thing  for  Him- 
self, and  taking  it  away.  Both  of  you  have 
offered  your  all  to  the  Lord ;  and  though, 
when  it  comes  to  the  pinch,  the  heart  is  ready 
to  misgive  ;  yet  in  calm  blood  I  am  sure  you 
will  stand  to  the  bargain,  and  check  yourselves 
for  any  semblance  of  repenting.  The  next 
time  you  see  your  child,  you  will  see  him  shin- 
ing white  in  glory,  having  been  washed  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb,  who  was  an  infant,  a  child, 
a  boy,  a  a  outh,  as  well  as  a  grown  man ; 
because  He  became  a  Saviour  of  infants  and 
little  children,  as  well  as  of  persons  come  at 
age. 


THE   GRAVE  A  WARDROBE. 

Matthew  Henry. 

Blessed  be  God  for  the  covenant  of  grace 
with  me  and  mine,  it  is  well  oi'dered  in  all 
things  and- sure.     Oh  that  I  could  learn  to  com- 


174  Consolation, 

fort  others  with  the  same  comforts  with  which, 
I  trust,  I  am  comforted  of  my  God !  This 
comes  near,  but,  O  Lord,  I  submit !  I  am  much 
refreshed  with  2  Kings  iv.  26.  "Is  it  well 
with  thee  ?  is  it  well  with  thy  husband  ?  is  it- 
well  with  the  child  ?  and  she  answered.  It  is 
well."  Although  I  part  with  so  dear  a  child, 
yet  I  have  no  reason  to  say  otherwise  but  that 
it  is  well  with  us,  and  well  with  the  child,  for 
all  is  well  that  God  doeth  ;  He  performeth  the 
thing  that  He  appointed  for  me,  and  His 
appointment  of  this  providence  is  in  pursuance 
of  His  appointment  of  me  to  glory,  to  make  me 
meet  for  it. 

After  the  funeral  he  thus  writes  :  "  I  have 
been  this  day  doing  a  work  that  I  never  did, 
burying  a  child.  A  sad  day's  work  ;  but  my 
good  friend  Mr.  Lawrence  preached  very  sea- 
sonably and  excellently  in  the  afternoon,  from 
Psalm  xxxix.  9.  '  I  was  dumb,  I  opened  not 
my  mouth  ;  because  Thou  didst  it.'  My  friends 
testified  their  kindness  by  their  presence. 
Here  is  now  a  -pretty  little  garment  laid  up 
in  the  zuardrobe  of  the  grave,  to  be  zvorn 
again  at  the  resurrection  :  Blessed  be  God  for 
this  hope  ! " 


Consolation,  175 


THE   BLOOM   FALLING   INTO    CHRIST'S   LAP. 
Samuel  Rutherford. 

In  a  letter,  dated  St.  Andrews,  October,  1640, 
on  the  death  of  a  friend's  child,  Rutherford, 
one  of  Scotland's  most  valiant  witness-bearers, 
thus  tenderly  writes  :  If  our  Lord  hath  taken 
away  your  child,  your  lease  of  him  is  expired  ; 
and  seeing  Christ  would  want  him  no  longer, 
it  is  your  part  to  hold  your  peace,  and  worship 
and  adore  the  sovereignty  and  liberty  that  the 
Potter  hath  over  the  clay  and  pieces  of  clay- 
nothings,  that  He  gave  life  unto.  And  what 
is  man,  to  call  and  summon  the  Almighty  to 
his  lower  court  down  here  ?  For  He  giveth 
account  of  none  of  His  doings.  And  if  you 
will  take  a  loan  of  a  child,  and  give  him  back 
again  to  our  Lord,  smiling  as  His  borrowed 
goods  be  returned  to  Him,  believe  he  is  not 
gone  away,  but  sent  before ;  and  that  the 
change  of  the  country  should  make  you  think, 
he  is  not  lost  to  you  who  is  found  to  Christ ; 
and  that  he  is  now  before  you,  and  that  the 
dead  in  Christ  shall  be  raised  again.  A  going- 
down  star  is  not  annihilated,  but  shall  appear 
again.  If  he  hath  cast  his  bloom  and  flower, 
the  bloom  is  fallen  in  heaven  in  Christ's  lap ; 
and    as  he  was  lent  awhile  to  time,  so  is  he 


17^  Consolatit 


ion, 


given  now  to  eternity,  which  will  take  your- 
self; and  the  difference  of  your  shipping  and 
his  to  heaven  and  Christ's  shore,  the  land  of 
life,  is  only  in  some  few  years,  which  weareth 
ever}^  day  shorter;  and  some  short  and  soon 
reckoned  summers  will  give  you  a  meeting  with 
him.  But  what  —  with  hhn  f  Nay,  with  better 
company  :  with  the  Chief  and  Leader  of  the 
heavenly  troops,  that  are  riding  on  white 
horses,  that  are  triumphing  in  glory. 


A  BUD   OF  BEAUTY. 
Rev.  Robert  Hall. 

This  eloquent  divine,  in  speaking  of  the 
death  of  his  little  boy,  says,  "God  dries  up  the 
channels,  that  you  may  be  haply  compelled  to 
plunge  into  an  infinite  ocean  of  happiness. 
Blissful  thought !  Father,  mother,  you  who 
mourn  over  the  grave  of  your  little  one,  look 
up  !  know  that  the  chastening  rod  is  in  your 
heavenly  Father's  hand,  and  that  if  He  hath 
taken  away.  He  first  did  give,  and  He  doeth 
all  things  well.  He  gave  you  the  bud  of 
beauty,  and  you  centred  your  happiness  in  its 
being.  He  saw  that  this  was  not  for  your 
good,  so  He  took  away  the  child,  whose  pres- 


Consolation,  177 

ence  had  been  as  a  leaping,  sparkling  streamlet 
to  your  heart's  love,  that  that  heart,  which  had 
before  tasted  of  earthly,  might  be  lost  in  the 
immensity  of  heavenly  love. 

It  is  a  very  solemn  consideration,  that  a  part 
of  myself  is  in  eternity,  in  the  presence,  I  trust, 
of  the  Saviour.  How  awful  will  it  be,  should 
the  branch  be  saved  and  the  stock  perish  ! 


VICTORY    WITHOUT    CONFLICT. 
Rev.  James   Hervey,   A.M. 

Yonder  white  stone,  emblem  of  the  inno- 
cence it  covers,  informs  the  beholder  of  one 
who  breathed  out  its  tender  soul  almost  in  the 
instant  of  receiving  it.  There  the  peaceful 
infant,  without  so  much  as  knowing  what 
labor  and  vexation  mean,  "lies  still  and  is 
quiet;  it  sleeps  and  is  at  rest."  Staying  only 
to  wash  away  its  native  impurity  in  the  laver 
of  regeneration,  it  bade  a  speedy  adieu  to 
time  and  terrestrial  things.  Happy  voyager ! 
no  sooner  launched  than  arrived  at  the  haven ! 

"  Happy  the  babe,  who,  privileg'd  by  fate 
To  shorter  labor,  and  a  lighter  weight, 
Receiv'd  but  yesterday  the  gift  of  breath, 
Order'd  to-morrow  to  return  to  death." 
12 


178  Consolation. 

Consider  this,  ye  mourning  parents,  and 
dry  up  your  tears.  Why  should  you  lament 
that  your  little  ones  are  crowned  with  victory 
before  the  sword  is  drawn,  or  the  conflict 
begun.  Perhaps  the  Supreme  Disposer  of 
events  foresaw  some  inevitable  snare  of  temp- 
tation forming,  or  some  dreadful  storm  of 
adversity  impending.  And  why  should  you 
be  so  dissatisfied  with  that  kind  precaution, 
which  housed  your  pleasant  plant,  and  re- 
moved into  shelter  a  tender  flower,  before  the 
thunders  roared,  before  the  lightnings  flew, 
before  the  tempest  poured  its  rage?  Oh,  re- 
member !  they  are  not  lost,  but  "  taken  away 
from  the  evil  to  come." 


THE   FLOWER   PLUCKED   BY  THE   MASTER. 

A  gentleman's  gardener  had  a  darling 
child,  in  whom  his  affections  seemed  to  be 
centred.  The  Lord  laid  His  hand  upon  the 
babe  :  it  sickened  and  died.  The  father  was 
disconsolate,  and  murmured  at  the  dealings  of 
Providence. 

•  The  gardener  had  in  one  of  his  flower-beds 
a  favorite  rose.  It  was  the  fairest  flower  he 
had  ever  seen  on  the  tree,  and  he  daily  marked 
its    growing   beauty,   intending,  when    it  was 


Consolation.  179 

full  blown,  to  send  it  to  his  master's  mansion. 
One  morning  it  was  gone  :  some  one  had 
plucked  it.  Mortified  at  what  he  thought  was 
the  improper  conduct  of  one  of  the  servants, 
he  endeavored  to  find  out  the  culprit.  He 
was,  however,  much  surprised  to  find  that  it 
was  his  master,  who,  on  walking  through  the 
garden,  had  been  attracted  by  the  beauty  of 
the  rose,  and,  plucking  it,  had  carried  it  to 
one  of  the  beautiful  rooms  in  the  hall.  The 
gardener's  anger  was  changed  into  pleasure. 
He  felt  reconciled  when  he  heard  that  his 
master  had  thought  the  flower  worthy  of  such 
special  notice. 

"Ah,  Richard  !"  said  the  gentleman,  "  you 
can  gladly  give  up  the  rose,  because  I  thought 
it  worthy  of  a  place  in  my  house.  And  will 
you  repine  because  your  heavenly  Father  has 
thought  wise  to  remove  your  child  from  a 
world  of  sin,  to  be  with  Himself  in  heaven?" 


THE   CROWN   OF  LIFE. 
Rev.  Richard  Cecil. 


I  PERCEIVE  I  did  not  know  how  much  my 
life  was  bound  up  in  the  life  of  a  creature. 
When  she  went,  nothing  seemed  left  me  ;  one 


i8o  Consolation, 

is  not,  and  the  rest  seem  a  few  thin  and  scat- 
tered remains.  And  yet  how  much  better  for 
my  lamb  to  be  suddenly  housed,  to  slip  unex- 
pectedly into  the  fold  to  which  I  was  conduct- 
ing her,  than  remain  exposed  here ;  perhaps 
become  a  victim.  I  cried,  "O  Lord,  spare 
my  child  !  "  He  did  ;  but  not  as  I  meant ;  He 
snatched  it  from  danger,  and  took  it  to  His 
own  home.  — Part  of  myself  is  already  gone 
to  Thee  :  help  what  remains  to  follow  ! 

He  who  removed  our  infant  has  seemed  to 
say,  "What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but 
thou  shalt  know  hereafter  ;  patiently  suffer  this 
little  one  to  come  unto  me,  for  of  such  is  my 
kingdom  composed.  Verily,  I  say  unto  you, 
their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my 
Father.  If  I  take  away  your  child,  I  take  it 
away  to  Myself."  Is  not  this  infinitely  beyond 
any  thing  you  could  do  for  it?  Could  you  say 
to  it,  if  it  had  lived,  thou  shalt "  weep  no  more, 
the  days  of  thy  mourning  are  ended"?  Could 
you  show  it  any  thing  in'  this  world  like  "  the 
glory  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb"?  Could  you 
raise  it  to  any  honor  here  like  "  receiving  a 
crown  of  life  "  ? 


Consolation .  .181 

GONE  TO   SLEEP. 
Archbishop  Leighton. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  sharp  stroke  of  a  pen  that 
told  me  your  pretty  Johnny  was  dead.  Sweet 
thing!  and  is  he  so  quickly  laid  asleep? 
Happy  he  !  Though  we  shall  have  no  more 
the  pleasure  of  his  lisping  and  laughing,  he 
shall  have  no  more  the  pain  of  crying,  nor 
being  sick,  nor  of  dying ;  and  hath  wholly 
escaped  the  troubles  of  schooling,  and  all 
other  sufferings  of  boys,  and  the  riper  and 
deeper  griefs  of  riper  years ;  this  poor  life 
being  all  along  nothing  but  a  linked  chain  of 
many  sorrows  and  many  deaths.  Tell  my 
dear  sister  she  is  now  much  more  akin  to  the 
other  world ;  and  this  will  be  quickly  passed 
by  us  all.  John  has  but  gone  an  hour  or  two 
sooner  to  bed,  as  children  used  to  do,  and  we 
are  undressing  to  follow.  And  the  more  we 
put  off  the  love  of  this  present  world,  and  all 
things  superfluous  beforehand,  we  shall  have 
the  less  to  do  when  we  lie  down. 


1 82  Consolation, 


THE  GLORY  OF  DEPARTED  INFANTS. 

(From  the   Edinburgh   Christian  Instructor, 
Dec.  1817.) 

There  is  scarce  a  dwelling  into  which  we 
can  enter,  but  if  we  speak  of  the  death  of 
children,  the  starting  tear  will  tell  us  that  from 
it  some  are  gone,  that  the  flower  of  beauty 
opened  but  to  perish,  and  that  the  heart  doted 
on  it  only  to  bleed  in  disappointment  and 
sorrow.  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  Refrain  thy 
voice  from  weeping,  and  thine  eyes  from  tears  ; 
for  thy  work  shall  be  rewarded,  saith  the  Lord, 
and  thy  children  shall  come  again  from  the 
land  of  the  enemy."     (Jer.  xxxi.  16.) 

You  are  saying,  "  Had  my  children  glorified 
God,  this  might  be  expected ;  I  might  have 
hope  for  their  resurrection  had  that  tongue 
sung  his  praise,  and  these  hands  been  lifted 
up  in  His  name  ; "  but  in  them  He  has  been 
honored,  though  you  have  neither  seen  nor 
known  it ;  and  it  will  be  more  gratifying  to  His 
benevolence  to  restore  them  to  you  than  to 
grant  them  at  first.  He  who  would  not  permit 
the  disciples  to  keep  back  infants  from  His 
arms,  will  not  suffer  death  to  detain  in  the 
grave  the  babes  He  has  destined  for  His 
bosom.     To  rescue  them  He  will  be  the  plague 


Consolation,  183 

of  death  and  the  destruction  of  the  grave,  and 
they  who  sung  not  this  song  before  they  went 
to  it,  shall  exclaim  as  they  rise,  "O  grave, 
where  is  !hy  victory  ! "  But  is  this  all  the 
triumph  of  departed  infants  over  the  last  enemy, 
and  him  that  had  the  power  of  death?  The 
spirit,  soaring  to  glory,  is  n^ore  than  a  con- 
queror. The  lisping  babe  has  been  qualified 
for  the  song  of  the  Lamb,  and  from  the  melody 
that  soothed  it  to  rest,  it  is  gone  to  those 
anthems  of  the  blessed,  in  which  it  will  bear 
its  part  in  ever-living  rapture.  Satan  hath 
exulted  in  the  blasted  beauty  and  the  early 
graves  of  infants,  but  God  has  confounded  his 
boastings  by  clothing  them  with  immortality 
and  perfection,  and  by  raising  them  to  fairer 
loveliness  and  sweeter  felicity  than  earth  can 
admit  of.  The  flower,  over  which  the  wind 
passed,  is  blossoming  in  heaven  in  fragrance 
and  beauty,  which  the  fondest  workings  of 
fancy  could  not  conceive,  and  surely  it  is  safer 
there  than  under  this  inclement  sky.  Thy 
babe  is  reposing  in  the  arms  of  infinite  love ; 
Jesus  rejoices  in  its  opening  excellences,  and 
so  mayest  thou  in  faith  and  hope.  The  early 
death  of  infants  has  suggested  to  the  heart 
sunk  in  despair,  as  well  as  raised  from  the  lips 
of  the  caviller  the  expostulation,  "Why  hath 
God    made    any  of    His    creatures    in    vain?" 


184 


Consolation, 


But  in  their  translation  to  glory,  this  dark 
dispensation  is  cleared  up,  and  the  merits  of 
the  second  Adam  are  delightfully  illustrated. 


THE 


CROWN  WITHOUT  THE  CONFLICT, 


MUSINGS   ON  THE  DEATH   OF  CHILDREN. 
Rev.  R.  H.  Lundie. 

A  N  investigator  of  pedigrees  was  searching 
•^^^-  in  a  midland  county  of  England,  for  any 
traces  that  might  still  be  found  of  an  old  family 
of  the  district.  He  went  to  the  records  of  the 
church,  but  their  name  was  not  there,  it  had 
perished.  He  repaired  to  the  supposed  site  of 
their  ancient  hall.  Not  a  stone  remained  to 
tell  its  place.  Disappointed  in  these  attempts, 
he  accosted  an  aged  peasant :  "  Do  you  know 
any  thing  of  the  Findernes?" 

"Findernes?"  was  the  reply.  "We  have 
no  Findernes  here,  but  we  have  Findernes' 
flowers." 

Here  was  a  clew.  The  old  man  led  the 
way  to  a  field  where  there  were  traces  of  an 
ancient  terrace. 


1 86       The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict, 

"  There,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  bank  of 
garden-flowers  grown  wild,  "  there  are  Fin- 
dernes'  flowers,  brought  by  Sir  Geoffrey  from 
the  Holy  Land;  and,  do  what  we  will,  they 
will  never  die." 

There  are  those  who  will  read  these  lines 
that  can  go  back  ten,  twenty,  forty  years,  and 
recall  the  time  when  a  child  was  taken  from 
them.  It  has  left  no  record  in  the  annals 
of  the  world  ;  no  more  mark  than  the  shining 
pebble  that  is  thrown  into  the  river,  when  the 
waters  close  over  it  for  ever.  Is  there,  then, 
no  trace  to  be  found  beneath  the  heavens 
of  that  loved  one?  Go,  ask  the  mother  bereaved 
so  long  ago.  There,  in  the  old  garden  of  a 
heart  overgrown  with  many  experiences,  and 
shaded  with  many  a  sombre  spray  of  ivy, 
and  many  a  weeping  branch  of  cypress, 
flourish  still  the  old  memories  of  that  cherished 
child.  His  winsome  ways,  his  pleasant  prattle, 
his  sunny  smile,  his  look  of  love,  are  all 
remembered  still.  These  flowers  of  memory 
bloom  as  fresh  as  on  the  day  after  the  little  one 
was  gathered  home.  The  snows  of  winter 
may  have  fallen  thick  upon  that  mother's  head, 
but  touch  the  old  chord,  and  it  will  vibrate  true 
and  tender  as  ever.  Encourage  her  to  speak 
upon  this  theme,  and  she  will  pour  forth  her 
recollections  of  her  lost  one,  and  will  narrate 


The  Crown  without  the  Conflict,      187 

to  you  the  incidents  of  his  sickness  and  his 
death  with  a  minuteness  and  detail  that  will 
astonish  any  one  who  has  not  had  or  lost  a 
child.  We  lately  met  a  mother  whose  boy 
was  taken  from  her  more  than  thirty  years 
ago,  who  told  us,  as  the  tear  rose  to  her  eye, 
that  when  she  is  looking  after  the  affairs  of  her 
household,  she  sometimes  comes  upon  his  toys, 
and  never  without  a  flood  of  tenderest  memories 
filling  her  heart. 

We  train  our  children  ;  but  it  is  no  less  true 
that  our  children  train  us.  They  are  meant 
by  God  as  a  means  and  occasion  of  much 
discipline  for  heaven.  How  they  call  out  our 
purest  and  most  unselfish  affections  !  what  new 
tenderness  they  pour  into  our  hearts  !  how  they 
humanize  and  soften  the  roughest  nature ! 
And  when  taken  from  us,  are  they  not  like 
magnets  to  draw  our  hearts  to  the  things  that 
are  above?  There  are  fathers  and  mothers 
who  seem  to  see,  when  they  look  up  into  the 
deep  blue  of  heaven,  a  dimpled  hand  that 
beckons  to  them,  and  to  hear  a  silver  voice 
that  whispers  from  the  skies,  "  Come  up  higher." 
To  very  many,  the  theme  of  which  we  have  to 
speak  —  the  removal  of  children  —  cannot  be 
out  of  season. 

And,  first  of  all,  the  parent  wishes  to  be 
satisfied   on   this    point.    Does    God   love    my 


1 88       The  Crozufi  zuithoiit  the  Conjlict, 

children  ?  Does  He  love  them  ?  Ask  it  father, 
ask  it  mother,  of  thine  own  heart.  Dost  thou 
love  thy  child  ?  Ay,  with  a  love  that  is  stronger 
than  death.  And  whence  springs  that  parental 
love  of  thine?  Is  it  of  earth  or  of  heaven? 
Is  it  not  a  rill,  a  tiny  one,  from  the  great 
fountain  of  perennial  love  in  the  heart  of  the 
Father  of  us  all  ?  It  was  He  that  taught  thee 
how  to  love  thy  child. 

See  how  tender  was  His  care  for  the  six 
score  thousand  persons  in  Nineveh  who  could 
not  discern  between  their  right  hand  and  their 
left  hand,  and  for  whose  sake,  in  great  part, 
the  city  was  spared. 

There  was  a  babe  once,  in  the  old  land  of 
Canaan,  born  in  the  village  of  Bethlehem,  and 
cradled  in  a  manger  there.  Did  the  eye  of  the 
great  Father  look  upon  that  babe,  and  does 
He  not  know  how  to  love  a  human  child ! 

And  mark  how  the  Son  of  God  loves  chil- 
dren. Parents  bring  their  infants  to  Him  that 
He  may  touch  them.  His  disciples  resent  the 
intrusion,  and  rebuke  them.  But  Jesus  called 
them  unto  Him,  and  said,  "  Suffer  the  little 
children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them 
not :  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God."  Jesus 
values  them  more  justly  and  more  fully  than 
his  own  disciples  did.  He  appreciates  their 
infant   immortality.   He  listens  to  their  lisped 


The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict.       189 

praise.  How  many  an  infant  voice  has  learned 
to  say,  with  childlike  trust,  these  gracious 
words  :  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto 
me."  When  they  so  speak,  the  Master  knows 
that  they  cannot  understand  like  men :  He 
knows,  also,  that  they  can  trust  better  than 
men.  It  is  with  the  little  child  as  with  the 
sinner  rescued  when  his  head  is  hoary, — he 
can  be  saved  in  no  other  way  but  through  the 
cleansing  blood  of  Christ. 

A  fully  developed  faith  is  not  possible  in 
an  undeveloped  child.  And  while  faith,  as 
the  means  of  connecting  the  sinner  with  the 
Saviour,  is  the  indispensable  condition  of 
entrance  into  heaven  with  those  to  whom  faith 
is  a  possibility,  it  is  not,  it  cannot  be,  with 
those  in  w^hose  breasts,  from  the  nature  of  the 
case,  faith  cannot  dwell.  Else  were  the  remedy 
inadequate  to  the  disease,  else  were  the  plaster 
smaller  than  the  wound,  else  it  is  no  longer 
true,  that  "  where  sin  abounded,  grace  did 
much  more  abound."  We  believe  accordingly 
that  the  population  of  heaven  is  very  largely 
made  up  of  children.  No  small  proportion 
of  the  human  family  is  cut  off  in  infant  years. 
In  reference  to  the  children  of  the  ungodly 
dying  in  childhood.  Scripture  for  wise  reasons 
has  not  broken  silence,  and  however  strong 
the  grounds  of  hope  may  seem  to  be,  we  will 


190       The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict. 

go  no  further  than  the  record  of  the  written 
Word,  —  we,  too,  will  keep  silence.  But  as 
regards  the  children  of  Christian  parents  cut 
off  in  infancy,  the  same  infallible  Word  does 
warrant  us  to  speak  with  confidence.  The}'' 
are  born  within  the  covenant :  they  are  within 
the  covenant  when  they  die.  "  The  promise 
is  to  you  and  to  your  children."  "  It  is  not  the 
will  of  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven,  that 
one  of  these  little  ones  should  perish." 

But  this  leads  us  to  our  main  inquiry  :  Is 
the  removal  of  our  children  by  death  consistent 
with  God's  love  of  them  and  us  ? 

There  are  many  mysteries  on  earth,  and 
few,  w^e  are  free  to  confess,  greater  than  the 
sufterincrs  and  death  of  a  child.  The  babe 
that  lies  in  pain  in  that  little  crib  has  never 
sinned  after  the  similitude  of  Adam's  transgres- 
sion, yet  it  suffers  after  the  similitude  of 
Adam's  suffering.  It  cries  to  you  for  help, 
and  you  cannot  give  it.  It  has  sought  a 
mother's  aid  in  all  its  previous  troubles,  and 
has  never  sought  in  vain.  If  a  little  advanced 
beyond  infancy,  perhaps  your  dying  child, 
while  he  cries  that  mournful  cry  uttered  by  so 
many  since  the  days  of  the  Shunammite's  suf- 
fering son,  "My  head,  my  head,"  plaintively 
asks  of  you  what  will  make  him  better.  You 
stand  helpless  beside    the    son    of   3^our   love. 


The  Crown  zvithotit  the  Conjiict.      191 

You  would  lay  bare  your  own  bosom  to  receive 
the  blow*  that  is  aimed  at  him.  You  would 
lay  your  own  head  on  the  pillow  of  death  if  he 
might  live.  But  it  may  not  be.  The  last 
enemy  has  his  hands  about  your  child ;  and 
your  prayers,  your  tears,  your  silent  agony, 
cannot  avail  to  ward  off  the  fatal  blow,  for  his 
hour  is  come.  We  dare  not  say  that  no  mys- 
tery is  here.  But,  believer,  as  you  witness  or 
recall  that  scene,  remember  that  "  the  wages  of 
sin  is  death."  And  though  the  sting  of  death  is 
taken  away,  the  power  of  death  must  be  felt 
even  by  a  child. 

Yet  tliere  are  comforts  that  gather  round 
this  sad  scene  if  you  can  compose  your  heart 
to  discern  and  to  accept  them. 

I.  To  clear  away  a  frequent  and  natural 
delusion,  we  remark.  Your  sorrow  is  not  ex- 
ceptional. It  is  the  common  lot.  Since  Adam 
lost  his  son,  tens  of  thousands  of  his  posterity 
have  mourned  in  like  bereavement.  But  you 
say,  "  My  case  is  altogether  peculiar  ;  no  one 
knows  how  much  my  child  was  to  nie.  Many 
a  father  has  lost  his  child,  but  has  any  lost 
such  a  child  as  mine  ?  He  met  my  heart's 
deepest  yearnings :  he  was  balm  to  me  in 
sorrow,  he  was  rest  to  me  in  weariness,  he 
was  gladness  to  me  always,  and  more  than 
that,  I  thought  that  in  riis  simplicity  and  light 


192       The  Crown  without  the  Conjiict, 

and  love  he  was  God's  messenger  to  wean  me 
from  the  dross  and  earthiness  of  this»  present 
life."  Well,  well,  thou  woe-stricken  parent, 
we  have  no  heart  to  debate  these  points 
with  thee.  Weep  on,  it  will  do  thee  good 
to  weep.  Thy  child  was  much,  was  per- 
haps every  thing,  to  thee :  so  have  other 
bright  and  radiant  children  been  to  other 
desolated  hearts.  Yet  some  cases  may  be 
worse  than  thine.  A  friend  just  returned  from 
New  York  said  to  us  the  other  day,  "  I  was 
arrested  in  a  cemetery,  when  my  eye  was 
scanning  the  records  of  the  dead,  by  one 
gravestone,  on  which  was  this  inscription  :  — 

"  yohuy  Mary,   William,  Ellen,  yane* 
Our  alir 

Not  another  word  was  added ;  not  another 
word  could  have  strengthened  that  silent  tes- 
timony to  the  agony  of  broken  hearts,  and  to 
the  chili  that  had  fallen  upon  a  family  hearth 
once  warmed  and  brightened  by  the  presence 
and  the  joy  of  children.  Mourner,  is  thy  case 
worse  than  this  ? 

2.  A  dying  child  may  suffer,  but  he  does 
not  sorrow.  Often  his  sufferings  are  less  than 
they  seem  to  us,  and  especially  in  the  terrible 
heavings  and   agonies  of  the  last  conflict  the 


The  Crozun  zvithout  the  Conjlict.       193 

subduing  influence  of  weakness,  and  the  sub- 
siding of  consciousness,  may  make  it  lighter 
for  our  child  to  endure  than  for  us  to  witness 
his  struggles  ;  as  if  the  sufferings  of  a  child 
were  meant  mainly  for  the  heart  of  his  parent. 
But  even  where  the  suffering  of  the  child  is 
great,  there  is  no  sting  in  it.  There  are  no 
regrets  about  the  past,  there  are  no  anxieties 
about  the  future.  There  is  only  present  pain. 
Contrast  this  with  the  death-beds  of  men  and 
women.  Go  to  the  chamber  where  a  wicked 
man  lies  dying  :  his  body  may  be  in  agony, 
but  is  that  the  worst  part  of  his  sufferings? 
We  have  heard  such  a  one,  awakened  to  a 
sense  of  his  soul's  peril  on  the  brink  of  eter- 
nity, cr}'  out,  "  Every  limb  of  my  body  is  in 
agony,  but  it  is  not  that  which  disturbs  me ; 
my  soul,  my  undying  soul,  what  is  to  become 
of  my  soul  ?  "  Or  if  the  comparison  is  held 
more  legitimate,  go  to  the  death-bed  of  a  good 
man,  and  how  often  will  you  find  that  there 
are  unutterable  regrets  in  his  heart  for  the  loss 
of  opportunities  of  serving  liis  Master  and  his 
generation  :  how  often,  too,  in  the  hour  and  the 
power  of  darkness  has  even  the  holiest  man, 
as  he  draws  near  to  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  visitings  of  doubt  and  dark  moments 
of  fear  ?  Bereaved  parent,  thy  dying  child 
had  none.  He  heard  the  soothing  accents  of 
13 


194       The  Crown  without  the  Conflict. 

a  mother's  lullaby,  he  felt  the  soft  pressure  of  a 
mother's  hand,  and  though  his  body  was  in  pain, 
his  heart  was  all  at  peace.  He  trusted  while 
he  lived,  and  when  he  died  he  trusted  still. 

3.  The  departed  child  of  the  Christian  pa- 
rent is  safe.  He  is  folded  by  the  Good  Shep- 
herd where  there  are  no  perils  to  encounter. 
On  this  thought,  from  week  to  week,  and  from 
year  to  year,  you  will  find  your  heart  dwell 
with  increasing  thankfulness.  Conflicts  he 
shall  never  know ;  temptations  are  all  left 
behind ;  a  tear  shall  dim  his  eye  no  more. 
His  brief,  bright  life,  you  may  perhaps  be  able 
to  say,  was  an  unclouded  one.  He  never  felt 
a  storm  but  the  storm  which  wafted  him  to 
heaven.  I  thought,  indeed,  to  watch  the  un- 
folding of  that  bud  so  full  of  promise  ;  how  ten- 
derly and  lovingly  should  I  have  guarded  it 
as  it  disclosed  new  beauties  every  day  but  — 
Ay,  there  is  a  but !  But  if  he  had  lived  he 
might  have  survived  his  father  and  his  mother, 
and  he  might  have  fallen  into  hands  less  ten- 
der. In  boyhood  he  might  have  become  the 
companion  of  the  careless  and  the  wicked. 
He  might —  who  knows  but  he  might  ? — have 
made  shipwreck  of  his  faith.  All  that  might 
have  been  ;  but  he  is  safe  :  his  little  bark  is 
moored  in  the  haven  where  no  tempest  blows. 
So  grief  mellows  into  gratitude. 


The  Crown  without  the  Conflict .       195 

And  is  there  not  deep  cause  for  gratitude? 
Your  child,  through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
has  won  the  victory  without  having  ever  drawn 
the  sword,  has  put  on  the  crown  although 
he  has  never  borne  the  cross.  May  it  not  be 
as  a  mark  of  peculiar  favor  and  a  special  fruit 
of  the  Saviour's  atoning  work  that  your  little 
one  has  reached  such  blessedness  so  easily 
and  so  soon? 

King  David  had  a  son  who  grew  up  to  man- 
hood, beautiful  in  person,  wmning  in  manners, 
the  favorite  of  the  people  and  the  pride  of  his 
father's  heart.  But  gifted  in  mind  and  comely' 
in  form,  his  talents  were  his  snare,  for  his 
heart  w^as  not  right  with  God.  That  which 
had  seemed  to  the  rejoicing  father  so  beauti- 
ful in  the  opening  mind  of  Absalom  the  boy, 
became  in  Absalom  the  man,  the  occasion  of 
the  bitterest  anguish  of  that  father's  heart. 
In  the  prime  of  his  days  and  the  pride  of  his 
rebellion,  Absalom  was  cut  oft\  Though  a 
rebel,  he  was  yet  a  son,  and  David  mourned 
over  him  as  such  a  father  will  ever  mourn 
over  a  loved  and  lost  one.  "The  king  was 
much  moved,  and  went  up  to  the  chamber 
over  the  gate  and  wept ;  and  as  he  went  thus, 
he  said,  O  my  son,  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son 
Absalom  !  would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son  ! " 


196       The  Crown  zuithoiU  the  Conjiict, 

King  David  had  another  son,  a  little  child. 
"And  the  Lord  struck  the  child  that  Uriah's 
wife  bare  unto  David,  and  it  was  very  sick" 
..."  and  it  came  to  pass  on  the  seventh  day 
that  the  child  died."  David  mourned  for  that 
son  also,  but  with  what  different  feelings  in 
his  heart!  "Can  I  bring  him  back  again?  I 
shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me." 
There  is  firm  faith  as  well  as  sore  sorrow  in 
his  mourning  for  his  child.  "  I  shall  go  to 
him,"  he  says.  But  no  such  ray  of  hope 
strikes  across  his  darkened  spirit  when  he 
weeps  for  his  lost  Absalom  with  the  cry  of 
blank  and  utter  sorrow,  "O  Absalom,  my  son, 
my  son."  Say,  bereaved  parent,  who  weepest 
for  thy  child  and  wilt  not  be  comforted,  which 
was  best  for  David,  Absalom  spared  to  the 
beauty  of  his  mature  manhood,  or  his  child 
snatched  from  his  straining  grasp  in  infancy? 

We  do  not  say  that  such  was  God's  reason 
for  dealing  with  you  as  He  has  done,  but  it 
may  have  been.  God  has  His  reasons,  though 
He  does  not  tell  them  all  to  you.  Enough  for 
you  that  it  is  your  God  whb  has  done  this 
thing.  Your  child  has  gone  to  rest  for  the 
night.  You  enter  his  chamber :  he  starts, 
and  is  afraid.  The  room  is  all  in  darkness, 
and  he  cannot  see  you  :  but  you  speak  to  him. 
You  do   not  tell    him  why  3'ou   are    there,  but 


The  Crozvn  zuithoiit  the  Conjlict,      197 

it  \^  you7'  voice  he  hears.  His  father  is  beside 
him  ;  it  is  enough.  He  turns  upon  his  pillow, 
and  he  sleeps  again.  In  your  own  night  of 
weeping,  listen,  and  you  will  hear  your 
Father's  voice,  not  unriddling  for  you  the 
mystery  that  perplexes  you,  but  saying  only, 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid."  And  when  thou 
knowest  it  is  He,  wilt  thou  not  in  the  darkness 
trust  thy  Father  as  thy  child  trusts  thee  ? 

You  tremble,  you  struggle  when  the  child 
you  love  is  snatched  out  of  your  embrace  by 
an  unseen  hand ;  but  tremble  not.  He  who 
takes  him  into  His  arm^s  knows  what  it  is  for 
you  to  let  him  out  of  yozir  arms.  You  are 
yourself  reconciled  to  God  by  the  blood  of  His 
Son.  Like  Abraham,  you  are  a  friend  of 
God.  And  just  as  you  are  kind,  not  only  to 
your  friend,  but  to  his  children  for  his  sake, 
so  is  God  kind,  not  only  to  you,  but  to  your 
children.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  fruit  and  evi- 
dence of  that  kindness  that  the  little  one  you 
mourn  has  been  better  provided  for  above, 
than  you  could  have  provided  for  him  here. 
The  Lord  chose  to  have  your  child  beside 
Himself.  And  you  have  done  the  same  thing 
when  your  children  were  absent  from  their 
home.  You  wearied  for  them  ;  you  sent  for 
them ;  you  brought  them  home  again ;  you 
must  have  them  with  you.     The  Saviour  feels 


198       The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict, 

thus  toward  his  absent  children  :  "  Father,  I 
will  that  they  also  whom  thou  hast  given  me 
be  with  me  where  I  am."  What,  then,  do  you 
complain  of  ?  He  has  called  your  little  one 
home  ;  your  little  one,  and  His  little  one.  For, 
let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  though  he  is  your 
child,  he  is  God's  child  still  more  than  yours. 
He  is  yours  but  by  descent :  he  is  God's  by 
creation  and  by  redemption. 

You  will  learn,  ere  long,  to  look  on  it  as  a 
high  honor  that  your  child  has  been  sent  for 
by  the  Heavenly  King.  When  the  youthful 
shepherd  of  Bethlehem  was  sent  for,  to  the 
court  of  King  Saul  to  play  before  him  on  the 
harp,  did  his  father  Jesse  hold  back  the  boy? 
did  he  refuse  to  let  him  go?  And  if  a  higher 
King  has  need  of  your  son  or  of  your  dayghter 
in  the  courts  of  heaven,  would  you  refuse  the 
King's  demand? 

We  may  gather  that  children  are  wanted 
in  the  worship  of  heaven,  from  the  fact  that 
children  bear  an  accepted  part  in  the  worship 
of  earth.  Under  the  old  dispensation,  "the 
little  ones"  are  present  with  the  captains  of 
the  tribes,  the  elders,  the  people  and  the  stran- 
gers, to  enter  into  covenant  with  the  Lord 
their  God.  (Deut.  xxix.  10-13.)  The 
prophet  Joel,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  thus 
speaks:    "Blow  the  trumpet  in  Zion,  sanctify 


The  Crozvii  without  the  Coiiflzct.      199 

a  fast,  call  a  solemn  assembly ;  gather  the 
people,  sanctify  the  congregation,  assemble 
the  elders,  gather  the  children,  and  those  that 
suck  the  breasts,''  when  the  priests  were  to 
weep  between  the  porch  and  the  altar,  and  to 
cr}^  "  Spare  thy  people,  O  Lord."  (Joel  ii. 
15-17.)  It  was  the  Loin's  choice  that  the 
treble  of  infant  voices  should  mingle  with  the 
wail  of  the  men  and  the  women  of  Israel. 
Among  the  great  multitude  who  serve  him  day 
and  night  in  his  temple,  God  may  have  need 
of  infant  voices  :  perhaps  the  joyous  voice  you 
loved  to  hear  is  wanted  there  :  an  infant  harp 
waits  for  an  infant  hand  to  strike  it.  Father, 
mother,  if  it  be  thy  infant,  say,  wilt  thou  re- 
fuse? 

4.  As  the  magnet  is  to  steel,  so  is  a  child  in 
heaven  to  a  parent  on  earth.  Nothing  brings 
us  into  closer  contact  with  God  than  His  taking 
sole  charge  of  our  child.  We  are  its  parents 
still,  but  we  cannot  control,  we  cannot  guide, 
it  now.  For  the  purposes  of  protection  and  of 
training,  God  is  its  sole  father. 

You  loved  heaven  before,  but  your  stake  in 
it  is  deeper  now,  and  your  love  for  it  is  greater. 
Perhaps  you  have  a  son  whose  lot  is  cast  in  a 
distant  land,  about  which  you  knew  and  cared 
but  little  before  he  went  to  it.  His  home  is 
now,  let  us  suppose,  in  Queensland.     A  sud- 


200       The  Crozun  without  the  Conjlict, 

den  interest  is  awakened  in  your  breast  about 
that  land.  What  you  read  in  reference  to  it 
you  retain.  And  if  you  meet  with  any  one 
who  has  been  there,  how  eagerly  do  you 
question  him  about  it.  You  have  another 
child  whose  lot  is  cast  in  a  still  more  distant 
land.  The  Lord  h%s  taken  him  to  the  land 
of  promise.  From  the  day  he  left  you,  what 
a  quickened  desire  you  have  had  to  learn 
about  that  land  !  What  are  the  mansions  which 
my  child  inhabits  ;  who  are  his  companions ; 
what  is  their  employment;  and,  above  all, 
what  is  the  way  to  that  better  country  ? 

If  you  have  not  known  the  way  before,  oi 
knowing  have  not  walked  in  it,  the  cause 
perhaps  is  not  obscure,  as  regards  your  own 
soul,  why  your  child  has  been  taken  thither 
before  you.  I  have  known  the  shepherd  when 
he  failed  to  guide  the  sheep  as  he  desired,  take 
up  her  bleating  lamb  in  his  arms,  and  then 
with  quick  step  the  mother  followed.  I  have 
known  the  Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  our  souls 
try  many  plans  to  make  a  father  and  a  mother 
enter  the  strait  gate  and  walk  in  the  narrow 
way.  Prosperity  was  sent,  and  they  forgot 
God  :  adversity  followed,  and  they  murmured 
that  God  had  forgotten  them.  The  discipline 
of  joy  and  of  sorrow  seemed  alike  ineffectual. 
At  last,  the  Shepherd    gendy  laid  His  hand 


The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict.      201 

upon  a  lamb  of  their  little  flock ;  I  noticed  that 
It  was  the  brightest  and  the  rriost  cherished  of 
them  all.  The  parents  struggled,  but  they 
could  not  keep  their  lamb.  The  Shepherd 
claimed  it,  gathered  it  in  his  arms,  and 
passed  it  through  the  gate  of  Zion.  Then 
first  the  parents  learned  to  look  on  that  land 
as  their  home,  and  to  seek  that  He  who  had 
folded  their  little  lamb  should  be  their  Shep- 
herd too. 

5.  This  cause  of  sorrow  for  your  child  can 
never  return.  Sickness  from  which  you  re- 
cover may  leave  behind  it  a  tendency  to 
relapse.  But  not  death.  That  is  endured 
once  for  all.  "  It  is  appointed  unto  men  once 
to  die."  Your  son,  your  daughter,  has  got 
through  it,  and  it  is  not  to  be  done  again.  You 
would  not  dare  to  bring  your  child  back  again 
if  you  could.  And  in  your  deepest  grief  you 
feel  it  far  better  to  have  had  and  parted  wath 
him  for  a  time,  than  never  to  have  had  him  for 
your  own.  You  bless  God  that  He  lent  him 
to  you  for  a  season.  We  can  add  but  one 
other  topic  for  the  consideration  of  the  be- 
reaved parent : — 

6.  Your  sorrow  has  taught  you  to  sympa- 
thize as  you  never  could  before.  When  others 
suffered  as  you  now  suffer,  the  time  was  when 
their  trial  made  no  deep  impression  upon  your 


202       The  Crown  withotit  the  Conjllct. 

heart.  But  now  you  will  never  be  heard  to 
say,  "It  is  but. a  child."  A  door  of  entrance 
is  opened  for  you  to  sorrowing  hearts.  You 
find  yourself  linked  in  a  blessed  companion- 
ship with  those  who,  like  yourself,  have  chil- 
dren in  heaven.  Taught  in  God's  own  school, 
you  have  learned,  with  a  power  that  is  amazing 
to  yourself,  to  comfort  those  that  are  in  trouble 
with. the  comfort  wherewith  you  yourself  are 
comforted  of  God.  You  had  been  saying,  as 
Lamech  said  of  Noah,  "This  child  shall  com- 
fort us;"  while  God  was  saying,  "You  shall 
comfort  others,"  being  yourselves  comforted 
with  the  comfort  not  of  a  living  child  on  earth, 
but  of  a  glorified  child  in  heaven.  Thus  you 
may  be  a  more  useful  if  a  sadder  man,  because 
your  child  is  taken  from  you  ;  and  usefulness, 
not  pleasure,  is  what  God's  people  are  to  labor 
for  on  earth. 

You  have  meditated  on  all  these  themes  of 
consolation  and  on  many  more.  You  have 
realized  the  honor  conferred  upon  you  of  hav- 
ing a  ransomed  child  in  heaven.  And  while 
the  heathen,  who  was  told  that  his  son  was 
dead,  could  say,  "I  knew  that  my  son  was 
mortal,"  you  are  able  to  say,  "I  know  that  my 
son  is  immortal."  Nevertheless,  there  are 
times  when  your  sorrow  seems  stronger  than 
your  solace,  and  your  feebleness  seems  greater 


The  Crown  without  the  Conjlict.       203 

than  your  faith,  and  your  lonely  heart  will 
only  cry,  "  My  child,  my  child  !  "  You,  though 
a  father,  have  yourself  a  Father,  who  taught 
you  to  love  that  child  with  such  a  love.  He 
knows  how  you  miss  and  mourn  him,  and  if 
you  lean  on  Him,  and  look  to  Him,  He  will 
surely  bring  you  peace.  Wait,  mourning 
parent,  wait,  and  follow  the  voice  of  the  lamb 
as  he  is  carried  in  the  Shepherd's  arms,  and 
you  shall  see  your  child  again. 

Finally,  bereaved  parent,  thou  mayest  have 
children  living  still.  Let  the  memory  of  him 
whose  place  is  empty,  when  they  gather  round 
thee,  engage  thee  to  give  them  each  and  to 
give  them  wholly  to  the  Lord.  And  thou, 
parent,  who  hast  never  thus  been  tried,  look 
round  upon  thine  unbroken  band  with  rejoic- 
ing, yet  with  trembling  heart,  and  listen  to  the 
voice  that  says  to  thee  in  reference  to  each  one 
of  them,  "Take  this  child  and  nurse  it  for 
me."  Dedicate  him  to  the  Lord;  so  if  he 
lives,  it  will  be  better  for  thee  and  for  him. 
Dedicate  him  to  the  Lord ;  thy  child  may 
die. 


COMFORT   FOR   MOURNERS   IN 
GENERAL. 


THE   SAVIOUR'S   SYMPATHY  WITH   THE   • 
AFFLICTED. 

Rev.  Dr.  John  Eadie,  Glasgow. 

TT  is  in  the  period  of  suffering  and  bereave 
-*-  ment  that  the  soul  is  brought  into  nearer 
contact  with  God,  and  knows  Him,  not  from 
what  it  beheves,  but  from  what  it  enjoys,  — not 
from  what  it  has  been  taught,  but  from  what  it 
has  experienced.  We  are  all  aware  that  our 
Lord  is  named  the  "Man  of  Sorrows,"  and  we 
are  taught  that  He  is  "  touched  with  the  feeling 
of  our  infirmities  ;  "  but  we  do  not  adequately 
comprehend  the  truth,  till,  under  the  pressure 
of  infirmity,  we  enjoy  His  sympathy ;  and 
then  we  can  say,  Now  we  know  it,  for  we 
have  felt  it.  There  is  truly  a  sublime  mean- 
ing in  the  words  which  He  spoke  to  Martha, 


Comfort  /or  Mourners  in  General.    205 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life ; "  but 
only  those  circumstanced  as  she  was  —  the 
grave  having  closed  over  her  brother  —  can 
really  enter  into  their  nobility  and  triumph. 
He  who  has  never  felt  the  pang  or  desolation 
of  bereavement  —  whose  heart  has  never  been 
pierced  by  the  barbed  and  mortal  shaft  —  who 
has  never  gazed  on  the  corpse  of  parent, 
brother,  or  child,  and  seen  it  closed  up  from 
view  —  w^ho  has  never  made  one  of  the  group 
of  weeping  mourners  that  stand,  in  inexpress- 
ible solemnity,  by  the  grave,  and  feel  a  sad 
sinking  of  heart  as  they  leave  behind  them,  in 
dust  and  darkness,  that  form  which  they  shall, 
not  see  again  till  Christ  descend  and  the 
trumpet  sound  —  such  a  scathless  and  untried 
believer  cannot,  though  he  would,  unfold  to 
himself  the  sweetness  and  comfort  of  the  say- 
ing, "  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 
There  is  no  Christian  heart  that  does  not  hold 
by  the  pledge,  "  My  grace  is  sufficient  for 
thee  ;  "  but  it  is  only  when  "  weakness  "  over- 
powers it,  that  it  can  really  find  that  His 
"strength  is  made  perfect."  Without  affliction, 
the  purest  and  closest  knowledge  of  God  could 
never  be  acquired  ;  a  veil  would  still  seem  to 
lie  upon  Him.  The  glory  that  surrounds  Him 
might  dazzle  us  ;  but  we  should  still  be  com- 
parative strangers  to  the  tenderness  and  love 


2o6    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General. 

of  His  heart.  Still  at  a  distance  from  Him, 
we  would  indeed  trust  Him ;  but  when  He 
lays  His  hand  upon  us  and  brings  us  nearer 
Him,  then  do  we  acquaint  ourselves  with  His 
loving-kindness,  no  longer  by  report,  but  by 
tasting  it.  You  may  have  seen  the  solar  beam 
thrown  back  in  yellow  splendor  from  the  crys- 
tal rocks,  as  they  glistened  with  gold,  but  now 
you  have  found  and  gathered  the  precious  ore. 
It  is  one  thing  to  admire  the  beauty  of  His 
pavilion,  and  another  thing  to  be  in  it;  one 
thing  to  know  Him  from  what  He  has  said, 
and  another  to  know  Him  in  what  He  has 
done.  Surely  experimental  intimacy  far  excels 
theoretic  information ;  but  it  is  gained  only  in 
the  school  of  affliction. 

Did,  therefore,  the  friendship  of  Christ  secure 
us  against  suffering,  it  would  shade  from  our 
view  these  prime  and  happy  lessons.  But 
Christ  is  anxious  that  we  learn  them,  and 
therefore,  though  he  loves  us.  He  permits  us 
to  suffer,  that  we  may  yearn  for  a  fuller  sense 
of  His  presence,  and,  penetrating  into  His 
heart,  know,  because  we  feel,  the  love  and 
power  of  our  Beloved  and  Friend. 


Comfoj't  for  Mourners  in  General,    207 

*'JESUS  WEPT." 
Rev.  Dr.  Eadie. 

Marvellous  spectacle  !  Jesus  wept,  as  the 
mourners  about  him  wept !  The  sight  of 
such  sorrow  overpowered  Him,  and  He  could 
not  refrain.  That  was  a  true  manhood,  which 
felt  this  touch  of  nature,  and  burst  into -tears. 
There  was  no  Stoicism  in  His  constitution. 
There  was  no  attempt  to  train  down  His  sym- 
pathies, and  educate  Himself  to  a  hard  and  in- 
human indifference.  Neither  was  He  ashamed 
of  His  possession  of  our  ordinary  sensibilities. 
He  felt  it  no  weakness  to  weep  in  public  with 
them  that  wept.  So  sinful  did  sin  appear  in 
its  penalty  of  death  —  so  saddening  was  the 
desolation  which  death  had  brought  into  that 
happy  home  —  so  humbling  was  the  picture  of 
Lazarus,  alive  and  active  but  a  few  days 
before,  but  now  laid  in  the  narrow  vault,  and 
carefully  concealed  from  view,  that  the  Saviour 
bowed  to  the  stroke,  and,  under  the  impulse  of 
genuine  sympathy,  "Jesus  wept."  Perhaps 
the  prospect  of  His  own  death  and  entombment 
rose  up  suddenly  before  Him, — the  thought 
that  He  should  soon  be  as  Lazarus  now  was,  a 
cold  and  inanimate  corpse,  with  weeping 
mourners  making  a  similar  procession  to  His 


2o8    Co7nfort  for  Mourners  in  General. 

tomb.  And  though  He  had  but  to  take  a 
few  steps  more,  and  the  greatest  of  His  mira- 
cles should  be  achieved,  and  he  that  was  dead 
should  be  raised,  —  so  powerful  and  tender 
were  His  mingled  sensations  that  "Jesus 
wept." 

Shall  we  use  the  common  term,  and  say  that 
He  was  "unmanned  "?  No.  Such  an  epithet 
originates  in  a  grievous  misinterpretation  of 
our  nature.  Is  man  to  be  denied  the  relief  of 
tears,  and  woman  only  to  be  so  privileged? 
Is  it  beneath  his  masculine  robustness  to  show 
a  moistened  eye?  Is  he  to  be  a  traitor  to  deep- 
est and  purest  emotion,  and  to  attempt  to  cau- 
terize the  fountain  of  tears?  No.  Christ,  the 
model  of  manhood,  the  mirror  of  all  that  was 
noble  and  dignified,  did  not  deny  Himself  the 
relief;  and  shall  men  be  looked  upon  as  effemi- 
nate, as  falling  from  the  dignity  of  their  sex,  if, 
with  emotions  like  Christ's,  they  shed  tears  like 
Him  ?  No.  Perish  that  dignity  which  would 
aspire  to  a  transcendental  apathy  that  man  was 
not  made  for,  and  which  Jesus  despised  !  The 
tear  is  as  genuine  as  the  smile.  He  who  would 
do  such  violence  to  his  nature,  insults  its 
Creator,  and  would  foolishly  set  himself  above 
the  example  of  the  Redeemer.  Instead  of 
raising  himself  above  humanit}^  he  sinks 
beneath  its  level.     The  brow  that  never  wore 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    209 

a  smile  is  not  more  unnatural  than  the  eye  that 
never  glistened  with  a  tear. 

Therefore  do  we  vindicate  for  the  afflicted 
mourner  the  privilege  of  tears.  You  are  not 
giving  way  to  sin,  when  you  are  giving  way  to 
tears.  Man  is  not  disgracing  his  manhood, 
nor  woman  showing  herself  to  be  but  a  woman, 
when  they  weep  under  bereavement.  Try  not 
to  be  above  the  Saviour.  It  is  not  sin  to  mourn, 
but  the  sin  is  to  murmur,  —  to  fall  into  queru- 
lous repining  as  if  God  had  wronged  you,  and 
it  needed  an  effort  on  your  part  to  forgive 
Him.  We  are  sure  that  Jesus  harbored  no 
grudge  of  this  nature  against  His  Father  in 
heaven  ;  and  yet  He  wept.  To  forbid  tears  is 
to  impose  a  cruel  penance,  — is  to  deny  a  lux- 
ury to  the  mourner  in  which  his  Lord  indulged. 
O  thou  of  the  bruised  heart !  when  thuu  goest 
to  the  supulchre  where  the  beloved  dust  is 
garnered,  weep,  but  not  in  dejection,  —  weep, 
but  repine  not ;  disturb  not  the  unbidden  tear, 
as  thou  art  in  the  place  of  burials.  The  dust 
thou  sorrowest  over  cannot  indeed  respond ; 
but  the  time  is  coming  when  thy  tears  shall  be 
wiped  away  by  the  very  hand  that  inflicted  the 
stroke.  .  .  . 

Whichever  form  of  bereavement  oppresses 
you,  oh,  be  comforted  by  the  thought  that 
''Jesus  wept ;  "    that  He  who  so  wept  is   still 


2IO    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  Gefieral. 

unchanged  in  nature ;  that  the  heart  which 
was  so  troubled  is  as  susceptible  now  as  then, 
and  beats  in  unison  and  sympathy  with  you 
under  such  trials  and  sorrows.  What  a  com- 
forter is  the  Elder  Brother,  who  knows  what  it 
is  to  be  bereaved,  and  will,  out  of  such  experi- 
ence, soothe  and  solace  His  people !  Nay, 
more :  for  eighteen  hundred  years  the  Man 
Jesus  has  been  employed  in  binding  up  the 
bleeding  in  heart,  and  healing  all  their  wounds. 
Every  variety  of  grief  He  has  dealt  with,  and 
with  every  element  and  form  of  it  He  is  per- 
fectly famiHar.  If  there  be  power  in  human 
sympathy  to  lighten  the  load  of  woe,  oh,  how 
much  more  in  the  sympathy  of  Him  who  "  bore 
our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows," — whose 
words  of  comfort  reach  the  heart,  —  who  gives 
Himself,  to  be  loved  in  room  of  the  object 
taken  away,  — and  gathers  the  departed  into  a 
blessed  company  before  the  throne,  with  the 
prospect  of  a  happy  and  unclouded  reunion  ! 
Let  the  mourner  never  forget  the  image  of 
the  weeping  Saviour.  Oh,  how  it  will  reas- 
sure him,  and  fill  him  with  unspeakable  con- 
solation !    Thou  weepest,  but  "Jesus  Wept  !  " 


Comfort  for  Motiniers  in  General.    211 

HOW   TO    SYMPATHIZE   WITH   MOURNERS. 
Rev.  Dr.  Charles  J.  Vaughan,  Vicar  of  Doncaster. 

Sorrow  is  a  great  test  of  truth.  Nothing 
which  has  the  slightest  tinge  of  unreality, 
whether  in  the  form  of  exaggeration  or  of  affec- 
tation, has  a  chance  of  acceptance  with  persons 
in  deep  trouble.  There  must  be,  as  a  first 
condition,  the  recognition  of  the  existence  in 
the  sufferer's  case  of  that  which  is  hard  to  bear  ; 
and  there  must  be,  as  a  second  condition,  the 
presentation  of  that  which  is  perfectly  support- 
ing, because  absolutely  true,  to  meet  it,  if  a 
man  would  minister  with  any  effect  to  one  on 
whom  pain  or  loss,  anxiety  or  desolation,  has 
laid  a  heavy  hand.  Too  often  there  is  an 
attempt  to  ignore  the  sorrow  ;  to  treat  it  as  if  it 
were  made  too  much  of;  almost  to  reprove  it, 
as  if  it  were  fanciful  or  voluntary.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  health  and  sickness,  ease  and  distress,  a 
whole  heart  and  a  wounded  heart,  to  meet  and 
sympathize  :  grief  is  suspicious  of  gladness, 
and  is  slow  to  be  persuaded  that  he  who  comes 
to  the  house  of  mourning  from  the  dwelling  of 
cheerfulness  can  bring  with  him  a  just  appre- 
ciation of  the  calamity  which  he  seeks  to  soothe. 
To  be  able  to  weef  with  them  that  iveef  is  a 
necessary  requisite  in  one  who  would  be,  in 
the  divine  sense,  a  son  of  consolation. 


212    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General. 

It  is  the  first  object  of  sorrow,  if  we  recog- 
nize in  it  any  object  at  all,  that  it  be  felt.  If 
there  is  a  remedial  purpose  in  it,  or  if  there  is 
even  a  chastening  and  a  humble  purpose  in  it, 
this  can  only  be  answered  by  the  entrance  of 
the  pain  itself  into  the  very  soul's  soul.  This 
is  what  an  inexperienced  comforter  will  not 
let  it  do.  He  acts,  with  his  spiritual  comfort, 
just  as  he  thinks  it  wrong  and  shocking  for 
another  to  act  with  his  worldly  comfort.  He 
counts  it  a  great  sin  to  drown  sorrow  by  letting 
in  the  din  of  the  world  upon  it ;  but  does  he 
not  himself  seek  to  overbear  sorrow  in  an  op- 
posite manner,  by  haste  and  precipitation  in 
administering  the  remedies  of  the  Gospel? 
Truths  which  will  be  valuable  and  efficacious 
a  month  hence,  may  themselves  be  inopera- 
tive and  inaudible  to-day.  And  the  wise 
physician,  like  Him  whose  hand  is  working 
with  him  from  above,  will  abide  and  watch  his 
time.  He  will  be  satisfied,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, that  the  soul  should  lay  itself  low  and 
let  the  wave  pass  over  it.  Its  foot  must  touch 
the  bottom  of  the  deep  waters  before  it  can 
safely  rise  again  to  their  surface.  All  that 
we  can  desire  to  hear  from  the  rent  heart,  in 
the  first  hours  of  anguish,  is  the  simple  confes- 
sion, //  is  the  Lord. 


Comfoi'i  for  Mourners  in  General.    213 

*'THY  WILL  BE   DONE." 
Rev.   Dr.   Henry  Alford,   Dean  of  Canterbury. 

I  SUPPOSE,  when  we  say  every  day,  "Thy 
will  be  done,"  in  our  Lord's  prayer,  we  mean, 
"  Here  I  am,  dispose  of  me  as  Thou  wilt." 
And  doubtless  such  a  general  feeling  is  a  good 
and  salutary  one,  an  excellent  introduction  to 
our  daily  duties  and  trials.  It  may  be  well, 
however,  to  put  it  sometimes  more  to  the  test, 
and  question  it  somewhat  more  closely  than 
Christians  usually  do.  Have  we  reflected, 
when  we  ^thus  say,  that  our  heavenh^  Father's 
will  evidently  is,  that  we  should  become 
perfect,  as  our  Saviour  did,  through  suf- 
fering? Have  we  made  our  account,  that 
health  and  strength,  fortune  and  friends,  are 
all  in  His  hand,  suspended  in  the  balance  with 
our  eternal  welfare?  that  our  Father's  care 
over  us  is  such,  that  if  one  of  them  is  seen  by 
Him  to  outweigh  and  interfere  with  our  soul's 
health,  He  will  surely  interpose  and  take  it 
from  us?  Have  we  borne  in  mind,  that  the 
very  day,  in  whose  opening  hour  we  kneel  in 
our  closets  and  say,  "Thy  will  be  done,"  may 
see  our  whole  life's  bitterest  and  dreariest  pas- 
sage,—  may  behold  us  stricken  down  by  our 
Father's  judgment,  may  make  the  strong  man 


214    Comfort  for  Mourners  hi  General.' 

a  miserable  wreck,  the  rich  man  a  poor  bank- 
rupt, the  social  man  a  solitary  in  the  world's 
wilderness?  Do  those  whose  souls  are  knit 
in  one  by  love's  closest  tie  of  God's  own  sanc- 
tioning, reflect,  when  they  say  these  words 
together  in  the  morning,  that  one  may  be  taken 
before  the  evening,  and  the  other  left,  to  try 
how  deep  the  resignation  to  God's  will  really 
was?  Does  it  ever  cross  the  mother's  mind,  as 
she  teaches  the  blessed  prayer  to  her  babe, 
fresh  risen  and  bright  in  the  morning,  that 
ere  night  His  will  may  indeed  be  done  upon 
both, — that  she  may  be  striving  to  suffer  it 
on  earth,  while  her  darling  is  doing  it  in 
heaven  ?  Far  be  it  from  me  to  dash  or  imbit- 
ter  the  heart's  joys,  pure  and  holy  like  these. 
But,  O  brethren,  such  thoughts  as  these  will  not 
dash  nor  imbitter  joy.  Then  it  is  imbittered, 
^yhen  the  soul  has  made  her  nest  and  her  home 
here  below,  has  gazed  on  her  beloved  object 
insatiably,  and  never  thought  of  God  —  has 
used  the  world  as  if  she  possessed  it — and 
some  hour  when  all  is  fair  and  serene,  in  the 
midst  of  much  treasure  laid  up  for  many 
years,  comes  the  fatal  stroke,  unlooked  for, 
unaccountable,  irremediable.  One  such  rec- 
ord I  have  seen  engraved  on  the  tomb  of 
;  a  beloved  child  :  "  The  miserable  parents  ven- 
'  tured  their  all  on  this  frail  bark,  and  the  wreck 


Co7nfort  for  Mourner's  in  General,    215 

was  total."  This,  is  bitterness  indeed  ;  but  to 
see  all  our  comforts  coming  day  by  day  from 
God's  hand  —  to  live  in  the  continual  conscious- 
ness that  He  who  to-day  tries  our  gratitude 
by  giving  them,  may  to-morrow  try  our  faith 
b}^  withdrawing  them, — this  is  not  to  poison 
joy,  but  to  enhance  it  tenfold,  —  it  is  not  to 
blight  the  fair  plant,  but  to  give  it  strength 
and  endurance,  so  that  it  shall  flourish  not 
only  in  the  sunshine  but  in  the  storm ;  not 
only  in  the  morn  and  promise  of  life,  but 
amidst  disappointment  and  decay  and  death. 

"Thy  will  be  done."  And  what  if  that  will 
be  not  only  afflictive,  but  dark  and  mysterious 
also?  What  if  God  be  pleased  to  wound  just 
where  we  believed  we  wanted  cherishing? 
What  if  to  the  weak  and  short-sighted  eye  of 
sense  He  even  seem  as  a  tyrant,  delighting  in 
doing  us  harm,  striking  us  when  w^e  are  down, 
yea,  forgetting  His  own  promises  and  break- 
ing His  everlasting  covenant?  O  brethren,  I 
know  how  hard  it  is  in  such  cases  to  feel  from 
the  heart  this  prayer,  —  how  the  words  seem 
almost  to  choke  us  in  utterance,  and  the  peti- 
tion to  be  more  than  we  ever  can  really  ^attain 
to.  But  let  us  not,  for  all  that,  relinquish 
our  trust  in  our  Father's  love  and  care  of  us. 
What  He  does,  we  know  not,  we  know  not 
now ;  but  we  shall  know  hereafter.     I  remem-  ^ 


2i6    Co7nfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

ber,  on  one  of  those  glorious  days  of  all  but 
cloudless  sunshine,  with  which  some  of  our 
summers  abound,  passing  in  view  of  a  well- 
known  line  of  bare  and  majestic  downs,  then 
basking  in  the  full  beams  of  noon.  But  on 
one  face  of  the  hill  rested  a  mass  of  deep  and 
gloomy  shadow.  On  searching  for  its  cause, 
I  at  length  discovered  one  little  speck  of 
cloud,  bright  as  light,  floating  in  the  clear 
blue  above ;  this  it  was  which  cast  on  the 
hill-side  that  ample  track  of  gloom.  And 
what  I  saw  was  an  image  of  Christian  sorrow. 
Dark  and  cheerless  often  as  it  is,  and  unac- 
countable as  it  passes  over  our  earthly  path, 
in  heaven  its  token  shall  be  found ;  and  it 
shall  be  known  to  have  been  but  as  a  shadow 
of  His  brightness,  whose  name  is  Love.  In 
this  case  too,  then.  His  will  be  done ;  rest  in 
the  Lord,  and  He  shall  make  it  plain.  It  is 
good  to  wait ;  it  lifts  men  above  the  world  and 
out  of  themselves,  and  they  grow  in  the 
knowledge  of  their  Father  and  God,  and 
in  ripeness  for  the  day  when  He  shall  be 
revealed. 


Comfort  for  Motcrners  in  General,    217 

SORROW  FOR  THE    DEAD. 
Principal  Tolloch,  D.D.,  St.  Andrews. 

The  New  Testament  teaches  us  to  think  of 
our  dead  ones  as  "asleep."  "Them  also 
which  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring  with  him." 
(i  Thess.  iv.  14.)  They  are  gone  from  us, 
but  they  rest  in  the  Lord.  And  when  they 
awake,  they  will  be  still  with  Him.  Why, 
then,  should  we  weep  for  those  who,  now 
calmly  resting  in  Christ,  await  a  joyful  resur- 
rection ? 

As  "  sleep  is  to  waking,  so  is  death  to  the 
resurrection."  It  is  the  dawn  of  a  resurrection 
Morning  which  gives  its  full  force  to  the  im- 
age. In  death  there  is  rest  from  care  and 
sorrow,  and  all  the  ills  which  make  life  pain- 
ful ;  and  so  far  it  is  like  to  sleep,  when  we  lie 
down  and  put  from  us,  in  unconscious  slum- 
ber, the  cares  of  the  day,  the  sorrows  that  may 
have  vexed  us,  or  other  ills  that  may  have 
pained  or  wearied  us.  But  it  requires  the 
assurance  of  an  awakening  to  complete  the 
analogy.  It  were  little  to  say  to  men,  as 
Socrates  said  long  ago,  that  death  is  a  "great 
gain,"  even  if  we  only  think  of  it  as  a  "deep 
sleep  in  which  one  has  had  no  dream."  In- 
sensibility is  better  than  pain  or  toil.     But  to 


2i8    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

the  Christian  the  sleep  of  death  is  only  the 
prelude  to  a  joyful  day.  The  sleeper  awakes 
refreshed  and  strengthened  to  a  "  mightier 
power  of  life."  The  believer  sinks  to  rest  in 
the  grave  that  he  may  rise  again  on  the  res- 
urrection Morning  in  new  and  more  glorious 
being.  "  For  if  we  believe  that  Jesus  died  and 
rose  again,  even  so  them  also  which  sleep  in 
Jesus  will  God  bring  with  Him." 

It  was  this  view  of  death  of  which  the 
heathen  knew  nothing.  They  might  think 
of  their  dead  ones  as  resting  in  the  dust. 
Their  Philosophers  might  discourse  of  a 
dreamless  sleep ;  and  their  Poets  sing  of  a 
long  night  of  perpetual  slumber  towards  which 
they  were  hastening ;  but  they  knew  nothing 
of  the  Morning  that  was  to  break  on  their  long 
sleep,  of  the  Resurrection  to  which  it  was 
destined.  Even  the  ancient  Hebrews  saw  this 
but  dimly,  and  therefore  they  cried,  "The 
living,  the  living,  he  shall  praise  Thee.  For 
the  grave  cannot  praise  Thee  ;  death  cannot 
celebrate  Thee  :  they  that  go  down  into  the 
pit  cannot  hope  for  Thy  truth."  (Isaiah 
xxxviii.  18-19.)  "In  death  there  is  no  re- 
membrance of  Thee  :  in  the  grave  who  shall 
give  Thee  thanks?"  (Ps.  vi.  5.)  "The 
dead  praise  not  the  Lord,  neither  any  that  go 
down  into  silence."     (Ps.  cxv.  17.)     Prophet 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    219 

and  Psalmist  had  at  the  best  but  a  feeble  hold 
of  the  doctrine  of  Resurrection  to  Eternal  Life. 
They  saw  before  them  the  darkness ;  they 
felt,  with  something  of  horror,  the  silence  of 
the  tomb,  but  the  eye  of  faith  did  not  pierce 
steadily  beyond  the  voiceless  gloom.  Life 
and  immortality  have  only  been  brought 
clearly  to  light  in  the  Gospel,  —  in  Him  who 
hath  Himself  risen  "the  first-fruits  of  them 
that  sleep."  And  hence,  the  Christian  alone 
looks  with  cheerful  hopefulness  in  death. 
Others  may  face  it  with  steadfastness  or  calm  : 
he  alone  lies  down  to  sleep  in  hope.  Not 
only  without  fear,  but  in  joy  he  enters  the 
dark  valley,  and  friends  lay  him  in  the  nar- 
row prison-house,  "dust  to  dust,  in  the  hope 
of  a  joyful  Resurrection."  "For  this  corrup- 
tible must  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal 
must  put  on  immortality.  .  .  .  Then  shall  be 
brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written : 
Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  O  death, 
where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is  thy 
victory?  The  sting  of  death  is  sin,  and  the 
strength  of  sin  is  the  law.  But  thanks  be  to 
God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ."     (i  Cor.  xv.  53-57.) 

It  is  this  fact  of  Resurrection  which  leads 
the   apostle   to  say  that  we  who  remain  alive 


220    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

Others  which  have  no  hope."  (i  Thess.  iv. 
13.)  Why,  indeed,  should  we  thus  sorrow, 
who  beheve  that  as  "Jesus  died  and  rose 
again,  even  so  them  also  who  sleep  in  Jesus 
will  God  bring  with  Him"?  (i  Thess.  iv.  14.) 
They  who  had  no  such  faith,  might  well  weep 
as  they  buried  their  Dead  out  of  sight  and 
knew  not  whether  they  should  ever  more  see 
the  light  of  life.  But  why  should  we  hope- 
lessly weep  for  those  who  are  resting  with  the 
Lord,  who  have  gone  before  to  be  for  ever 
with  Him?  Why,  indeed,  but  for  the  faint- 
ness  of  our  hearts  and  the  weakness  of  our 
flesh?  Let  us  sorrow  rather  for  ourselves,  that 
our  sight  is  so  dim  and  our  faith  so  dull  — 
that  we  are  so  little  able  to  look  beyond  things 
which  are  "seen  and  temporal"  to  those  which 
are  "unseen  and  eternal."  The  Living, 
rather  than  the  Dead,  may  have  a  claim^  upon 
our  sorrowful  regard.  For  the  Dead  have 
gone  beyond  our  anxiety.  They  have  entered 
into  their  rest.  They  are  asleep  in  Jesus ; 
while  the  living,  who  are  around  us,  and  with 
us,  may  be  wandering  far  away  from  Him, 
may  be  wounding  Him  by  their  sins,  may  be 
"crucifying  Him  afresh  and  putting  Him  to 
an  open  shame."  It  is  as  if  we  were  to  weep 
for  the  child  resting  in  its  father's  bosom,  shel- 
tered   in    a   happy  home,  rather  than  for  the 


Comfort  for  Mourners  hi  General.    221 

child  who    has  gone  astray  in  darkness,  and   \ 
cannot  find  its  homeward  way.     It  is  as  if  we  \ 
were  to  sorrow  for  the  mariner  who  has  found  I   y- 
a  safe  harbor,  and  rests  in  peace,  rather  than  |  v.> 
for  the  storm-tossed  sailor  in  the  open  main,  | 
around    whom   the   billows    may   be    heaving  | 
high,  and  over  whom  the  sky  may  be  darken-  j 
ing   to    his   doom.     No,   brethren,   let  us   not 
sorrow  for  those  who  are  with  God,  safe  in  a 
Father's  house,  sheltered  in  the  haven  of  eter- 
nal rest.     But  let  us  be  anxious  and  careful 
for  the  Living,  that  we  may  help  them,   and 
guide  them   by  God's  blessing  in  a  right  way  ; 
and   for   ourselves,  that   we    may   "know   the 
things  which   belong   unto    our   peace   before 
they  are  hid  from  our  eyes." 


*'  HOW  ARE  THE  DEAD  RAISED  UP,  AND  WITH 
WHAT  BODY  DO   THEY   COME?" 

Professor  Islay  Burns,  D.D.,  Free  Church 
College,  Glasgow. 

"But  how  are  the  dead  raised  up,  and  with 
what  body  do  they  come?  "  The  question  will 
still  recur,  not  on  the  suggestion  only  of  a 
wistful  curiosity,  but  under  the  pressure  of 
those  doubts  which  the  physical  difficulties 
of  the    case    now,   as    in    the  Apostle's    days, 


2  22    Com/or t  for  Mourners  in  G enteral, 

awaken.  How  shall  it  be  possible  even  for 
Omnipotence  itself  to  gather  together  again, 
from  the  sepulchres  of  all  the  ages,  the  dust 
of  each  of  His'  saints,  so  long  since  dissolved, 
dispersed,  blown  about  the  world,  mixed  up 
with  other  organisms,  taken  up  into  the  very 
blood  and  flesh  of  other  animals  and  other 
men,  in  the  long  succession  of  ages?  How 
shall  each  reclaim  his  own,  when  the  same 
substance,  the  same  identical  particles  have 
belonged  successively  to  many?  Can  Omni- 
potence itself  overcome  the  natural  impossi- 
bility of  the  same  atom  being  in  two  places 
and  forming  a  part  of  two  distinct  material 
organisms,  at  once?  Surely  if  the  immortal 
spirits  of  men  are  again  to  be  invested  with  a 
material  form,  it  cannot  be  the  same  identical 
body  which  they  laid  aside  at  death,  and 
which  they  left  behind  them  in  the  grave. 
The  objection  is  specious,  but  not  solid.  It  is 
founded  altogether,  not  on  the  difficulties  of 
the  doctrine  itself,  but  on  an  erroneous  and 
superficial  understanding  of  the  doctrine.  The 
identity  of  animal  organisms  is  an  identity, 
not  of  particles,  but  of  form  and  structure  and 
continuous  sentient  life.  Even  during  our 
present  state  of  existence,  while  the  organic 
identity  of  our  bodies  remains,  their  material 
substance  is  incessantly  changing ;   so  that  in 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    223 

the  course  of  a  ver}^  few  years  every  single 
atom  of  their  present  framework  shall  have 
passed  away  and  given  place  to  others.  Thus, 
in  this  sense,  the  body  of  the  child  is  different 
from  the  body  of  the  boy,  and  the  body  of  the 
boy  from  that  of  the  man,  and  the  substance 
we  take  from  our  mother's  womb  is  not  the 
same,  but  wholly  other  than  that  which  we 
shall  lay  in  the  tomb.  It  is  not  in  this,  then, 
that  our  true  identity  consists,  seeing  that  amid 
all  the  incessant  change  that  in  this  respect 
takes  place,  that  identity  remains  all  the  while 
unaffected.  There  is  no  individuality  in 
atoms ;  each  one,  so  far  as  we  know,  is  like 
another,  and  can  contribute  nothing  therefore 
to  the  distinctive  peculiarity  or  differentia  of 
the  bodies  which  they  compose.  I  am  what  I 
am,  not  because  I  am  composed  of  such  and 
such  particles,  but  because  out  of  such  parti- 
cles I  have  be^n  moulded  by  the  plastic  hand 
of  God,  into  that  distinctive  form  and  type  of 
organic  subsistence  which  belongs  to  me,  as 
an  individual,  and  which  is  mine  and  not 
another's.  Even  if,  by  a  miracle,  every  atom 
of  my  bodily  substance  were  in  an  instant 
eliminated  and  substituted  by  others,  I  would 
siill  remain,  as  to  every  thing  which  constitutes 
my  true  identity,  alike  in  body  as  in  soul, 
totally  unchanged.    In  this  sense,  then,  —  that  is 


224    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

to  say,  in  the  sense,  not  of  an  atomic,  but  of 
an  organic  and  vital  identity,  —  the  body  of  our 
resurrection  shall  be  the  same  with  the  body 
of  our  burial.  As  the  body  of  our  birth  is  the 
same  with  the  body  of  our  death,  so  shall  be 
the  body  of  our  death  with  the  body  of  our 
immortality.  It  will  be  changed,  and  yet  the 
same,  —  changed  in  its  conditions,  properties, 
powers ;  the  same  in  individual  form  and  type, 
in  its  characteristic  style  and  physiognomy,  in 
the  proportion  of  its  parts,  and  its  special 
adaptation  to  the  uses  of  that  one  particular 
soul  to  which  it  inalienably  belongs ;  so  truly 
the  same  that  both  we  ourselves  shall  be  sure 
of  it,  and  all  w4io  knew  us  before  in  the  flesh 
shall  recognize  and  know  us  again.  It  will  be 
the  same,  though  raised  now  to  the  full  pre- 
destined perfection  of  its  nature,  conformed  to 
its  true  ideal,  even  as  its  type  was  cast  in  the 
eternal  thought  of  God  from  the  first,  —  bright, 
beautiful,  glorious,  each  according  to  its  own 
individual  style  and  fashion  of  brightness, 
beauty,  glory,  as  every  true  work  of  God  is 
and  must  be.  It  was  thus  that  the  Apostle,  in 
his  own  grand  way,  solved  the  difficulty: 
"Thou  fool,  that  which  thou  sowest  is  not 
quickened,  except  it  die  :  and  that  which  thou 
sowest,  thou  sowest  not  that  body  that  shall  be, 
but  bare  grain,  it  may  chance  of  wheat,  or  of 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    225 

some  other  grain  :  But  God  giveth  it  a  body 
as  it  hath  pleased  Him ;  and  to  every  seed  his 
own  body.  ...  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead.  It  is  .sown  in  corruption :  it  is 
raised  in  incorrupt'on  ;  it  is  sown  in  dishonor : 
it  is  raised  in  glory ;  it  is  sown  in  weakness  : 
it  is  raised  in  power ;  it  is  sown  a  natural 
body :  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body.  ...  So 
when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incor- 
ruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on 
immortality,  then  shall  be  brought  to  pass  the 
saying  that  is  written,  Death  is  swallowed  up 
in  victory."     (i  Cor.  xv.  36-54.) 

Here,  then,  we  must  pause.  With  this 
glimpse  of  the  glory  to  be  revealed,  grand, 
but  undefined,  we  must  rest  satisfied.  Other 
questions  manifold,  and  to  the  thoughtful  spirit 
of  deepest  interest,  we  might  ask,  but  cannot 
answer.  What  precisely  shall  be  the  new 
conditions,  capacities,  powers  of  our  resurrec- 
tion life?  In  what  respects  shall  it  be  the 
same,  and  in  what  unlike  our  present  earthly 
state?  What  new  avenues  of  knowledge  shall 
we  possess,  what  new  organs  of  perception, 
what  new  spheres  of  activity,  and  springs  of 
enjoyment?  Shall  there  be  music,  poetry,  art, 
science,  deepening  research,  and  advancing 
knowledge  of  the  works  and  ways  of  God,  in 
heaven,  even  as  here?  Where  shall  the  final 
15 


226    Comfort  for  Moiirners  in  General, 

seat  of  the  blessed  be?  or 'shall  they  be  con- 
fined, as  now,  to  any  exclusive  spot,  —  to  any 
one  single  orb  in  the  immensity  of  God's  uni- 
verse ;  or  shall  they  not  rather  roam  at  large 
through  all  its  wide  domains,  tread  free  and 
unrestrained  through  all  the  streets  of  the 
illimitable  city  of  God?  Shall  we  still,  then 
as  now,  only  scan  from  afar,  the  course  of  the 
planetary  orbs,  and  the  twinkle  of  the  distant 
Pleiades,  or  shall  we  be  permitted  to  visit 
them,  and  know  all  about  them,  and  be  at 
home  in  them,  as  in  so  many  chambers  of  the 
one  Father's  house?  In  what  form  or  stage 
of  their  development  shall  the  bodies  of  the 
blessed  rise, — as  in  youth,  or  in  manhood,  or 
in  ripe  majestic  age?  Shall  the  child  of  this 
world  be  still  a  child  in  heaven ;  or  expand 
all  at  once  in  that  wondrous  transfiguration 
moment,  into  the  fulness  of  its  stature  and 
■perfection  of  its  powers?  and  shall  the  old 
man  be  still  an  old  man  for  ever ;  or  shall  he 
not  rather,  by  that  great  regenerative  baptism, 
be  brought  back  to  all  the  freshness  and 
strength  of  his  manly  prime?  Shall  we,  in 
short,  appear  then,  just  as  we  were  when  death 
took  us  ;  and  not  rather  as  we  were  or  might 
have  been,  at  our  best?  Shall  the  great  Archi- 
tect of  that  new  creation  realize  the  true  and 
perfect  ideal  of  the  life  of  His  saints ;  or  the 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    227 

restoration  only,  though  in  a  glorified  state,  of 
their  actual  form  here  below  ?  We  cannot  tell. 
We  know  not  what  we  shall  be.  Enough, 
that  God  knoweth,  and  that  He  planneth  and 
doeth  all  things  well.  Enough,  that  however 
high  our  conceptions  of  the  unseen  world, 
and  sublime  our  aspirations  in  regard  to  it,  it 
will  still  be  something  higher  and  grander  far 
than  we  dream;  for  "eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of 
man,  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  Him."  Enough,  that  there 
shall  be  a  new  heaven,  and  a  new  earth,  and 
that  we  shall  be  made  perfectly  meet  to  possess 
and  to  enjoy  it.  Enough,  and  above  all,  that 
Christ  shall  be  there,  and  that  "when  He  shall 
appear,  we  shall  be  like  Him ;  for  we  shall  see 
Him  as  He  is." 


CHRIST'S  DELAY  TO  INTERPOSE  AGAINST 
DEATH. 

Rev.  Dr.  John  Ker,  Glasgow. 

"Then  when  Mary  was  come  where  Jesus  was,  and  saw 
Him,  she  fell  down  at  His  feet,  saying  unto  Him,  Lord,  if 
Thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died."  — 
John  xi.  32. 

Another  reason  why  Christ  permits  death 
is,  that  the  sorrowing  friends  may  lea?'n  entire 


2  28    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

reliance  on  Him.  It  is  a  subject  for  study  in 
this  chapter,  how  Christ  leads  on  these  sisters 
from  a  dead  brother  to  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life,  and  teaches  them  through  their  loss 
to  gain  what  they  never  could  lose  any  more. 
Had  He  snatched  Lazarus  from  the  brink  of 
death,  they  would  have  trembled  again  at  his 
every  sickness,  but  when  they  learn  to  find 
their  brother  in  Christ,  they  are  secure  of  him 
for  ever,  and  the}^  discover  in  Christ  Himself 
more  than  their  heart  conceived,  — 

"  One  deep  love  doth  supersede 

All  other,  wh^n  her  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face 
And  rests  upon  the  Life  indeed." 

Christ  separates  our  friends  from  us  for  a 
while  that  we  may  learn  to  find  our  all  in  Him- 
self. He  makes  their  grave  the  seed-bed  of 
immortal  hopes,  which  shall  give  us  back 
every  thing  that  is  good  in  the  past,  and  a  joy 
with  it  like  the  joy  of  harvest.  The  expres- 
sion of  our  resignation  in  bereavement  is  as 
much  a  triumph  of  His  grace  as  the  calmness 
He  gives  to  our  dying  friends.  When  Martha 
and  Mary  can  still  call  Him  ''Lord,'"  and  when 
their  "  hope  can  smile  on  all  other  hopes  gone 
from  them,"  —  when  they  can  clasp  Christ  as 
their    portion     amid    desolation     around     and 


Co7nfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    229 

within,  —  Christ  Himself  is  justified  in  the  per- 
mission of  death.  .  .  . 

We  mention,  as  a  last  reason  for  Christ's 
delay  to  interpose  against  death,  that  He  brings 
in  thereby  a  grander  final  issue.  Had  He 
come  and  arrested  this  sickness  midway,  or 
raised  Lazarus  to  life  so  soon  as  he  died,  the 
gladness  of  the  friends  would  not  have  been  so 
great,  nor  would  his  own  triumph  over  death 
have  been  so  illustrious.  But  He  patiently 
waits  his  hour,  while  the  mourners  weep  and 
the  scoffers  scorn.  Men  must  interpose  when 
they  can,  but  the  Son  of  God  interposes  when 
He  wills.  The  wisdom  with  which  He  chooses 
his  time  makes  his  delay  not  callous  nor  cruel, 
but  considerate  of  our  best  interests  in  with- 
holding for  a  while  that  He  may  bless  us  at 
last  with  an  overflowing  hand.  Could  the 
mourners  see  it  as  He  does,  they  would  will- 
ingly acquiesce,  and  would  go  forth  patiently 
sowing  in  tears  that  they  might  have  a  more 
abundant  reaping-time  of  joy. 

It  is  in  this  interval  of  delay  that  our  life  is 
cast.  The  world  is  represented  by  this  home 
of  Bethany  before  Christ  reached  the  grave, 
and  all  the  phases  of  character,  and  all  the 
stages  of  Christ's  progressive  advance  may  be 
seen  in  the  hearts  of  men  around  us.  But  at 
whatever  step  of  his  journey  man's  faith  may 


230    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General. 

discern  Him,  He  is  surely  on  His  way.  The 
tide  of  eternal  life  is  setting  in  toward  the 
world  of  graves,  and  its  swell  and  its  murmur 
can  be  already  perceived  by  all  who  have  a 
soul  to  feel  the  heaving  of  Christ's  heart. 
Amid  the  tears  and  sobs  of  the  bereaved 
friends,  whose  sorrows  still  touch  Him,  He 
is  moving  to  the  sepulchre.  His  presence, 
though  unseen,  can  be  heard  and  felt  in  whis- 
pered consolations,  —  in  the  faith  and  hope 
which  His  Spirit  infuses  into  the  soul.  Those 
who  know  Him  for  what  He  is,  recognize  a 
Friend  who  weeps  in  sympathy  with  them, 
and  who  walks  by  their  side  to  the  tomb  which 
His  voice  shall  yet  open.  The  delay  seems 
long,  but  He  counts  the  hours  as  we  do ;  and 
not  for  a  single  one  will  He  linger  beyond 
what  infinite  wisdom  sees  fit.  One  result 
of  this  delay  shall  be  a  grander  final  issue. 
He  permits  His  friends  to  descend  with  broken 
ranks  into  the  swellings  of  Jordan,  but  He  will 
lead  them  forth  on  the  other  side  in  one  fully- 
marshalled  and  bannered  host.  He  puts  the 
jewels  one  by  one  into  His  crown  within  the 
secret  of  His  palace,  that  He  may  bring  them 
out  at  last  resplendent  and  complete  as  a  royal 
diadem  from  the  hand  of  His  God.  Patient 
waiting  shall  have  its  full  compensation  on  that 
day,  and  divine  delay  justify  itself  before  the 


Comfo7't  for  Afoiwners  in  General.    231 

universe  in  glorious  and  everlasting  results. 
Could  we  see  to  the  end,  it  would  reconcile  us 
even  now.  He  discerns  it  for  us,  and  with- 
holds His  hand  from  premature  and  imperfect 
interference.  After  their  burst  of  weeping, 
He  hushes  the  separate  voices  for  a  season  in 
the  silence  of  death,  till  they  can  awake  and  sing 
in  full  harmony,  that  their  united  praise  may 
still  the  enemy  and  the  avenger,  and  be  his 
glory  and  their  own  joy  for  ever. 


A  LOVELY  LIFE.  — ITS   CLOSING  SCENE. 
Rev.  George  Gilfillan,  Dundee. 

There  was  one  event  in  my  domestic  history 
at  this  time  which  cast  a  deep  shadow  on  my 
soul,  and  weakened  me  for  the  contest  with  my 
spiritual  foes.  This  was  the  death  of  a  dear 
little  girl  who  was  connected  with  me,  and 
whom  I  regarded  as  a  daughter.  I  am  guilty 
of  no  conscious  exaggeration  when  I  call  my 
Agnes  all  that  Mrs.  Stowe  has  since  represented 
in  Eva,  — one  of  the  rarest  specimens  of  the 
workmanship  of  Heaven.  In  her  simple  yet 
profound  nature  was  united  a  wisdom  beyond 
her  years  to  the  most  bewitching  artlessness. 
Playful,  yet  serious;  quick  in  feeling;  buoy- 
ant in  sph-its  ;  fond  of  books  and  of  solitude  to 


232    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

a  degree  which  is  rarely  to  be  found  in  one  so 
utterly  a  child ;  affectionate  and  open-hearted, 
she  wielded  a  gentle  fascination  which  was  felt 
beyond  her  own  little  circle,  and  attested  by 
the  tears  which  the  news  of  her  loss  drew  from 
many  to  whom  she  was  but  partially  known. 
Her  face  was  one  of  those  which,  without 
being  perfectly  regular  in  their  beauty,  win 
their  way  still  more  beseechingly  to  the  heart. 
Its  leading  characters  were  transparent  open- 
ness,— every  feature  obeying  the  motions  of  the 
mind  within,  promptly  and  fully  as  the  wave 
receives  the  sunbeam ;  great  flexibility  and 
intelligence  of  expression ;  and  that  indescrib- 
able something  which  naivete  and  heart  unite 
in  stamping  on  the  countenance.  Her  brow 
was  prominent,  pale  as  marble,  and  nobly  ex- 
panded ;  her  eyes,  — 

"  Oh,  speak  not  of  her  eyes  !  —  thej  were 
Twin  mirrors  of  the  Scottish  summer  heaven  ;  " 

her  chin  Grecian,  as  if  chiselled  by  Phidias ; 
her  cheek,  in  exercise  or  emotion,  often  flush- 
ing up  through  its  paleness  into  a  rich  and  rose- 
ate hue  ;  her  voice  clear,  sweet,  none  the  less 
for  its  Norland  accent,  and  predicting  a  beauti- 
ful singer ;  and  her  step  light,  airy,  and  swift 
as  a  "  roe  or   a   young   hart   upon   the    moun- 

whooping- 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    233 

cough  —  changed  her  countenance,  ere  it  sent 
her  away,  spreading  a  fearful  pallor  over  the 
whole,  protruding  the  fine  eye  into  a  stare  of  an- 
guish, and  choking  up  the  music  of  her  voice, 
which,  inarticulate,  became  unable  to  express 
her  thickening  thoughts  and  wants  ;  but  death 
restored  her  to  herself,  and  almost  all  her  former 
beauty  clustered  round  her  corpse.  Death  is 
often  a  ghastly  disguise,  a  dread  mask,  remind- 
ing you  of  an  ill-executed  picture.  But  she  was 
so  calmly  beautiful,  so  spiritually  still,  so  smil- 
ingly radiant  amidst  her  marble  coldness,  that 
but  for  the  heart-heard  whisper  —  how  stilly 
low  !  —  "It  is  for  ever,"  and  the  shudder  spring- 
ing from  the  touch  of  the  icy  brow,  you  would 
have  said,  "  The  maid  is  not  dead ;  she  only 
sleepeth."  Death  seemed  forced  to  smile  out 
the  news  of  immortality  from  her  dear  cold  coun- 
tenance. It  was  solemn  beyond  expression  to 
see  friend  after  friend  coming  in  on  tiptoe,  rais- 
ing the  covering,  looking  and  leaning  over  the 
face,  and  with  sighs  or  tears,  or  aspect  of  with- 
ered unweeping  woe,  turning  away.  It  was  in- 
expressibly touching,  too,  to  see  the  immediate 
relatives  taking  their  last  look  ere  the  lid  of 
the  coffin  was  closed,  amid  bursting  sobs,  and 
all  the  other  irrepressible  signs  of  sorrow  — 
suddenly  brought  under  the  sense  of  an  eternal 
separation  ;  one  parent  the   while  looking  not 


234    Comfort  fo7'  Mour^iers  in  General. 

—  daring  not  to  look — but 'patting  the  dear 
brown  head  once  more,  and  hurrying  away. 
In  a  sweet  southerly  side  of  the  beautiful  kirk- 
yard  of  Fettercairn,  beside  the  bones  of  her 
grandfather  (and  now  of  her  father,  who  loved 
her  so  fondly) ,  under  the  clear  blue  sky  of  the 
north,  and  in  the  expectation  of  the  coming,  to 
this  sunlit  vale  of  tears,  of  Jesus  Christ  with 
His  holy  angels,  repose,  and  have  for  twenty- 
five  years  reposed,  the  remains  of  one  who 
never  gave  a  pang  to  a  friend's  heart,  nor 
armed  with  a  rod  a  father's  hand  ;  whose  mem- 
ory shall  be  cherished,  and  her  sweetest  name 
repeated,  and  the  spot  where  lies  her  virgin 
dust  visited  and  watered  with  tears,  while 
there  lives  one  of  those  who  really  knew  her, 
or  felt  how  insipid  in  comparison  was  all  love 
beside  what  she  inspired  —  of  one  who  in  the 
brief  business  of  her  existence  exhibited  the 
affection  of  the  amiable  child,  the  ardor  of  the 
docile  scholar,  the  liveliness  of  the  fearless 
girl,  and  the  graces  of  the  saint  sanctified  from 
the  womb.  She  was  my  play-fellow  when 
cheerful,  my  comforter  when  sad  ;  her  ardess 
yet  piercing  prattle  at  once  soothed  and  roused 
my  mind ;  and  assuredly,  amid  all  the  "  cham- 
bers of  my  imagery,"  I  have  never  had  an  idol 
like  her,  whose  premature  loss  I  continue  bit- 
terly, yet  submissively,  to  deplore. 


Comfort  f 07'  Motirners  in  General,    235 

Not  so  submissive  were  my  feelings  at  the 
time.  How  my  heart  bled,  and  what  dark, 
unhappy  thoughts  crossed  my  soul,  as  I  saw 
this  good  and  beautiful  young  being  writhing 
in  anguish,  and  weeping  with  her  fearful  pain, 
till  there  came  at  last  a  wild  and  merciful  de- 
lirium, and  gave  her  partial  forgetfulness ! 
And  it  was  not  till  I  saw  the  child  I  loved  so 
dearly  fairly  committed  to  the  grave,  and  had 
leaned  a  long  time  in  anguish  over  a  tombstone 
which  was  casting  its  shadow  on  the  little 
spot,  and,  looking  up  to  the  sun  shining  so 
bright  and  cold  in  the  spring  sky,  had  said 
within  myself,  as  Scott  cried  at  the  burial  of 
one  of  his  friends,  "There  shall  be  less  sun- 
shine for  me  henceforth,"  that  tears  came  to 
my  relief,  and  a  rainbow  of  resignation,  if  not 
of  hope,  seemed  to  smile  through  these  bitter 
yet  blessed  tears. 

—4 — 

RESIGNATION  TO  THE   DIVINE   WILL. 
Mrs.  Janet   Hamilton,   Langloan,    Coatbridge. 

Not  long  since  I  paid  a  visit  to  a  neighbor 
of  mine  who  had  lately  suffered  som-e  severe 
domestic  bereavements.  She  was  lately  the 
mother  of  two  sweet  and  amiable  girls.  She 
never  had  any  other  children,  and  being  on 
the  shady  side  of  fifty  herself,  she  had  looked 


236    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

forward  with  hope  to  a  time,  when  the  infirm- 
ities of  old  age  would  overtake  her,  to  receive 
from  them  that  attention,  help,  and  comfort 
which  their  filial  love  and  dutiful  affection 
seemed  to  warrant.  But  "God,  who  seeth  not 
as  man  seeth,"  and  who  often  brings  His  own 
people  "  through  fire  and  water  to  a  wealthy 
place,"  saw  fit  to  remove  the  green  and  tender 
saplings ;  thereby  loosening  the  earth-bound 
roots  of  the  mother  tree,  though  in  the  process 
every  fibre  of  her  heart  thrilled  with  agony  at 
the  separation.  And  in  this,  her  hour  ot"  bit- 
ter trial,  she  was  sometimes  ready  to  say  with 
her  Saviour  in  His  agony,  "Father,  if  it  be 
possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me,"  still  she 
was  enabled  to  add,  "  not  my  will,  but  Thine  be 
done."  This  being  the  happy  frame  of  this 
mother's  mind,  she  was  enabled  to  bear  up 
under  the  heavy  shock  given  to  maternal  love 
and  natural  feeling  by  the  sudden  death  of 
her  youngest  daughter,  who  was  cut  oft'  by 
scarlatina,  after  a  few  days'  illness.  The 
eldest,  who  had  also  been  attacked  by  the 
same  disease,  partially  recovered,  but,  after 
lingering  for  some  months,  followed  her  sis- 
ter to  the  grave.  It  was  about  a  week  after 
the  interment  that  I  paid  the  visit  to  the  mother 
I  have  already  mentioned.  I  found  her  sit- 
ting alone,  and  busy  knitting.     Some  mourn- 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    237 

ers  put  away  and  hide  from  sight  clothes, 
books,  toys,  and  every  reHc  of  the  beloved 
dead.  Not  so  Mrs.  G.  ;  the  work  of  the 
e-ldest  girl  lay  on  the  table,  and  the  stools  on 
which  the  children  used  to  sit  still  occupied 
their  respective  places,  and  their  scliQol-bags 
still  hung  on  their  accustomed  pegs.  She 
was  pale  and  grave,  but  wore  a  look  of  patience 
and  resignation.  When  she  saw  me,  she  rose 
and  held  out  her  hand ;  and,  although  her 
eyes  filled  and  her  lip  quivered  when  she  did 
so,  she  soon  recovered  her  composure.  The 
Bible  of  the  eldest  lay  on  the  table  before  her. 
It  had  been  almost  her  sole  companion  since 
her  daughter's  death,  and  the  source  from 
which  she  had  drawn  comfort  and  resignation. 
After  a  short  pause,  I  said  to  her,  "  Margaret, 
is  it  well  with  thee?  is  it  well  with  the  child?" 
Without  hesitation  she  replied,  "  It  is  well. 
He  hath  done  all  things  well,  and  I  am  re- 
signed to  His  will."  She  then  pointed  to  tlie 
now  open  Bible  before  her.  "See,"  she  said, 
^' that  was  my  Elizabeth's  Sunday  school  Bible, 
and  there  are  the  texts  chosen  and  marked 
out  by  her,  to  prove  the  exercise  given  out  by 
her  teacher  for  the  coming  Sunday  — (the  ex- 
ercise was  this,  '  we  should  be  resigned  to  the 
will  of  God  in  all  things') — but  lijtle  did  she 
or  I  think   that  we   must  prove  it,  not  only  l)y 


238    Comfort  for  Mom-ners  in  General, 

suitable  Scripture  proofs,  but  also  by  our  own 
resignation  and  submission  to  the  will  of  God 
in  the  heavy  trial  so  near  at  hand.  For,  when 
Sunday  came,  my  Elizabeth  lay  on  her  death- 
bed, and  in  the  delirium  of  fever  she  constantly 
repeated  at  intervals,  in  broken  words,  the 
intended  exercise,  *We  should  be  resigned  to 
the  will  of  God  in  all  things;'  and  blessed  be 
God,  who  enabled  me,  at  each  .unconscious 
repetition  of  the  exercise,  to  respond  in  my 
heart  to  the  precious  sentence.  She  had  a 
conscious  interval  before  death,  during  which 
she  several  times  expressed  a  wish  to  die  and 
to  be  with  Jesus,  and  her  last  audible  words 
were  the  refrain  of  her  favorite  hymn,  ^  O 
Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! '  She  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus.  And  I  have  also  a  good  hope,  through 
grace,  for  my  dear  little  Janet.  And  though 
I  sit  alone  here  I  am  not  solitary,  for  God  is 
with  me.  And  in  this  book  (referring  to  her 
daughter's  Bible)  my  Elizabeth  'being  dead 
yet  speaketh.'  My  daughters  are  gone  to 
God,  but  I  have  many  other  sources  of  conso- 
lation ;  for  never  now  (it  might  have  been  so 
had  they  lived)  shall  sin,  sorrow,  or  shame 
light  upon  them." 

She  ceased  to  speak  ;  and  I  found  that  she, 
whom  1  came  to  comfort,  had  ministered  both 
comfort  and  instruction  to  myself. 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General,    239 


A  WORD   TO   PARENTS. 
Rev.  Henry  Allon,  London. 

What  a  deep  religiousness  appeals  to  us  in 
a  child  !  How  simply  it  prays,  how  implicitly 
it  believes,  how  reverently  it  feels !  It  has 
to  learn  to  disbelieve.  What  a  lesson  to  our 
hard,  unspiritual,  unbelieving  nature  is  the 
simple,  pure,  and  beautiful  religiousness  of  a 
child.  Thank  God,  our  seared  battered  hearts 
come  day  by  day  into  contact  with  the  gentle 
innocence,  purity,  and  love  of  children.  Thank 
God,  we  are  all  children  before  we  are  men 
and  women.  Happy  is  he  who  is  wise  enough, 
and  humble  enough,  to  learn  the  lessons  that 
his  child  teaches  him. 

No  wonder  that  Christ  himself  takes  a  little 
child  and  makes  him  the  exemplar  of  his  new 
kingdom.  While  the  worldly  teacher  of  a 
child  is  ever  summoning  him  to  manhood,  the 
spiritual  teacher  oi'  a  man  is  ever  recalling 
him  to  childhood.  Christ  bids  us  return  to 
the  guileless  consciousness,  the  pure  feelings 
of  childhood.  We  must  re-live  our  child- 
life  ;  reproduce  our  child-consciousness  ;  realize 
again  the  sinless  and  simple  experience  of 
childhood ;  become  as  we  were  when  little 
children,  —  humble,    docile;,    pure,    believing, 


240    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General. 

prayerful,  or  we  shall  be  unable  to  "receive" 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  unfitted  to  "enter' 
therein. 

It  is  but  natural,  therefore,  that,  in  the 
Bible,  children  should  be  represented  as  the 
very  choicest  of  God's  gifts.  They  are  God's 
"  heritage,  "  —  that  which  He  gives  as  our  very 
richest  portion  in  life.  How  enthusiastically 
the  Bible  always  speaks  of  them  as  such ! 
We  never  meet  with  a  dubious  estimate  of 
them,  with  a  faltering  congratulation.  Every- 
where they  are  spoken  of  rapturously  and 
exultingly,  as  the  very  crown  of  earthly  bless- 
ings. Like  all  life,  they  come  more  directly 
than  other  things  from  the  hand  of  God  him- 
self. They  are  His  precious  gift.  His  "  heri- 
tage." 

We  do  not  always  so  conceive  of  them. 
Pure,  unselfish,  and  self-sacrificing  as  parental 
love  is,  the  holiest  and  most  perfect  of  all 
our  human  affections,  —  even  it  is  capable  of 
being  deteriorated  by  circumstances,  corrupted 
by  wrong  and  sinful  feeling.  It  is  not  every 
parent  that  receives  a  child  as  God's  "heri- 
tage." A  precious  thing  it  may  be  to  him,  but 
not  a  gift  from  God.  Other  feelings  of  joy  it 
may  awaken,  and  yet  not  a  feeling  of  religious 
gratitude  ;  other  obligations  it  may  create,  and 
yet  not  the   obligation   to   learn   and  to   teach 


Comfort  for  Mourners  m  General,    241 

religious  lessons.  We  may  "  take  the  child 
and  nurse  it "  for  our  own  parental  joy,  —  for 
our  social,  or  commercial,  or  ambitious  pur- 
poses,—  and  yet  not  "nurse  it  for  God."  Every 
feeling  of  joy  may  be  awakened  by  it  except 
religious  joy  ;  every  sense  of  obligation  except 
religious  obligation.  It  ought  to  expel  all  self- 
ishness, to  purify  and  intensify  conjugal  love, 
and  to  multiply  it  by  a  new  affection ;  and 
yet  selfishness  may  feel  a  child  a  restriction 
upon  social  pleasure,  a  tax  upon  worldly  gain. 
It  ought  to  inspire  thoughtfulness  and  faith  ;  — • 
it  is  an  intrustment  so  high  and  holy,  —  a  soul 
to  train  for  God,  and  heaven,  and  eternity;  — 
an  intrustment  accompanied  by  great  promise, 
connected  with  the  highest  joys  and  with 
the  greatest  destinies  ;  —  and  yet  the  highest 
thoughts  and  purposes  inspired  by  it  may  be 
selfish  and  earthly ;  or,  if  pious  feeling  is 
excited  by  it,  it  may  be  only  misgiving  and 
fear,  —  an  unbelieving,  godless  feeling,  that, 
almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  will  grow  up 
wicked,  and  need  conversion  in  adult  life. 


\ 


242    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

THESE   LITTLE   ONES. 
Rev.  J.  Baldwin  Brown,  B.A.,  London. 

These  little  ones  !  Not  angels,  then ;  but 
nurslings  of  Christ.  "Take  it,  and  bring  it 
up  for  Me."  I  have  no  call  to  enter  here  into 
curious  doctrinal  discussions  as  to  the  natural 
estate  of  young  children.  Blessed  be  God, 
their  estate  in  Christ  has  become  a  spiritual 
estate,  and  all  their  destiny  has  passed  under 
the  rule  of  His  redeeming  love.  ...  I  turn  to 
the  God-man,  who  gathered  the  infants  around 
Him,  and  took  them  in  His  arms,  and  blessed 
them,  and  said,  "  Suffer  the  little  children  to 
come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not:  for  of 
such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.''  Gladder  was 
He,  perhaps,  at  that  moment,  as  the  little  ones 
clustered  round  His  knee  and  pressed  to  His 
heart,  than  through  His  whole  pilgrimage  of 
sorrows.  As  the  pure  fresh  morning  air,  in 
which  the  rosy  flush  is  glowing,  and  on  which 
the  meadows  have  flung  their  dewy  sweets, 
must  the  balmy  breath  of  these  little  ones  have 
played  on  the  Saviour's  strained  and  weary 
heart.  Unselfish,  unworldly,  uncareful,  unfear- 
ful,  unenvious,  ungrasping,  unconscious,  in- 
nocent !  What  a  garden  of  flowers  is  here, 
with  the  morning   light  playing   upon  it,  and 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    243 

the  air  alive  with  song  !  Take  heed  that  ye 
despise  it  not.  It  is  the  garden  where,  in  the 
early  light,  you  may  meet  the  Master.  He  is 
abroad  in  it  betimes,  and  here  you  may  learn 
His  deepest  thoughts,  and  hear  His  wisest  and 
most  lovely  words  :  "  Except  ye  be  converted^ 
and  become  as  little  children,  ye  shall  not  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  heave7i." 

Little  children.  The  whole  force  of  the 
words  is  here.  They  soon  learn  the  battle- 
cries  of  our  conflicts,  and  shape  their  puppets 
after  the  likeness  of  our  follies  and  sins.  But 
little  children  are  Christ's  own  nurslings. 
They  love,  and  trust,  and  give,  after  the 
fashion  that  reigns  in  heaven.  Love  is  their 
sunlight ;  they  ask  for  nothing  but  to  bask  in 
it.  There  is  no  glow  for  them  when  that  sun 
in  the  home  is  clouded  ;  there  are  no  clouds 
for  them  when  that  sun  in  the  home  is  un- 
veiled. They  have  no  possessions  which  they 
do  not  increase  by  sharing.  Give  a  little  one 
the  gift  it  longs  for,  and  straightway  it  toddles 
off  in  its  glee  to  share  it  with  its  friend.  Their 
only  idea  of  having  is  sharing,  till  you  have 
taught  them  a  darker  lesson.  The  very  birds 
trust  not  more  joyously  the  bountiful  hand  of 
the  Father  which  is  over  them  all.  "Never 
mind,"  said  a  little  one  once  to  a  father  who 
had  his  full  share  of  the  burdens  and  struggles 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 


of  life,  and  who  was  lamenting  to  her  that 
he  was  too  poor  to  gratify  some  desire  which 
she  had  expressed,  — "never  mind,  papa,  you 
have  enough  to  go  on  with."  Yes,  I  thought 
when  I  heard  it,  "  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes 
and  sucklings  Thou  hast  ordained  strength, 
and  -perfected  f raise J^ 


IDENTITY   PRESERVED   IN    HEAVEN. 

Rev.    Henry  Ward   Beecher,   New  York. 

A  BEREAVED  mother  sent  this  query  to  the 
Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  :  "  Last  Thursday 
our  little  three-year  old  baby  left  us.  She 
was  the  sunlight  of  our  home  here  ;  and  is  it 
true  that  when  I,  too,  cross  the  river,  I  shall 
not  know  her,  and  knowing,  shall  not  love 
her?" 

The  following  was  Mr.  Beecher's  reply  :  — 
"The  nature  of  the  body  to  which  we  come 
by  resurrection  is  a  matter  purely  of  specula- 
tion. Nothing  conclusively  is  taught  by  the 
Scriptures.  Paul  declares  iXvdi  fcsh  and  blood 
shall  not  inherit  the  icingdoni  of  God.  So  far 
as  this  negative  reaches,  the  teaching  is  clear 
enough.  Whatever  the  body  is,  it  is  not  flesh 
and  blood.  But  what  conception  can  we  form 
of  a  body  except  of  that  flesh  and  blood  body 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    245 

in  which  we  have  always  dwelt?  The  Apos- 
tle seems  to  teach  that  our  spiritual  bod}', 
without  being  material,  will  be  one  which  shall 
correspond  to  our  earthly  one.  It  will  answer 
our  spiritual  condition  just  as  the  mortal  body 
does  our  earthly  state.  Beyond  this  all  is 
fancy  and  speculation.  Every  one  trying  to 
fashion  a  conception  of  a  spiritual  body,  will 
follow  the  peculiarities  of  his  own  mind,  or 
his  habits  of  thought  and  the  tendencies  in 
which  he  has  been  educated.  As  an  exercise 
of  the  imagination,  such  speculations  may  not 
be  without  some  benefit.  They  will  certainly 
be  harmless,  if  one  does  not  fall  into  the  con- 
ceit of  thinking  that  his  idealizings  are  literal 
truth.  Good  men  and  learned  men  have  in 
eveiy  age  so  differed  among  themselves  as  to 
the  probable  spiritual,  that  no  one  need  be 
afraid  of  differing  from  everybody  else.  Even 
Paul  could  not  explain  the  facts  to  us.  In- 
stead, he  drew  illustrations  from  the  vegetable 
kingdom,  implying  that  as  a  corn  of  wheat 
when  planted  did  not  come  up  with  the  same 
body  or  form,  but  that  it  developed  a  new 
form  out  of  the  seed  which  was  planted,  so  it 
should  be  with  the  human  body. 

"  The  7nain  truth  to  be  cherished  is,  that  we 
shall  really  live  on  after  death,  and  that  our 
identity  \^ill   not  be  lost,  but  that  the  heavenly 


246    Comfort  for  3fou7'?iers  in  General. 

state  will  so  develop  itself  out  of  the  materials 
gathered  in  the  earthly,  that  we  shall  be  the 
same  beings,  recognize  ourselves  as  the  same, 
employ  the  same  faculties,  and  carry  forward 
that  very  mind  and  disposition  with  which  we 
left  the  world. 

But  shall  we  recognize  each  other  in  heaven  ? 
This  precise  question  is  neither  put  nor 
answered  in  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  But 
beyond  all  dispute,  it  is  implied,  assumed  as 
.  the  very  necessity  of  a  moral  state,  that  the 
■principle  of  memory  will  exist ;  that  the  suf- 
ferings, temptations,  triumphs  of  men  over 
evil,  —  that  the  Divine  helpfulness  and  fidel- 
ity displa3^ed  during  the  whole  of  men's 
earthly  lives,  —  will  be  an  occasion  of  thanks- 
giving 'd^ndi  praise.  Now,  if  memory  survives, 
wh}^  should  its  action  be  limited  to  one  class 
of  experiences?  Why,  if  we  remember  earthly 
sufferings,  should  we  not  remember  those  who 
soothed  or  sympathized  in  them?  If  we  re- 
member adult  friends,  why  should  we  forget 
little  children,  which  take  hold  upon  the  heart 
with  a  grasp  even  firmer  than  any  grown  per- 
son can?  there  is  no  authority  for  suppositions 
which  parcel  out  the  memory  and  limit  its 
free  activity. 

It  may  be  safely  said,  to  all  of  that  great 
company  of  mourners  whose  children  have 
^  16 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General,    247 

gone  away  from  them,  God  has  taken  your 
BABES  :  THEY  ARE  SAFE.  They  did  not  ven- 
ture out  into  some  great  void,  some  vague  and 
unexplored  way,  where  the  little  wanderers 
w^ere  left  to  find  their  own  way.  If  there  be 
use  for  angels,  surely  there  is  none  more  fit 
and  beautiful  than  to  bear  in  their  bosoms, 
and  convey  to  the  presence  of  the  All-Loving, 
the  tender  spirits  of  little  children. 

Nor  do  we  need  to  doubt  that  there  is  in  the 
Father's  house  a  place  for  them,  and  sweet 
company,  and  perfect  blessedness  and  glad- 
ness, innocence  and  friendship,  such  as  they 
could  never  have  had  on  earth. 

Our  children  are  cared  for.  He  that  was 
grieved  when  little  children  were  kept  from 
Him,  who  took  them  up  in  His  arms,  laid 
His  hands  upon  them,  and  blessed  them, — 
is  He  any  less  a  lover  of  children  in  heaven 
than  He  was  upon  earth  ? 

But  shall  we  know  them?  Why  not? 
Where  is  there  an  intimation  in  Scripture  to 
this  effect?  It  is  not  positively  affirmed ;  but 
it  is  implied  that  men,  dropping  at  death  all 
that  is  of  the  flesh,  will  rise  into  the  commu- 
nion of  heaven,  carrying  the  same  affections, 
sentiments,  w^ill,  and  intelligence  that  they 
had  on  earth.  Otherwise,  of  what  use  are 
discipline,  education,   earthly  experience?     It 


248    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

is  the  saint  made  perfect,   not  made  up  of  a 
new  pattern,  that  we  shall  meet  in  glor}^ 

Let  no  mother  be  driven  from  the  hope  of 
meeting  her  children  in  heaven  !  Let  mothers 
comfort  themselves  in  believing  that  the  loves 
of  earth  will  go  on  in  heaven,  and  that  what- 
ever was  pure,  noble,  and  true  on  earth  will 
go  on  with  them  for  ever.  Among  all  other 
griefs,  let  not  this  unnecessary  one  arise,  that 
you  have  lost  your  children  for  ever !  He 
who  keeps  you  for  them,  will  keep  them  for 
you.  They  will  be  more  beautiful,  sweeter, 
more  glorious  in  preciousness.  They  will  be 
enough  the  same  to  make  you  glad  for  all  the 
growths,  additions,  and  refinements  of  their 
charms. 


HEAVEN  A  VAST  AND   HAPPY  SOCIETY. 
Rev.  William  Morley  Punshon,  M.A.,  Canada.     . 

The  question  of  the  recognition  of  departed  ! 
friends   in    heaven,   and   special   and  intimate  | 
reunion  with  them.  Scripture  and  reason  ena-  ( 
ble  us  to  infer  with  almost  certain  persuasion.  I 
It  is  implied  in  the  fact  that  the  resurrection  is  a 
resurrection  of  individuals  ;  that  it  is  this  mortal 
that  shall    put  on  immortality.     It  is  implied 
in  the  fact  that  heaven  is  a  vast  and  happy 


Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General.    249 

society ;  and  it  is  implied  in  the  fact  that  there 
is  no  unclothing  of  the  nature  that  we  now 
possess,  only  a  clothing  upon  it  with  the  gar- 
ments of  a  brighter  and  more  glorious  immor- 
tality. Take  comfort,  then,  those  of  you  in 
whose  history  the  dearest  charities  of  life  have 
been  severed  by  the  rude  hand  of  the  spoiler ; 
those  whom  you  have  thought  about  as  lost  are 
not  lost,  except  to  present  sight.  Perhaps 
even  now  they  are  angel  watchers,  screened 
by  a  kindly  providence  of  forgetfulness  from 
every  thing  about  you  that  would  give  them 
pain ;  but  if  you  and  they  are  alike  in  Jesus, 
and  remain  faithful  unto  the  end,  doubt  not 
that  you  shall  know  them  again.  It  were 
strange — don't  you  think  ? — if  amid  the  multi- 
tudes of  the  heavenly  hosts,  the  multitudes  of 
earth's  ransomed  ones  that  we  are  to  see  in 
heaven,  we  should  see  all  but  those  we  most 
fondly  and  fervently  long  to  see  !  Strange,  if 
in  some  of  our  walks  along  the  golden  streets 
we  never  happened  to  light  upon  them  ! 
Strange,  if  we  did  not  hear  some  heaven-song 
learned  on  earth  trilled  by  some  clear  ringing 
voice  that  we  have  often  heard  before  !  Oh, 
depend  upon  it,  in  a  realm  of  perfect  happiness 
this  element  of  happiness  will  not  be  absent,  — 
to  know  and  love  again  what  we  have  known 
and  loved  below. 


250    Co7nfort  for  Mourner's  in  General, 

.  ''The  resurrection  and  the  life."  Oh,  what 
heart  is  not  thrilled  by  the  preciousness  of  the 
promise?  Whose  does  not  throb  the  more  joy- 
ously as  he  recognizes  the  Redeemer  who 
brings  him  life  ?  "  The  resurrection  and  the 
life  I  "  Enjoyed  recompense,  recovered  friends, 
—  these  are  our  hopes  above.  Ah  !  but  nearer 
still  and  dearer  still,  enhancing  each  of  these 
a  thousand-fold  —  as  every  true  and  loyal 
believer  thinks  —  with  Jesus  there  !  So  shall  it 
be  in  heaven,  and  with  glad  eye  and  with  beat- 
ing heart  will  each  ransomed  spirit  break  from 
its  own  private  joy  to  fasten  gratefully  its  gaze 
upon  the  Master  who  has  purchased  it,  and 
to  hear  again  in  a  pronounced  immortality  of 
comfort  and  of  bliss,  "  I  am  the  resurrection 
and  the  life." 


A  WALK  IN  GREENWOOD   CEMETERY,   NEW 
YORK. 

Rev.  Theodore  L.  Cuyler,  Brooklyn. 

For  some  years  past,  my  favorite  resort  has 
been  the  beautiful  and  incomparable  Green^ 
wood.  It  has  no  rival  in  the  world.  "  Noth- 
ing that  I  have  ever  seen  in  Europe  compares 
with  this,"  said  Newman  Hall  to  me  as  we 
stood  on  Sylvan  Cliff,  on  a  golden  day  of  last 


Coinfoi't  for  Mourners  in  Ge^ieral.    251 

October  (1867);  and  he  added,  "Nothing  I 
have  yet  seen  in  America  gives  me  such  an 
impression  of  wealth,  taste,  and  refinement  as 
this  exquisite  spot."  Old  Jeremy  Taylor  says 
that  it  is  good  to  knock  often  at  the  gates  of  the 
grave  ;  and,  truly,  there  is  no  terror  in  death 
to  one  who  only  has  to  look  forward  to 
bewitching  Greenwood  as  the  resting  place  of 
his  body,  and  to  Heaven  as  the  dwelling  of  his 
ransomed  soul. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  Greenwood  alone. 
Ho\v  often,  in  times  past,  have  I  walked  there 
with  a  pair  of  little  feet  tripping  beside  me, 
which  now,  alas  !  are  laid  under  a  mound  of 
green  turf  and  flowers.  The  night  before  the 
precious  child  departed,  having  wearied  him- 
self with  play,  he  quaintly  said,  "My  little 
footies  are  tired  at  both  ends."  Ere  twenty- 
four  hours  were  past,  the  tired  feet  had  ended 
life's  short  journey,  and  were  laid  to  the  dream- 
less rest.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  other 
little  children  are  slumbering  around  him  ;  for 
Greenwood  is  one  vast  nursery,  in  which  cribs 
give  place  to  little  caskets  and  coffins,  and  no 
one  is  afraid  to  speak  loud  lest  they  wake  up 
the  silent  sleepers.  Over  the  dust  of  these 
sleeping  treasures  are  hundreds  of  marbles 
which  bear  only  such  pet  names  as  "Our 
Lucy,"    or    "Our    Willie,"    or    "Sweet  ^little 


252    Comfort  for  Mourners  in  General, 

Carrie,"  or  "Our  Darling."  Close  beside  the 
narrow  bed,  so  dear  to  me,  lie  a  pair  of  chil- 
dren in  one  spot,  and  on  the  tiny  marble  above 
them  is  carved  this  sweet  verse  :  — 

"Under  the  daisies  two  graves  are  made, 
Under  the  daisies  our  treasures  are  laid. 
Under  the  daisies?    It  cannot  be  thus; 
We  are  sure  that  in  heaven  they  wait  for  us." 

What  a  celestial  cheerfulness  breathes  in 
such  words  !  How  like  to  a  guardian  angel's 
song  !  There  are  other  inscriptions  scattered 
through  the  cemetery  which  are  equally  redo- 
lent of  Christian  hope  and  immortality.  For 
example,  on  a  stately  monument  is  written 
only  the  name  of  the  dead,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  the  granite  shaft  the  simple,  thrilling 
announcement,  "  The  Lord  is  Risen  !  " 

Several  tombs  bear  the  single  line,  "  Our 
Mother.'''  No  inscription  in  the  whole  city  of 
the  dead  touched  me  so  tenderly  as  the  one 
word,  "  Good-night,"  on  the  tomb  of  a  young 
wife.  Perhaps  this  was  her  last  utterance  as 
the  twilight  of  the  "valley"  fell  upon  her 
advancing  footsteps.  Among  many  carved 
clusters  of  lilies,  myrtles,  and  violets,  we 
often  discovered  on  the  monuments  of  God's 
departed  children  this  flower,  from  the  Holy 
Spirit's  own  hand :  "  Blessed  are  the  dead 
which  die  in  the  Lord."     This  is  the  amaranth 


Comfort  fo7'  Mourners  in  General.    253 

which  angels  wreathe  above  the  sainted  dead. 
Hew  t>agrant  it  is  with  the  love  of  Jesus ;  how 
dew}^  with  precious  promises  ;  how  it  glitters 
in  the  light  which  falls  from  the  sapphire  walls 
of  the  New  Jerusalem  !  Matchless  line  :  that 
never  grows  old,  and  never  stales  its  heavenly 
freshness !  If  there  be  any  line  which  the 
"  ministering  spirits  "  chant  above  the  sleeping 
dust  of  Christ's  blood-bought  heirs  of  glory,  it 
must  be  this  one  which  the  Spirit  taught  to  the 
beloved  John.  Not  as  a  dreary  dirge  do  they 
chant  it;  not  as  a  melancholy  requiem:  it  is 
a  jubilant  paean  of  triumph  over  those  who 
have  come  off  more  than  conquerors,  — whose 
achievements  are  complete,  and  for  whom 
wait  the  "  robes  made  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb." 

To  me,  the  most  captivating  view  is  from 
Sylvan  Cliff,  overlooking  Sylvan  Water.  On 
that  green  brow  stands  a  monument  which 
bears  the  figure  of  Faith  kneeling  before  a 
cross,  and  beneath  it  the  world-known  lines  of 
Toplady :  — 

"  Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling!  " 

As  I  stood  beside  that  graceful  tablet  yester- 
day, the  light  of  an  October  sun  threw  its 
mellow  radiance  over  the  crimsoning  foliage, 
and  the  green  turf,  and  the  sparkling  water  of 


254    Comfort  for  Afourners  in  General, 

the  fountain  which  played  in  the  vale  beneath. 
In  the  distance  was  the  placid  bay,  with  one 
stately  ship  resting  at  anchor,  —  a  beautiful 
emblem  of  a  Christian  soul  whose  voyage  had 
ended  in  the  peaceful  repose  of  the  "  desired 
haven."  The  sun  went  down  into  the  purpling 
horizon  as  I  stood  there  ;  a  bird  or  two  was 
twittering  its  evening  song ;  the  air  was  as 
silent  as  the  unnumbered  sleepers  around  me  ; 
and,  turning  toward  the  sacred  spot  where  my 
precious  dead  is  lying,  I  bade  him,  as  of  old. 
Good-night! 


A  THORNLESS   SORROW. 

D.  M.  MoiR,  THE  "Delta"  of  "Blackwood." 

[The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter,  dated  Mus- 
selburgh, 8th  January,  1S45,  addressed  by  Dr.  Moir,  on 
the  receipt  of  a  favorite  volume,  to  a  friend,  whose  child 
he  had  been  attending  professionally  :  — ] 

The  gift  has  only  one  drawback.  Would, 
so  far  as  our  weak  eyes  can  see,  that  it  had 
been  ordained  that  I  should  receive  it  from 
other  hands  than  yours  !  This  was  not  to  be, 
and  for  wise  purposes,  although  we  see  them 
not.  The  loss  and  the  grief  are  to  those  who 
are  left  behind  :  to  him  these  cannot  be.  Yet 
a  little  while,  and  the  end  cometh  to  us  also ; 


Co7nfo7't  for  Mourners  in  General.    255 

and  we,  who  would  detain  those  we  love,  our- 
selves almost  as  quickly  go. 

Speaking  from  sad  experience,  a  long  time 
must  yet  elapse  ere  you  and  his  mother  will  be 
able  to  look  back  on  your  deprivation  with 
philosophic  and  unimpassioned  minds,  or  be 
able  to  dissever  the  what  must  be  from  the 
what  might  have  been.  But  when  that  time 
does  come,  you  will  find  that  the  lamentation 
for  an  innocent  child  is  a  thornless  sorrow; 
and  that  the  steadfast  faith,  through  the  Re- 
deemer, of  meeting  him  again,  and  for  ever, 
can  lend  a  joy  to  grief. 


POETRY. 


WEE    WILLIE. 
D.  M.  MoiR. 

FARE-THEE-WELL,  our  last  and  fairest, 
Dear  wee  Willie,  fare-thee-welll 
God,  who  lent  thee,  had  recall'd  thee 
Back,  with  Him  and  His  to  dwell : 
Fifteen  moons  their  silver  lustre 
Only  o'er  thy  brow  hath  shed, 
When  thy  spirit  join'd  the  seraphs, 
And  thy  dust  the  dead. 

Like  a  sunbeam,  thro'  our  dwelling 

Shone  thy  presence,  bright  and  calm; 
Thou  didst  add -a  zest  to  pleasure. 

To  our  sorrov/t;  thou  wert  balm  ; 
Brighter  beam'd  thine  eyes  than  summer; 

And  thy  first  attempt  at  speech 
Thriird  our  heartstrings  with  a  rapture 

Music  ne'er  could  reach. 


As  we  gazed  upon  thee  sleeping, 
With  thy  fine  fair  locks  outspread. 

Thou  didst  seem  a  little  angel, 

Who  to  earth  from  heaven  had  stray'd , 


Wee.  Willie,  257 


And,  entranced,  we  watch'd  the  vision, 
Half  in  hope,  and  half  affright. 

Lest  what  we  deem'd  ours,  and  earthly, 
Should  dissolve  in  light. 

Snows  o'ermantled  hill  and  valley, 

Sullen  clouds  begrimed  the  sky, 
When  the  first  drear  doubt  oppress'd  us, 

That  our  child  was  doom'd  to  die. 
Through  each  long  night-watch,  the  taper 

Showed  the  hectic  of  his  cheek; 
And  each  anxious  dawn  beheld  him 

More  worn  out  and  weak. 

Oh,  the  doubts,  the  fears,  the  anguish, 

Of  a  parent's  brooding  heart. 
When  despair  is  hovering  round  it. 

And  yet  hope  will  scarce  depart,  — 
When  each  transient  flush  of  fever 

Omens  health's  returning  light. 
Only  to  involve  the  watchers 

'Mid  intenser  night! 

'Twas  even  then  Destruction's  angel 

Shook  his  pinions  o'er  our  path. 
Seized  the  rosiest  of  our  household. 

And  struck  Charlie  down  in  death  ! 
Fearful,  awful !     Desolation 

On  our  lintel  set  his  sign; 
And  we  turn'd  from  his  quick  death-scene, 

Willie,  round  to  thine  ! 

Like  the  shot-star  in  blue  midnight, 

Like  the  rainbow,  ray  by  ray. 
Thou  wert  waning  as  we  watch'd  thee. 

Loveliest  in  thy  last  decay! 
17 


258  Wee  Willie, 

As  a  zephyr,  so  serenely 

Came  and  went  thy  last  low  breath, 
That  we  paused,  and  ask'd  our  spirits, — 

Is  it  so?     Can  this  be  death? 
» 
As  the  beams  of  Spring's  first  morning 

Through  the  silent  chamber  play'd, 
Lifeless,  in  my  arms  I  raised  thee, 

And  in  thy  small  coffin  laid; 
Ere  the  day-star  with  the  darkness 

Nine  times  had  triumphant  striven, 
In  one  grave  had  met  your  ashes. 

And  your  soul's  in  heaven  ! 

Five  were  ye,  the  beauteous  blossoms 

Of  our  hopes,  our  hearts,  our  hearth; 
Two  asleep  lie  buried  under,  — 

Three  for  us  yet  gladden  earth. 
Thee,  our  hj^acinth',  gay  Charlie, — 

Willie,  thee  our  snow-drop  pure, — 
Back  to  us  shall  second  spring-time 

Never  more  allure ! 

Yet  while  thinking,  oh  !  our  lost  ones. 

Of  how  dear  ye  were  to  us. 
Why  should  dreams  of  doubt  and  darkness 

Haunt  our  troubled  spirits  thus? 
Why  across  the  cold  dim  churchyard 

Flit  our  visions  of  despair? 
Seated  on  the  tomb.  Faith's  angel 

Says,  "  Ye  are  not  there !  " 

Where,  then,  are  ye?     With  the  Saviour 

Blest,  for  ever  blest,  are  ye, 
'Mid  the  sinless  little  children, 
•  Who  have  heard  His  "  Come  to  me !  " 


We  are  Seven.  259 

'Yond  the  shades  of  death's  dark  valley 

Now  ye  lean  upon  His  breast, 
Where  the  wicked  dare  not  enter, 

And  the  weary  rest. 

We  are  wicked  —  we  are  weary  — 

For  us  pray  and  for  us  plead ; 
God  who  ever  hears  the  sinless, 

May  through  you  the  sinful  heed : 
Pray  that,  through  the  Mediator, 

All  our  faults  may  be  forgiven; 
Plead  that  ye  be  sent  to  greet  us 

At  the  gates  of  heaven ! 


WE    ARE    SEVEN. 
Wm.  Wordsworth. 

...  A  SIMPLE  child 

That  lightly  draws  its  breath 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb. 

What  should  it  know  of  death? 

I  met  a  little  cottage  girl ; 

She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said; 
Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 

That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air. 

And  she  was  wildly  clad  : 
Her  eyes  were  fair  and  very  fair ; 

Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 

"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  maid. 

How  many  may  jou  be?" 
*'  How  many?  —  Seven  in  all,"  she  said. 

And  wondering  looked  at  me. 


26o  We  are  Seven, 

"  And  where  are  thej  ?  I  pray  you,  tell,** 

She  answered,  "  Seven  are  we; 
And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea : 

"  Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 

My  sister  and  my  brother; 
And  in  the  churchyai'd  cottage,  I 

Dwell  near  them  with  my  mother." 

*'  You  say  that  two  at  Gonway  dwell. 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea, 
Yet  ye  are  seven  !  —  I  pray  you  tell, 

Sweet  maid,  how  this  may  be." 

Then  did  the  little  maid  reply, 

"Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we; 
Two  of  us  in  the  churchj'ard  lie. 

Beneath  the  churchyard  tree." 

"You  run  about,  my  little  maid. 

Your  limbs  they  are  alive; 
If  two  are  in  the  churchyard  laid. 

Then  ye  are  only  five." 

"Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

The  little  maid  replied, 
"Twelve  steps  or  more  from  my  mother's  door. 

And  they  are  side  by  side. 

"  My  stockings  there  I  often  knit, 

My  kerchief  there  I  hem  ; 
And  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit. 

And  sing  a  song  to  them. 

"And  often  after  sunset,  Sir, 

When  it  is  light  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer. 

And  eat  my  supper  there. 


The  Graiidniolhcr,  261 

"The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane; 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay, 
Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain  ; 

And  then  she  went  away. 

"  So  in  the  churchyard  she  was  laid ; 

And,  when  the  grass  was  dry, 
Together  round  her  grave  we  played. 

My  brother  John  and  I. 

"And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow,  . 

And  1  could  run  and  slide, 
My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And  he  lies  by  her  side." 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 

"If  they  two  are  in  heaven?" 
Qiiick  was  the  little  maid's  reply, 

"O  master!  we  are  seven." 

"But  they  are  dead  ;  those  two  are  dead  : 

Their  spirits  are  in  heaven  !  " 
'Twas  throwing  words  away ;  for  still 
The  little  maid  would  have  her  will, 

And  said,  "Nay,  we  are  seven!" 


THE   GRANDMOTHER. 

Alfred  Tennyson.  I, 

So  Willy  has  gone,  my  beauty,  my  eldest-born,  my  flower;  1 

But    how  can  I  weep  for  Willy,  he  has  but  gone  for  an         | 
hour,  —  / 

Gone  for  a  minute,  my  son,  from  this  room  into  the  next;        j 
I,  too,  shall  go  in  a  minute.     What  time  have  I  to  be  vext? 

/ 


262     Berkeley  and  Florence  Coleridge, 


ENOCH    ARDEN. 
Alfred  Tennyson. 

[Enoch  Arden  having  gone  to  sea,  after  many  years'  absence  returns  to 
his  native  place,  and,  when  near  his  own  end,  speaks  as  follows  to  a  friend 
of  his  departed  infant :  — ] 

And  now  there  is  but  one  of  all  my  blood, 
Who  will  embrace  me  in  the  world-to-be  : 
This  is  his  hair;   she  cut  it  off  and  gave  it, 
And  I  have  borne  it  with  me  all  these  jears. 
And  thought  to  bear  it  with  me  to  my  grave ; 
But  now  my  mind  is  changed,  for  I  shall  see  him, 
My  babe,  in  bliss ;  wherefore,  when  I  am  gone, 
Take,  give  her  this,  for  it  may  comfort  her : 
It  will  moreover  be  a  token  to  her 
That  I  am  he. 


BERKELEY  AND   FLORENCE   COLERIDGE. 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 

O  FRAIL  as  sweet  I  twin  buds,  too  rath  to  bear 

The  winter's  unkind  air; 

O  gifts  beyond  all  price !  no  sooner  given 

Than  straight  required  by  Heaven  ; 

Match'd  jewels,  vainly  for  a  moment  lent 

To  deck  my  brow,  or  sent 

Untainted  from  the  earth,  as  Christ's,  to  soar. 

And  add  two  spirits  more 

To  that  dread  band  seraphic,  that  doth  lie 

Beneath  the  Almighty's  ej^e  ; 

Glorious  the  thought, — yet,  ah!  my  babes,  ah  I  still 

A  father's  heart  ye  fill ; 

Though  cold  ye  lie  in  earth,  though  gentle  death 

Hath  sucked  your  balmy  breath, 


Undying  Love,  263 

And  the  last  kiss  which  your  fair  cheeks  I  gave 

Is  buried  in  yon  grave. 

No  tears,  no  tears,  —  I  vv^ish  them  not  again. 

To  die  for  them  w^as  vain, 

Ere  Doubt,  or  Fear,  or  Woe,  or  act  of  Sin 

Had  marr'd  God's  light  within. 


UNDYING  LOVE. 

Robert  Southey,  LL.D. 

They  sin  who  tell  us  Love  can  die, 

With  life  all  other  passions  fly,  — 

All  others  are  but  vanity. 

In  heaven  ambition  cannot  dwell, 

Nor  avarice  in  the  vaults  of  hell ; 

Earthly  these  passions  of  the  earth, 

They  perish  where  they  have  their  birth ; 

But  Love  is  indestructible  : 
Its  holy  flame  for  ever  burneth. 
From  heaven  it  came,  to  heaven  returneth. 
Too  oft  on  earth  a  troubled  guest. 
At  times  deceived,  at  times  opprest, 

It  here  is  tried  and  purified, 
Then  hath  in  heaven  its  perfect  rest; 
It  soweth  here  with  toil  and  care, 
But  the  harvest  time  of  Love  is  there. 
Oh!  when  a  mother  meets  on  high 
The  babe  she  lost  in  infancy, 
Hath  she  not  then,  for  pains  and  fears, 
The  day  of  woe,  the  watchful  night, 
For  all  her  sorrow,  all  her  tears, 
An  over-payment  of  delight? 


264  A  Flower  Transplanted. 

A   FLOWER  TRANSPLANTED- 

RoBERT  Burns. 

(^On  an  only  Daughter  ivho  died  in  Autumn  17950 

Oh,  sweet  be  thj  sleep  in  the  land  of  the  grave. 

My  dear  little  angel,  for  ever  I 
For  ever? —  Oh,  no!  let  not  man  be  a  slave, 

His  hopes  from  existence  to  sever. 

Though  cold  be  the  claj  where  thou  piUow'st  thy  head, 

In  the  dark  silent  mansions  of  sorrow. 
The  spring  shall  return  to  thy  low  narrow  bed, 

Like  the  beam  of  the  day-star  to-morrow. 

The  flower  stem  shall  bloom  like  thy  sweet  seraph  form, 

Ere  the  spoiler  had  nipt  thee  in  blossom, 
When  thou  shrunk'st  from  the  scowl  of  the  loud  winter 
storm, 

And  nestled  thee  close  to  that  bosom. 

Oh,  still  I  behold  thee,  all  lovely  in  death. 

Reclined  in  the  lap  of  thy  mother. 
When    the    tear   trickled    bright,    when    the    short   stifled 
breath 

Told  how  dear  ye  were  aye  to  each  other. 

My  child,  thou  art  gone  to  the  home  of  thy  rest, 

Where  suflfering  no  longer  can  harm  ye. 
Where  the  songs  of  the  good,  where  the  hymns  of  the 
blest, 

Through  an  endless  existence  shall  charm  thee. 


Robert  Burns. 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose, 

Blasted  before  its  bloom  ; 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 

Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 


Song  of  the  Churchyard  Children,    265 

To  those  who  for  her  loss  are  griev'd 

This  consolation's  given,  — 
She's  from  a  world  of  woe  receiv'd 

And  blooms  a  rose  in  Heaven. 


SONG  OF  THE   CHURCHYARD   CHILDREN. 

Thomas  Aird,  Dumfries. 

Lo !  through  the  churchyard  comes  a  company  sweet 
Of  ghosted  infants,  —  who  has  loosed  their  feet? 
Linked  hand  in  hand,  this  way  they  glide  along; 
But  list  their  softly-modulated  song :  — 

Our  good  Lord  Christ  on  high 
Has  let  us  forth  a  space, 
To  see  the  moonlit  place 
Where  our  little  bodies  lie. 
Back  He  will  call  us,  at  His  dear  command 
We'll  run  again  unto  the  happy  land. 

O'er  each  unblemished  head 
No  thunder-cloud  unsheaths  its  terrors  red ; 
Mild  touching  gleams  those  beauteous  fields  invest, 
Won  from  the  kingdoms  of  perpetual  rest. 

Stony  Enchantment  there. 
Nor  Divination  frights ; 
Nor  hoary  witch  with  her  blue  lights, 
And  caldron's  swarming  glare; 
There  are  no  muttered  spells. 
Envy,  nor  Clamor  loud  ; 
Nor  Hatred,  on  whose  head  for  ever  dwells 
A  sullen  cloud. 
There  is  no  fiend's  dissembling, 
Nor  the  deep-furrowed  garment  of  trembling, 
But  the  robes  of  lucid  air, 
Oh,  all  is  good  and  fair! 


266  Wce^  not  for  He?'! 

Unto  the  Lamb  we'll  sing, 
Who  gives  us  each  glad  thing: 
For  Mercj  sits  with  Him  upon  His  throne; 
For  there  His  gentle  keeping  is  revealed, 
O'er  each  young  head  select  a  glory  and  a  shield. 
Wide  be  His  praises  known ! 

And  in  the  end  of  days, 

Our  little  heads  He'll  raise  '     ' 

Unto  Himself,  unto  His  bosom  dear, 
Far  from  the  outcast  fear 
Of  them  —  oh,  woe  !  —  who  make  their  beds  in  fire. 
Sons  shall  we  be  of  the  celestial  prime. 
Breathing  the  air  of  Heaven's  delicious  clime, 

Walking  in  white  attire, 

With  God  Himself  sublime. 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  HER! 
** Delta,"  in  "Blackwood's  Magazine,"  written 

IN    1850. 

Weep  not  for  her!     Oh,  she  was  far  too  fair. 
Too  pure  to  dwell  on  this  guilt-tainted  earth! 

The  sinless  glory,  and  the  golden  air 

Of  Zion,  seemed  to  claim  her  from  her  birth,  — 

A  spirit  wandering  from  its  native  zone: 

Which  soon  discov'ring  took  her  for  its  own  : 
Weep  not  for  her ! 

Weep  not  for  her!     Her  span  was  like  the  sky; 

Whose  thousand  stars  shine  beautiful  and  bright; 
Like  flowers  that  know  not  what  it  is  to  die ! 

Like  long-link'd  shadeless  months  of  Polar  light; 
Like  music  floating  o'er  a  waveless  lake. 
While  Echo  answers  from  the  flowery  brake, 
Weep  not  for  her ! 


Weep  not  for  Her!  267 

Weep  not  for  her !     She  died  in  earlj  youth, 
Ere  hope  had  lost  its  rich  romantic  hues; 

When  human  bosoms  seem'd  the  homes  of  truth, 
And  earth  still  gleam'd  with  beauty's  radiant  dews. 

Her  summer  prime  waned  not  to  days  that  freeze; 
Her  wine  of  life  was  run  not  to  the  lees; 
Weep  not  for  her ! 

Weep  not  for  her !     By  fleet  or  slow  decay. 
It  never  griev'd  her  bosom's  core  to  mark 

The  playmates  of  her  childhood  wane  away, 
Her  prospects  wither,  or  her  hopes  grow  dark; 

Translated  by  her  God,  with  spirits  shriven, 

She  passed  as  'twere  in  smiles  from  earth  to  heaven : 
Weep  not  for  her! 

Weep  not  for  her !     It  was  not  hers  to  feel 
The  miseries  that  corrode  amassing  years, 

'Gainst  dreams  of  bafllled  bliss  the  heart  to  steel, 
To  wander  sad  down  Age's  vale  of  tears. 

As  whirl  the  wither'd  leaves  from  Friendship's  tree, 

And  on  earth's  wintry  world  alone  to  be  : 
Weep  not  for  her ! 

Weep  not  for  her!     She  is  an  angel  now, 

And  treads  the  sapphire  floors  of  Paradise, — 

All  darkness  wiped  from  her  refulgent  brow. 
Sin,  sorrow,  suffering,  banished  from  her  eyes; 

Victorious  over  death,  to  her  appear 

The  vista'd  joys  of  Heaven's  eternal  year  : 
Weep  not  for  her! 

Weep  not  for  her!     Her  memory  is  the  shrine 

Of  pleasing  thoughts,  soft  as  the  scent  of  flowers, 

Calm  as  on  windless  eve  the  sun's  decline. 

Sweet  as  the  song  of  birds  among  the  bowers, 

Rich  as  a  rainbow  with  its  hues  of  light, 

Pure  as  the  moonshine  of  an  autumn  night : 
Weep  not  for  her ! 


268  Home   TriaL  •  . 

Weep  not  for  her!     There  is  no  cause  for  woe; 

But  rather  nerve  the  spirit,  that  it  walk 
Unshrinking  o'er  the  thorny  paths  below, 

And  from  earth's  low  defilements  keep  thee  back : 
So,  when  a  few  fleet  severing  years  have  flown. 
She'll  meet  thee  at  Heaven's  gate,  and  lead  thee  on ! 
Weep  not  for  her! 


HOME   TRIAL. 

James  Hedderwick,  Editor  of  "The  Glasgow 
Citizen." 

I  NEVER  thought  of  him  and  death,  so  far  apart  they 
seem'd,  — 

The  love  that  would  have  died  to  save  of  danger  scarcely 
dream'd ; 

Too  late  the  fear  that  prompted  help,  too  late  the  yearn- 
ing care ; 

Yet  who  that  saw  his  lustrous  face  could  doubt  that  death 
would  spare? 

Oh,  could  my  pangs  have  lightened  his,  or  eased  his  fail- 
ing breath, 

I  would  have  drain'd  the  bitter  cup,  had  every  drop  been 
death  : 

But,  though  I  drank  his  agony,  until  my  heart  o'erflow'd, 

From  oft'  the  little  sufferer's  breast  I  could  not  lift  the  load. 

It  weigh'd  him  down  ;  I  saw  him  sink  away  from  life  and 

me; 
Grief  waded  in  the  gentlest  eyes ;  my  own  could  scarcely 

see : 
He  look'd  so  calm,  he  felt  so  cold,  —  all  hope,  all  life  had 

fled,— 
A  cry  of  pain  would  have  been  sweet,  but  pain  itself  was 

dead. 


Home    Trial,  269 

They  took   his   form   of   innocence,   and   stretch'd   it  out 

alone; 
Tears  fell  upon  the  pulseless  clay,  like  rain-drops  upon 

stone ; 
They  closed  his  eyes  of  beauty,  for  their  glory  was  o'er- 

cast, 
A.nd  sorrow  drew  its  deepest  shade  from  gladness  that  was 

past. 

The  sun  was  lazy  in  the  heavens  that  day  our  darling 

died, 
And  longer  wore  away  the  night  we  miss'd  him  from  our 

side; 
All  sleep  was  scared  by  weary  sobs  from  one  wild  heart 

and  mine,  — 
The  only  sleep  in  all  the  house,  my  innocent!  was  thine. 

I  made  mad  inquest  of  the  skies;  I  breathed  an  inward 

psalm  : 
The   stars   burn'd   incense    at   God's    feet:    I   grew   more 

strong  and  calm  : 
I  utter'd  brave  and  soothing  words,  as  was  my  manhood's 

part, 
Then  hurried  speechlessly  away  to  hide  the  father's  heart. 

His  coffin-crib  a  soft  hand  deck'd  with  flowers  of  sweetest 

scent; 
To  beauty  and  decay  akin,  their  living  breath  they  lent; 
But  never  could  they  breath  impart  whence  other  breath 

had  flown  ; 
Ah  me!  aflfection's  helplessness,  when  death  has  claim'd 

his  own ! 

Our  child  was  now  God's  holy  child,  yet  still  he  linger'd 

here ; 
Oh,  could  we  but  have  kept  him   thus,  the  pictured  dust 

how  dear ! 


270  Home   Trial. 

But  soon  the  grave  its  summons  writ  upon  the  black'ning 

lips ; 
And  wheresoe'er  I  look'd  for  light,  I  onlj  saw  eclipse. 

There  was   no   loveliness   in  flowers,  in   human  ejes,  or 

books ; 
Dear  household  faces  flitted  round  with  pain'd  and  ghastly 

looks ; 
A  shadow  mufiled  like  a  mist  the  splendors  of  the  day, 
And  sorrow  speaking  to  the  night  took  all  its  stars  away. 

No  more  might  fair  hands  fondly  smooth  the  pillow  for 

his  head; 
The  joyless  task  Avas  now  all  mine  to  lay  him  in  his  bed  : 
I   laid   him   in   his  earth-cold  bed,  and  buried  with  him 

there 
The  hope  that  trembling  on  its  knees  expired  'mid  broken 

prayer. 

.As  in  the  round  and  beauteous  bud  the  promise  we  may 

trace 
Of  the  unfolded  perfect  flower,  I  used  to  read  his  face, 
Till  love  grown  rash  in  prophecy  foretold  him  brave  and 

strong,  — 
A  battler  for  the  true  and  right,  a  trampler  on  the  wrong. 

Had  I  my  life  to  live  again,  I  know  how  I  would  live, 
And  all  the  wisdom  I  have  learn'd,  to  him  I  meant  to 

give, — 
To  bless  his  glowing  boyhood  with  the  ripeness  of  my 

age. 
And  train  him  up  a  better  man,  to  tread  a  nobler  stage : 

To  train  him  up  a  perfect  man,  the  crown  of  life  to  win, 
With  kingly  chastity  of  thought  to  awe  rebellious  sin. 
With  all  the  light  thrown  forward  of  a  bright,  unwasted 

youth,  — 
A  soul  as  pure  as  cloister'd  love,  and  strong  as  castled 

truth. 


Home   Trial,  271 

His  lot,  how  happy  had  it  been,  with  age  to  guard  and 

guide ! 
And  yet  he  might  have  proved  a  sire,  —  his  darling  might 

have  died  : 
If  so,   I  need    not   canvass    more   the    heavens  why  this 

should  be,  — 
Ah!  better  to  be  early  dead,  than  live  to  weep  like  me! 

Tears!  tears!  ye  never  can  be  his!     The  thought  my  own 

should  dry; 
Yet  other  thoughts  and  sadder  thoughts  still  brood  the 

fountains  by  : 
Why  was  a  treasure  to  me  given,  for  death  so  soon  to 

take  ? 
Oh,  may  the  answer  be,  —  a  heart  grown  purer  for  his 

sake! 

Striving  one  day  to  be  myself,  of  living  things  I  thought, 
And   musing   on   my  blessings    left,   a   calm  was    in   me 

wrought, 
Till  gliding  to  my  infant's  room,  all  noiselessly  I  stept, 
And  shudder'd  as  remembrance  woke  that  there  no  more 

he  slept. 

The  world  is  emptied  of  my  child,  yet  crowded  with  his 

loss ; 
The  silence  and  the  vacancy  my  steps  for  ever  cross; 
With  every  sound  of  merriment  my  sorrow  is  at  strife. 
And  happy  infants  stare  at  me,  like  pictures  wanting  life. 

My  eye  grows  greedy  of  distress;  what  healthless  looks 

I  meet! 
What  tear-writ  tales  of  anguish  in  the  harsh,  unheeding 

street ! 
Yet  while  the  wasting  griefs  I  trace  in  other  hearts  that 

dwell, 
The  sj'mpathy  I  fain  would  give,  my  own  heart  sootheth 

well. 


272  Home    Trial, 

Again,  to  dwarf  my  woe,  I  dream  of  war  and  shipwreck 

dire, 
Of  choking  pit,  of  crashing  train,  of  fierce  o'ermastering 

fire  : 
Alas !    the  thousand  frantic  ills,  which  some  are  doomed 

to  prove ; 
O  God !  how  sweetly  died  my  child  'midst  ministries  of 

love! 

So  gently  wail,  ye  pleasant  winds !    and  weep,  ye  silver 

showers ! 
Thou    shadow   of    the    cypress    tree    lie    lightly   on    the 

flowers ! 
The  summer  has  its  mildews,   and   the  daylight  has   its 

clouds. 
And  some  put  on  their  marriage  robes,  while  some  are 

clad  in  shrouds. 

Thus   o'er    the    gleaming   track    of   life    the    generations 

run : 
Do  they  to  clodded  darkness  pass,  or  to  a  brighter  sun? 
Does  nothing  spiritual  ascend?  can  soul  become  a  sod? 
Is  man  on  earth  an  orphan?  is  creation  void  of  God? 

Is   the   resplendent   cope    of   night   deserted,    drear,    and 

dead  ? 
Does  no  great  ear  lean  down  to  catch  the  prayers  by  good 

men  said  ? 
Is  groan  of  murder'd  patriot,  or  shout  of  martyr'd  saint, 
As  idle  as  on  savage  shores  the  homeless  ocean's  plaint? 

Above  the  lands  that  front  the  sky  in  the  illumined  east, 

The  stars  hang  low  and  large,  like  lamps  at  some  immor- 
tal feast, 

And  from  those  lands  so  near  to  heaven  have  wondrous 
voices  come 

Of  God's  eternal  fatherhood,  and  man's  celestial  home. 


Our  First   Taken.  273 

I  marvel,  then,  dear  child  of  mine!  whom  'neath  the  grass 

I  laid, 
If  wing'd  and  bright,  a  spirit  now,  though  scarcely  purer 

made. 
Thou  liv'st  in  His  almighty  care,  in  mansions  of  the  skies! 
Oh  say,  wilt  thou  come  down  to  me,  or  I  to  thee  arise? 

Great  mysteries  are  round  thee,  child!  unknown  or  dim 

to  me. 
But  yet  I  cannot  dread  the  death  made  beautiful  by  thee ; 
The  path  thy  little  feet  have  trod  I  may  not  fear  to  tread, 
And  so  I  follow  in  the  dark,  as  by  an  angel  led. 


OUR   FIRST  TAKEN. 
Rev.  Walter  C.  Smith,  D.D.,  Glasgow. 

Sit  close  beside  me,  dearest  wife; 

We  are  together,  if  alone ; 
The  dew  upon  the  bloom  of  life 

Is  gathered,  and  the  bloom  is  gone; 
And  part  of  us  is  in  the  grave, 

And  part  is  in  the  heaven  above; 
But  stronger  is  the  tie  we  have 

In  mingled  cords  of  grief  and  love. 

Sit  very  near,  and  let  me  dry 

This  tear  that  trickles  down  thy  cheek, 
And  this  that  trembles  in  thine  eye; 

For  it  is  time  that  we  should  speak: 
The  choking  stupor  of  the  hour 

Is  past,  when  weeping  was  relief; 
Now  yield  thee  to  a  gentler  power,  — 

The  tender  memory  of  grief. 


274  ^^^  First   Taken. 

Let's  talk  of  her,  —  our  little  one 

Who  walks  above  the  milky  way, 
Arrayed  in  glory  like  the  sun 

That  lightens  the  eternal  day; 
The  little  gift  that  we  did  make 

To  God,  by  whom  the  boon  was  given, 
He  wished  it,  deeming  she  would  take 

Our  hearts  away  with  her  to  heaven. 

Remember  that  sweet  time  when  hope 

Sat  brooding  o'er  its  future  joy. 
And  low,  fond  laughter  wakened  up 

With  bets  upon  a  girl  or  boy; 
And  little  caps  in  secret  sewn. 

Were  hid  in  many  a  quiet  nook: 
You  knew  the  secret  to  be  known. 

Yet  hid  them  with  a  guilty  look. 

Remember  all  the  gush  of  thought 

When  first  upon  your  arm  she  lay, 
And  all  the  pain  was  all  forgot, 

And  all  the  fears  were  smiled  away; 
And  looking  on  her  helplessness 

Awakened  strong  resolve  in  you, 
And  mother-love  and  tender  grace; 

And  all  was  beautiful  and  new. 

For  you  were  sure,  a  week  before. 

That  you  should  never  live  to  see 
A  baby  laughing  on  the  floor. 

Or  placid  lying  on  the  knee. 
Or  laid  on  my  ungainly  hand 

That  always  feared  to  let  her  slip, 
Or  held  up,  with  a  fond  command. 

For  pressure  of  a  father's  lip. 


Oii7'  First   Taken,  275 

O  sweet  bud,  flowering  dewj  bright 

To  crown  our  love's  rejoicing  stem !  . 
O  great  ejes  wondering  in  their  light, 

With  long  dark  lashes  fringing  them  I 
And  over  these  the  forehead  broad, 

And  then  her  full  and  parted  lips 
And  rounded  chin,  meet  for  a  god, 

And  pink  shells  on  her  finger-tips  I 

Most  beautiful  her  life!  and  we 

Were  even  too  full  of  happiness  : 
As  dewy  flowers  hang  droopinglj, 

O'erburdened  with  the  weight  of  bliss, 
And,  fearful  lest  the  treasure  spill, 

Close  up  their  petals  to  the  light, 
So  we  forgot  all,  good  or  ill, 

To  clasp  to  us  that  dear  delight. 

Remember  how  we  noted  all 

Her  little  looks  and  winning  ways, 
And  how  she  let  her  evelids  fall 

As  I  was  wont  in  wooing  days; 
And  held  her  little  finger  up 

In  curious  mimicry  of  mine; 
But  when  the  smile  was  on  her  lip, 

Lo !  all  the  beaming  face  was  thine. 

Oh,  say  not  she  was  only  seen. 

Like  song-bird  lighting  on  the  tree, 
A  moment,  while  the  leaves  were  green, 

Filling  the  boughs  with  melody, 
And  then,  when  hope  arose  serene. 

She  left  us  sadder  than  before ; 
And  better  she  had  never  been, 

Than  leave  us  stricken  to  deplore. 


2*]6  The  ChMs  Angel. 

And  was  it  nothing  then  to  feel 

A  mother's  love,  and  do  her  part, 
While  soft  hands  o'er  the  bosom  steal, 

And  soft  cheeks  press  against  the  h'eart? 
Nay,  let  us  kneel  together,  love. 

And  bow  the  head,  and  kiss  the  rod; 
We  gave  an  heir  to  heaven  above, 

A  child  to  praise  the  Christ  of  God. 

He  would  have  infant  trebles  ringing 

The  glories  of  the  great  I  AM ; 
He  would  have  childish  voices  singing 

The  hallelujahs  of  the  Lamb; 
And  shall  we  faint  in  grief's  desire 

Because  this  grace  to  us  is  given. 
To  have  a  babe  amid  the  choir 

White-robed  around  the  throne  of  heaven? 

We  had  a  joy  unto  us  given 

Transcending  any  earthly  pleasance ; 
We  had  a  messenger  from  heaven; 

Let  us  be  better  for  her  presence. 
Our  mother  earth  where  she  is  laid 

Is  dearer  to  my  heart  for  her : 
We  have  such  kindred  with  the  dead, 

The  very  grave  is  lightsomer. 


THE   CHILD'S  ANGEL. 

Rev.  W.  B.  Robertson,  D.D.,  Irvine,  Ayrshire. 

Elder  sister,  elder  brother, 
Come  and  go  around  the  mother, 

As  she  bids  them  come  and  go; 
But  the  babe  in  her  embrace 
Rests  and  gazes  on  her  face, 

And  is  most  happy  so. 


The  Child's  AngeL  277 

Dropping  from  her  lips  and  eyes, 
Soft  and  hidden  harmonies 

Steal  into  her  infant's  heart: 
Mirror'd  in  clear  depths  below, 
Gleams  of  mystic  beauty  flow, 

And  fix,  and  ne'er  depart. 

Christ,  our  Lord,  in  His  evangel, 
Tells  us  how  the  young  child's  angel, 

In  the  world  of  heavenly  rest, 
Gazes  in  enraptured  trance 
On  His  Father's  countenance. 

And  is  supremely  blest. 

» 

Other  angels  come  and  go. 
As  the  Lord  will,  to  and  fro : 

Some  to  earth,  on  missions  fleet, 
Some  stand  singing,  some  are  winging 
Their  swift  flight,  and  homeward  bringing 

The  saved  to  Jesus'  feet. 

Angel  hosts  all  mingling,  changing, 
Circle  above  circle  ranging. 

Marshalling,  throng  God's  holy  place: 
But  the  children's  angels,  dearest 
To  the  Father's  heart,  come  nearest,  — 

They  always  see  His  face. 

And  oh  !  if  earthly  beauty,  beaming 
From  frail  mother's  face,  rush  streaming 

Deep  into  her  infant's  heart,  — 
What  rare  beauty  must  theirs  be. 
Heavenly  God,  who  gaze  on  Thee,  « 

Who  see  Thee  as  Thou  art ! 


278  The  Departed  Nigh, 

THE   DEPARTED   NIGH. 
Rev.   W.   B.   Robertson,   D.  D.,   Irvine, 

Departed,  say  we?  is  it 

Departed,  or  Come  Nigh  ? 
Dear  friends  in  Christ  more  visit 

Than  leave  us  w^hen  they  die. 
What  thin  veil  still  may  hide  them 

Some  little  sickness  rends, 
And,  lo!  we  stand  beside  them; 

Are  they  departed  friends  ? 

Their  dews  on  Zion  mountain 

Our  Hermon  hills  bedew; 
Their  river  from  the  Fountain 

Flows  down  to  meet  us,  too. 
The  oil  on  the  head,  and  under, 

Down  to  the  skirts  hath  run ; 
And  though  we  seem  asunder, 

We  still  in  Christ  are  one. 

The  many  tides  of  ocean 

Are  one  vast  tidal  wave. 
That  sweeps,  in  landward  motion. 

Alike  to  coast  and  cave; 
And  Life,  from  Christ  outflowing, 

Is  one  wave  evermore, 
To  earth's  dark  caverns  going. 

Or  heaven's  bright  pearly  shore. 

Hail,  perfected  immortals! 

Even  now  we  bid  you  hail ! 
We  at  the  blood-stained  portals, 
•        And  je  within  the  veil ! 

The  thin  cloud-veil  between  us 

Is  mere  dissolying  breath. 
One  heavens  surround,  and  screen  us; 

And  where  art  tliou,  O  Death  ? 


The  Infant  Choir  in  Heaven.         279 

THE   INFANT   CHOIR  IN   HEAVEN. 

James   Montgomery,   Sheffield. 

Happy,  thrice  happy  were  thej  thus  to  die, 

Rather  than  grow  into  such  men  and  women, — 

Such  fiends  incarnate  as  that  felon  sire 

Who  dug  its  grave  before  his  child  was  born ; 

Such  miserable  wretches  as  that  mother 

Whose  tender  mercies  were  so  dreadlj  cruel ! 

I  saw  their  infant's  spirit  rise  to  heaven, 

Caught  from  its  birth  up  to  the  throne  of  God; 

There,  thousands  and  ten  thousands  I  beheld 

Of  innocents  like  this,  that  died  untimely, 

By  violence  of  their  unnatural  kin, 

Or  by  the  mercy  of  that  gracious  Power, 

Who  gave  them  being,  taking  what  He  gave 

Ere  they  could  sin  or  suffer  like  their  parents. 

I  saw  them  in  white  raiment,  crowned  with  flowers, 

On  the  fair  banks  of  that  resplendent  river 

Whose  streams  make  glad  the  city  of  our  God, — 

Water  of  Life  as  clear  as  crystal,  welling 

Forth  from  the  throne  itself,  and  visiting 

Fields  of  a  Paradise  that  ne'er  was  lost; 

Where  yet  the  Tree  of  Life  immortal  grows. 

And  bears  its  monthly  fruits,  twelve  kinds  of  fruit, 

Each  in  its  season,  food  of  saints  and  angels; 

Whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  its  blessed  boughs 

I  mark'd  those  rescued  infants,  in  their  schools, 

By  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  taught 

The  glorious  lessons  of  Almighty  Love, 

Which  brought  them  thither  in  the  readiest  path 

From  the  world's  wilderness  of  dire  temptations. 

Securing  thus  their  everlasting  weal. 

Yea,  in  the  rapture  of  that  hour,  though  songs 

Of  cherubim  to  golden  lyres  and  trumpets, 

And  the  redeemed  upon  the  sea  of  glass. 


28o  ''  Sleej>  Softly  r 

With  voices  like  the  sound  of  many  waters, 

Came  on  mine  ear,  whose  secret  cells  were  open'd 

To  entertain  celestial  harmonies,  — 

The  small,  sweet  accents  of  those  little  children, 

Pouring  out  all  the  gladness  of  their  souls 

In  love,  joj,  gratitude,  and  praise  to  Him, — 

Him  who  had  lov'd  and  wash'd  them  in  His  blood; 

These  were  to  me  the  most  transporting  strains 

Amidst  the  hallelujahs  of  all  Heaven. 

Though  lost  awhile  in  that  amazing  chorus 

Around  the  throne,  at  happy  intervals 

The  shrill  hosannas  of  the  infant  choir, 

Singing  in  that  eternal  temple,  brought 

Tears  to  mine  eye,  whilst  seraphs  had  been  glad 

To  weep,  could  they  have  felt  the  sympathy 

That  melted  all  my  soul,  when  I  beheld 

How  condescending  Deity  thus  deign'd, 

Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  here. 

To  perfect  His  high  praise;  — the  harp  of  heaven 

Had  lack'd  its  least  but  not  its  meanest  string. 

Had  children  not  been  taught  to  play  upon  it, 

And  sing,  from  feelings  all  their  own,  what  men 

Nor  angels  can  conceive  of  creatures,  born 

Under  the  curse,  yet  from  the  curse  redeem'd, 

And  placed  at  once  beyond  the  power  to  fall,  — 

Safety  which  men  nor  angels  ever  knew. 

Till  ranks  of  these,  and  all  of  those  had  fallen. 


"SLEEP   SOFTLY." 

Richard    Chenevix    Trench,    D.D.  ,    Archbishop    of 
Dublin. 

No  mother's  eye  beside  thee  wakes  to-night. 
No  taper  burns  beside  thy  lonely  bed ; 

Darkling  thou  liest,  hidden  out  of  sight, 
And  none  are  near  thee  but  the  silent  dead. 


Moravian  Hymn,  281 

How  cheerly  glows  this  hearth,  yet  glows  in  vain, 

For  we  uncheered  beside  it  sit  alone, 
And  listen  to  the  wild  and  beating  rain 

In  angry  gusts  against  our  casement  blown  : 

And  though  we  nothing  speak,  yet  well  I  know 

That  both  our  hearts  are  there,  where  thou  dost  keep 

Within  thy  narrow  chamber  far  below, 

For  the  first  time  unwatched,  thy  lonely  sleep  : 

Oh,  no,  not  thou  !  —  and  we  our  faith  deny, 
This  thought  allowing:  —  thou,  removed  from  harms, 

In  Abraham's  bosom  dost  securely  lie, — 

Oh  !  not  in  Abraham's,  —  in  a  Saviour's  arms,  — 

In  that  dear  Lord's  who  in  thy  worst  distress. 
Thy  bitterest  anguish,  gave  thee,  dearest  child. 

Still  to  abide  in  perfect  gentleness. 
And  like  an  angel  to  be  meek  and  mild. 

Sweet  corn  of  wheat,  committed  to  the  ground 
To  die,  and  live,  and  bear  more  precious  ear; 

While  in  the  heart  of  earth  thy  Saviour  found 
His  place  of  rest,  for  thee  we  will  not  fear.    . 

Sleep  softly,  till  that  blessed  rain  and  dew, 
Down  ligh,ting  upon  earth,  such  change  shall  bring. 

That  all  its  fields  of  death  shall  laugh  anew. 
Yea,  with  a  living  harvest  laugh  and  sing. 


MORAVIAN    HYMN. 
Archbishop  Trench. 

Where  is  this  infant?  it  is  gone. 

To  whom  ?  To  Christ,  its  Saviour  true. 
What  does  He  for  it.''  He  goes  on 

As  He  has  ever  done,  to  do : 


282  The  White  Doves, 

He  blesses,  He  embraces  without  end, 

And  to  all  children  proves  the  tenderest  friend. 

He  loves  to  have  the  little  ones 

Upon  His  lap  quite  close  and  near; 
And  thus  their  glass  so  swiftly  runs, 

And  they  so  little  while  are  near. 
He  ^ave,  —  He  takes  them  when  He  thinks  it  best 
For  them  to  come  to  Him  and  take  their  rest. 

However,  'tis  a  great  delight 

Awhile  to  see  such  little  princes. 
All  drest  in  linen  fine  and  white, — 

A  beauty  which  escapes  the  senses  : 
The  pure  Lamb  dwells  in  them,  —  His  majesty 
Makes  their  sweet  eyes  to  sparkle  gloriously. 

Be  therefore  thanked,  thou  dearest  Lamb, 
That  we  this  precious  child  have  seen, 

And  that  Thy  blood  and  Jesus'  name 
To  it  a  glittering  robe  hath  been  : 

We  thank  Thee  too  that  Thou  hast  brought  it  home, 

That  it  so  soon  all  dangers  hath  o'ercome. 

Dear  child,  so  live  thou  happily 

In  Christ,  who  was  thy  faith's  beginner : 

Rejoice  in  Him  eternally 

With  each  redeemed  and  happy  sinner; 

We  bury  thee  in  hope,  —  the  Lamb  once  slain 

Will  raise,  and  we  shall  see  thee  yet  again. 


THE    WHITE    DOVES. 
Archbishop  Trench. 

Fair  sight  are  ye,  white  doves,  which  refuge  sure 
Are  finding  in  a  tall  rock's  cloven  side : 

Types  of  a  fairer  thing,  of  children  pure. 
Which  early  did  their  lives  with  Jesus  hide. 


The  Child  in  Paradise,  283 

THE   CHILD   IN   PARADISE. 

Henry  Alford,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury. 

{Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Clemejit  Henry  Oke  Alford?) 

My  blessed  child  !     Last  Sunday  morn, 

That  feast  of  all  the  year, 
We  held  thee  in  our  wearied  arms, 

Distraught  with  hope  and  fear : 

We  soothed  thee  with  caresses  fond ; 

With  words,  alas,  how  vain  ! 
We  strove  to  still  thy  piercing  moans, 

And  set  to  sleep  thy  pain. 

But  still  the  thought  would  ever  rise 

In  stern  reality, 
111  balanced  by  returning  hgpe. 

That  our  dear  child  would  die. 

Another  Sunday  morn  is  come, 

But  all  is  altered  now : 
Pilgrims  upon  this  earth  are  we, 

A  blessed  saint  art  thou. 

No  mother  now  beside  thy  bed 

Lets  fall  her  burning  tears; 
No  father  bathes  thy  fevered  head, 

Nor  whispers  rising  fears. 

That  form  so  fair,  those  eyes  so  bright, 

Are  laid  in  hallowed  ground, 
And  over  them  the  churchyard  chimes 

A  peaceful  requiem  sound. 


284  Faith, 

But  thou,  dear,  glorious  child,  art  fled. 
And  on  thy  Saviour's  breast 

Dost  for  the  resurrection-morn 
In  holy  quiet  rest. 

Oh,  never  would  w^e  change  this  hour, 
With  blessed  hope  so  bright, 

For  that  sad  day  of  fainting  prayers, 
For  that  last  anxious  night. 

The  earth  and  all  that  is  therein 

Are  hallovvred  to  us  now; 
In  work,  at  rest,  at  home,  abroad,. 

Where'er  we  turn  art  thou. 

Thou  blessed  child  in  Paradise, 
Safe  fled  from  sin  and  pain ; 

Oh,  not  for  all  thy  life  could  give 
Shouldst  thou  be  here  again. 


FAITH. 
Henry  Alford,  D.D. 

I  THOUGHT,  if  I  could  go  and  stand 
Beside  our  dear  one's  grave  in  Faith, 

And  lift  the  voice  and  stretch  the  hand, 
And  call  on  Him  who  conquered  death ; 

And  then,  in  my  reliance  deep. 

Bid  the  new-buried  corpse  come  forth,  — 
The  call  of  faith  would  break  that  sleep, 

And  animate  that  lifeless  earth. 

But  while  I  pondered  thus,  within 

A  gentle  voice  reminded  me 
That  I  was  weak,  and  soiled  with  sin, — 

That  faith  must  strong  and  holy  be. 


LacrymcB  Paternce.  285 

*'  Raise  up  the  deadness  of  thj  soul, 
Be  pure  and  watch,  and  fast  and  pray; 

Then  mayest  thou  bid  the  sick  be  whole, 
Then  shall  the  dead  thy  voice  obey." 

Lord  God  the  Spirit!  purify 

My  thoughts,  bind  fast  my  life  to  Thee; 
So  shall  I  meet  my  babe  on  high, 

Though  he  may  not  return  to  me. 


LACRYM^    PATERN^. 

Henry  Alford,  D.D.  (1850). 

Here  take  thy  stand;  within  this  chamber  lone 

That  looks  upon  the  unfathomable  blue 

Of  the  blest  ocean,  take  thy  stand  awhile,  — 

Ah,  mournful  task!  and  watch  yon  fading  face 

So  lately  lit  with  love  and  eager  joy 

Now  blank,  but  beautiful !     Trace  thou  those  lines 

"Which  death  had  spared ;  build  up  that  noble  brow, 

Part  the  fair  hair,  and  mimic  with  thy  brush 

That  curl,  whose  very  flexure  tells  of  him. 

Precious  thine  art,  —  God's  gift,  — how  often  said. 

How  never  felt  till  now!     This  autumn  day 

We  leave  thee  here  with  him.     Death,  cease  thy  work! 

Forget  thy  course.  Decay !     One  favoring  hour 

Befriend  our  wish,  how  earnest,  but  how  vain ! 

0  sweet  refreshment  to  the  wearied  heart. 
This  converse  with  the  unalterable  dead ! 

1  know  not  where,  nor  rightly  what  thou  art : 
I  only  know  that  thou  art  blest  and  bright, 
Unfading  and  mine  own  :  and  thus  I  sit 

Long  pensive  hours  alone,  scarce  stirred  in  thought, 
Scanning  thy  presence  through,  a  mist  of  tears. 
Others  may  change,  but  thou  shalt  never  change: 


286  LacryjucE  Pater  nee, 

Forgetfulness,  and  distance,  and  neglect, 

The  chills  of  earthly  love  —  the  stealthy  pace 

Of  summer-stealing  age —  these  touch  not  thee; 

That  heart  of  thine,  fresh  well  of  living  love, 

Hadst  thou  been  here,  might  in  long  years  have  failed, 

Or  poured  on  thankless  fields  its  errant  streams, 

Or  poured  avi^ay  (such  sad  vicissitudes 

We  learn  to  look  for,  w^ho  live  long  on  earth) 

Else-whither  in  abundance,  sparing  here 

Few  dro'ps  and  scant.     But  now,  beloved  one. 

That  everlasting  fount  is  all  our  own. 

They  tell  me,  that  we  soon  shall  meet  again ; 

That  some  have  heard  the  mighty  chariot  wheels 

Roar  in  the  distance;  that  the  world's  salt  tears 

Are  cleaving  their  last  furrows  in  her  cheeks. 

It  may  be  so  :  I  know  not.     Oft  the  ear, 

Attent  and  eager  for  some  coming  friend. 

Construes  each  breeze  among  the  vocal  boughs 

Into  the  tokens  of  his  wished  approach. 

But  this  I  know:  HE  liveth,  and  shall  stand 

Upon  this  earth;  and  round  Him,  thick  as  waves 

That  laugh  with  light  at  noon,  uncounted  hosts 

Of  His  redeemed  :  and  this  I  further  know  : 

Then  shall  I  see  thee,  —  amidst  all  that  band. 

Know  thee  unsought,  and,  midst  a  thousand  joys 

Ineffable,  our  own  shall  we  possess, 

Clasped  heart  to  heart  and  looking  eye  to  eye. 

Oh,  dawn,  millennial  day!   Come,  blessed  morn! 

Appear,  Desire  of  Nations !  rend  Thy  heavens, 

And  stand  revealed,  upon  thy  chosen  hill! 


The  Fairest  Flower,  287 

THE  FAIREST  FLOWER. 

John  Milton. 

O  FAIREST  flower,  no  sooner  blown  but  blasted, 
Soft  silken  primrose  fading  timelessly. 
Summer's  chief  honor,  if  thou  hadst  out-lasted 
Bleak  Winter's  force  that  made  thj  blossom  dry; 
For  he  being  amorous  on  that  lovely  die 

That  did  thy  cheek  envermeil,  thought  to  kiss. 
But  kill'd,  alas,  and  then  bewailed  his  fatal  bliss. 


Yet  can  I  not  persuade  me  thou  art  dead. 
Or  that  thy  corse  corrupts  in  earth's  dark  womb, 
Or  that  thy  beauties  lie  in  wormy  bed. 
Hid  from  the  world  in  a  low  delved  tomb ; 
Could  Heaven,  for  pity,  thee  so  strictly  doom? 
Oh,  no!  for  something  in  thy  face  did  shine 
Above  mortality,  that  show'd  thou  wast  divine. 

Resolve  me,  then,  O  Soul  most  surely  bless'd 
(If  so  it  be  that  thou  these  plaints  dost  hear). 
Tell  me,  bright  Spirit,  where'er  thou  hoverest. 
Whether  above  that  high  first-moving  sphere, 
Or  in  the  Elysian  fields  (if  such  there  were)  ; 
Oh,  say  me  true,  if  thou  wert  mortal  wight, 
And  why  from  us  so  quickly  thou  didst  take  thy  flight? 

Wert  thou  some  star  which  from  the  ruin'd  roof 
Of  shak'd  Olympus  by  mischance  didst  fall ; 
Which  careful  Jove  in  nature's  true  behoof 
Took  up,  and  in  fit  place  did  reinstall? 
Or  did  of  late  Earth's  sons  besiege  the  wall 

Of  sheeny  Heaven,  and  thou,  some  goddess,  fled 
Amongst  us  here  below  to  hide  thy  nectar'd  head? 


288  The  Fah'est  Flower, 

Or  wert  thou  that  just  maid,  who  once  before 
Forsook  the  hated  earth,  oh,  tell  me  sooth, 
And  cam'st  again  to  visit  us  once  more? 
Or  wert  thou  Mercy,  that  sweet-smiling  Youth? 
Or  that  crown'd  matron  sage,  white -robed  Truth? 

Or  anj  other  of  that  heavenly  brood 
Let  down  in  cloudy  throne  to  do  the  world  some  good? 

Or  wert  thou  of  the  golden-winged  host 

Who,  having  clad  thyself  in  human  weed, 

To  earth  from  thy  prefixed  seat  didst  post, 

And  after  short  abode  fly  back  with  speed, 

As  if  to  show  what  creatures  Heaven  doth  breed; 

Thereby  to  set  the  hearts  of  men  on  fire 
To  scorn  the  sordid  world,  and  unto  Heaven  aspire? 

But  oh !  why  didst  thou  not  stay  here  below 
To  bless  us  with  thy  Heaven-Iov'd  innocence. 
To  slake  His  wrath  whom  sin  had  made  our  foe. 
To  turn  swift-rushing  black  perdition  hence? 
Or  drive  away  the  slaughtering  pestilence. 

To  stand  'twixt  us  and  our  deserved  smart? 
But  thou  canst  best  perform  that  office  where  thou  art. 

Then  thou  the  mother  of  so  sweet  a  child 
Her  false  imagined  loss  cease  to  lament, 
Aud  wisely  learn  to  curb  thy  sorrows  wild; 
Think  -what  a  prese?it  thou  to  God  hast  setii. 
And  render  Him  with  patience  what  He  lent; 

This  if  thou  do,  He  will  an  offspring  give, 
That    till    the  world's    last  end  shall  make  thy  name  to 
live.* 


*  John  Milton  was  born  in  London,  on  the  9th  of  December,  1608,  and 
died  there  on  Sunday,  the  8th  of  November,  1675,  aged  67  years. 


""  Still  Thou  art  Mine  Own:'         289 

"STILL  THOU  ART  MINE   OWN." 
Paul  Gerhardt.*     (Written  in  1650.) 

Thou'rt  mine,  jes,  still  thou  art  mine  own  I 

Who  tells  me  thou  art  lost? 
But  jet  thou  art  not  mine  alone; 

I  own  that  He  who  crossed 
Mj  hopes  has  greatest  right  in  thee; 
Yea,  though  He  ask  and  take  from  me 
Thee,  O   mj  son,  my  heart's  delight, 
My  wish,-  my  thought  by  day  and  night. 

Ah  might  I  wish,  ah  might  I  choose, 

Then  thou,  my  Star,  shouldst  live, 
And  gladly  for  thy  sake  I'd  lose 

All  else  that  life  can  give. 
Oh,  fain  I'd  say,  Abide  with  me. 
The  sunshine  of  my  house  to  be; 
No  other  joy  but  this  I  crave, 
To  love  thee,  darling,  to  my  grave ! 

Thus  saith  my  heart,  and  means  it  well, 

God  meaneth  better  still : 
My  love  is  more  than  words  can  tell, 

His  love  is  greater  still; 
I  am  a  father,  He  the  Head 
And  Crown  of  fathers,  whence  is  shed 
The  life  and  love  from  which  have  sprung 
All  blessed  ties  in  old  and  young. 

I  long  for  thee  my  son,  my  own, 

And  He  who  once  hath  given. 
Will  have  thee  now  beside  His  throne. 

To  live  with  Him  in  heaven. 


»  Gerhardt  was  an   eminent   commentator  of  the   Lutheran   Church 
many,  and  the  Prince  of  German  hymn-writers. 

19 


290  ''Still  Thou  art  Mine  Own:' 

I  cry,  Alas  !    my  light,  my  child  1 
But  God  hath  welcome  on  him  smiled, 
And  said,  "My  child,  I  keep  thee  near, 
For  there  is  nought  but  gladness  here.'* 

0  blessed  word,  O  deep  decree, 
More  holy  than  we  think! 

With  God  no  grief  or  woe  can  be, 

No  bitter  cup  to  drink. 
No  sickening  hopes,  no  want  nor  care, 
No  hurt  can  ever  reach  him  there ; 
Yes,  in  that  Father's  sheltered  home 

1  know  that  sorrow  cannot  come. 

We  pass  our  nights  in  wakeful  thought 

For  our  dear  children's  sake  ; 
All  day  our  anxious  toil  hath  sought 

How  best  for  them  to  make 
A  future  safe  from  care  or  need, 
Yet  seldom  do  our  schemes  succeed ; 
How  rarely  does  their  future  prove 
What  we  had  plann'd  for  those  we  love  I 

How  many  a  child  of  promise  bright 

Ere  now  hath  gone  astray. 
By  ill  example  taught  to  slight 
And  quit  Christ's  holy  way. 
Oh,  fearful  the  reward  is  then, 
The  wrath  of  God,  the  scorn  of  men  I 
The  bitterest  tears  by  mortal  shed 
Are  his  who  inourns  a  child  misled. 

But  now  I  need  not  fear  for  thee, 
Where  thou  art,  all  is  well ; 

For  thou  thy  Father's  face  dost  see, 
With  Jesus  thou  dost  dwell ! 


^"^  Still  Thou  art  Mine  Ozvn.^''  2qi 

Yes,  cloudless  jojs  around  him  shine, 
His  heart  shall  never  ache  like  mine, 
He  sees  the  radiant  armies  glow, 
That  keep  and  guide  us  here  below : 

He  hears  their  singing  evermore, 

His  little  voice  too  sings, 
He  drinks  of  wisdom's  deepest  lore, 

He  speaks  of  secret  things. 
That  we  can  never  see  or  know 
Howe'er  we  seek  or  strive  below. 
While  yet  amid  the  mists  we  stand 
That  veil  this  dark  and  tearful  land. 

Oh  that  I  could  but  watch  afar, 

And  hearken  but  awhile. 
To  that  sweet  song  that  hath  no  jar. 

And  see  his  heavenly  smile 
As  he  doth  praise  the  holy  God 
Who  made  him  pure  for  that  abode! 
In  tears  of  joy  full  well  I  know 
This  burden'd  heart  wc3uld  overflow. 

And  I  should  say,  Stay  there,  my  son, 

My  wild  laments  are  o'er; 
Oh,  well  for  thee  that  thou  hast  won, 

I  call  thee  back  no  more  ! 
But  come,  thou  fiery  chariot,  come, 
And  bear  me  swiftly  to  that  home, 
Where  he  with  many  a  loved  one  dwells, 
And  evermore  of  gladness  tells! 

Then  be  it  as  my  Father  wills, 

I  will  not  weep  for  thee  : 
Thou  livest,  joy  thy  spirit  fills, 

Pure  sunshine  thou  dost  see, 


292  "  Go  Hence,  my  Childy 

The  sunshine  of  eternal  rest : 

Abide,  my  child,  where  thou  art,  blest; 

I  with  our  friends  will  onward  fare, 

And,  when  God  wills,  shall  find  thee  there. 


"GO   HENCE,  MY  CHILD." 

Gottfried  Hoffmann  (1658). 

Translated  from  the  German  ^^-jy  Rev.  John  Guthrie, 
M.A.,  Glasgow. 

Go  hence,  my  child  ! 
God  calls  thee  to  depart 

From  out  this  world  of  woe. 
I  weep  full  sore;  thy  death  has  wrung  my  heart; 

But  since  God  wills  it  so, 
I'll  put  all  vain  laments  away. 
And  try,  with  soul  resigned,  to  say, 
Go  hence,  my  child  ! 

Go  hence,  my  child  ! 
To  me  thou  wert  but  lent 

Awhile  on  earth  to  roam ; 
And  now  the  summons  comes;  thy  day  is  spent; 

And  thou  must  hie  thee  home. 
Then  go,  for  'tis  God's  wise  decree, 
And  as  He  wills,  so  let  it  be : 

Go  hence,  my  child  !  ' 

Go  hence,  my  child  ! 
Thou  find'st  in  heaven  that  rest 

Which  earth  could  not  bestow; 
'Tis  only  with  thy  God  thou  canst  be  blest, 

Without  one  trace  of  woe. 
Here  we  must  grieve  and  inly  pine, 
There  endless  life  and  bliss  are  thine: 
Go  hence,  my  child ! 


Dante's  Vision,  293 

Go  hence,  my  child  ! 
We  follow  all  apace, 

As  God  may  bid  us  go. 
Forth  didst  thou  haste,  ere  yet  earth's  bitterness 

Dashed  thy  young  life  below. 
A  life  prolonged  is  lingering  pain, 
An  early  death  is  speedy  gain : 
Go  hence,  my  child ! 

Go  hence,  my  child  ! 
Already  angels  wait 

To  bear  thy  spirit  bright. 
Where  God's  dear  Son  shall  meet  thee  at  heaven's  gate, 

And  crown  thy  brows  with  light. 
'Tis  well,  thy  little  soul  is  free. 
Through  Christ  thou  hast  the  victory : 
Go  hence,  my  child ! 


DANTE'S  VISION. 

Now  contemplate  the  Providence  divine ; 

Whence  Faith,  as  viewed  on  its  two  several  sides, 
Shall  equally  in  this  fair  garden  shine. 

And  know  that  downward  from  the  lofty  throne, 
Which  in  the  middle  the  two  parts  divides, 
No  one  is  there  through  merit  of  his  own. 

But  through  Another's ;  and  upon  conditions ; 
For  all  these  souls  freed  from  the  body  were. 
Ere  upon  choice  were  founded  their  volitions. 

This  may  you  be  convinced  of  (if  due  pains 

You  take  to  mark  them,  and  their  accents  hear) 
Both  by  their  looks,  and  by  their  childish  strains. 

Yet  now  you  doubt,  and  still  your  doubts  withhold : 
But  though  your  bonds  are  intricate,  yet  I 
Will  strive  your  subtle  reasonings  to  unfold. 


294  "  Ou7'  Wee  White  Rose:' 

Within  this  peaceful  kingdom's  wide  domain 
No  room  is  to  be  found  for  casualty, 
No  dwelling  there  for  hunger,  thirst,  or  pain 

For  in  this  realm  is  'stablished  every  thing 
Under  the  sanction  of  eternal  laws, 
As  to  the  finger  answereth  a  ring; 

Therefore  the  children  that  herein  do  press 
To  life  eternal,  not  without  a  cause 
Inherit  excellence  or  more  or  less. 


"OUR  WEE  WHITE   ROSE." 
Gerald  Massey. 

All  in  our  marriage  garden 

Grew,  smiling  up  to  God, 
A  bonnier  flower  than  ever 

Sucked  the  green  warmth  of  the  sod. 
Oh,  beautiful  unfathomably 

Its  little  life  unfurled  ; 
Love's  crowning  sweetness  was  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

From  out  a  balmy  bosom, 

Our  bud  of  beauty  grew; 
It  fed  on^smiles  for  sunshine, 

And  tears  for  daintier  dew. 
Aye  nestling  warm  and  tenderly, 

Our  leaves  of  love  were  curled 
So  close  and  close  about  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

Two  flowers  of  glorious  crimson 
Grew  with  our  Rose  of  light; 

Still  kept  the  sweet  heaven-grafted  slip 
Her  whiteness  saintly  white. 


"  Our  Wee  White  Rose:'  295 

I'  the  wind  of  life  they  danced  with  glee, 

And  reddened  as  it  whirled; 
More  white  and  wondrous  grew  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

With  mystical  faint  fragrance, 

Our  house  of  life  she  filled, — 
Revealed  each  hour  some  fairy  tower, 

Where  winged  Hopes  might  build. 
We  saw  —  though  none  like  us  might  see  — 

Such  precious  promise  pearled 
Upon  the  petals  of  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

But  evermore  the  halo 

Of  Angel-light  increased : 
Like  the  mystery  of  Moonlight, 

That  folds  some  fairy  feast. 
Snow-white,  snow-soft,  snow-silently, 

Our  darling  bud  up-curled. 
And  dropt  i'  the  Grave  —  God's  lap  —  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

Our  Rose  was  but  in  blossom; 

Our  Life  was  but  in  spring; 
When  down  the  solemn  midnight 

We  heard  the  Spirits  sing: 
*'  Another  bud  of  infancy. 

With  holy  dews  impearled ;  " 
And  in  their  hands  they  bore  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

You  scarce  could  think  so  small  a  thing 

Could  leave  a  loss  so  large; 
Her  little  light  such  shadow  fling, 

From  dawn  to  sunset's  marge. 


296         The  Death  of  the  First-born, 

In  other  springs  our  life  may  be 

In  bannered  bloom  unfurled; 
But  never,  never  match  our  wee 

White  Rose  of  all  the  world. 

Our  leaves  are  shaken  from  the  tree, 

Our  hopes  laid  low, 
That  after  our  Spring-nurslings,  we 

May  long  to  go. 

The  warm  love-nest  our  little  Doves  leave 

With  helpless  moan. 
As  they  for  us  at  heart  would  grieve 

In  heaven —  alone! 

The  tender  Shepherd  beckoningly 

Our  Lambs  doth  hold, 
That  we  may  take  our  own  when  He 

Makes  up  the  fold. 


THE  DEATH   OF  THE   FIRST-BORN. 
Alaric  a.  Watts. 

The  late  Sir  Robert  Peel  sent  the  following  note  to  the  accomplished  author : 
"  It  is  not  from  mere  courtesy  that  I  assure  you  that  your  name  is  respected  by 
me.  I  have  had  the  satisfaction  of  reading  many  of  your  poems.  I  particu- 
larly call  to  mind  two,  — '  The  Death  of  the  First-Bom,'  and  '  My  Own  Fire- 
Side  ; '  to  have  written  which  would  be  an  honorable  distinction  to  any  one." 

My  sweet  one  !  my  sweet  one  !  the  tears  were  in  my  eyes 

When  first  I  clasped  thee  to  my  heart,  and  heard  thy  fee- 
ble cries ; 

For  I  thought  of  all  that  I  had  borne,  as  I  bent  me  down 
to  kiss 

Thy  cherry  lips,  and  sunny  brow,  my  first-born  bud  of 
bliss! 


The  Death  of  the  Fh-st-born,         297 

I  turned  to  many  a  withered  hope,  to  years  of  grief  and 
pain, 

And  the  cruel  wrongs  of  a  bitter  world  flashed  o'er  my 
boding  brain ; 

I  thought  of  friends,  grown  worse  than  cold,  of  persecut- 
ing foes, 

And  T  asked  of  Heaven  if  ills  like  these  must  mar  thy 
youth's  repose ! 

I  gazed  upon  thy  quiet  face,  half  blinded  by  my  tears,  — 
Till  gleams  of  bliss,  unfelt  before,  came  brightening  on 

my  fears ; 
Sweet  rays  of  hope  that  fairer  shone  'mid  the  clouds  of 

gloom  that  bound  them. 
As  stars  dart  down   their  loveliest  light  when  midnight 

skies  are  round  them. 

My  sweet  one,  my  sweet  one,  thy  life's  brief  hour  is  o'er, 
And  a  father's  anxious   fear  for   thee   can   fever  me   no 

more ! 
And  for  the  hopes,  the  sun-bright  hopes,  that  blossomed 

at  thy  birth,  — 
They  too  have  fled,  to  prove  how  frail  are  cherished  things 

of  earth ! 

*Tis  true  that  thou  wert  young,  my  child,  but  though  brief 

thy  span  below. 
To  me  it  was  a  little  age  of  agony  and  woe; 
For,  from  thj^  first  faint  dawn  of  life  thy  cheek  began  to 

fade, 
And  my  lips  had  scarce  thy  welcome  breathed,  ere  my 

hopes  were  wrapt  in  shade. 

Oh  I  the  child  in  its  hours  of  health  and  bloom  that  is 

dear  as  thou  wert  then, 
Grows  far  more  prized,  more  fondly  loved,  in  sickness  and 

in  pain ; 


298  The  Death  of  the  Fi7'st-horn, 

And   thus  'twas   thine   to   prove,  dear  babe,  when  every 

hope  was  lost, — 
Ten  times  more  precious  to  my  soul,  for  all  that  thou 

hadst  cost. 

Cradled  in  thy  fair  mother's  arms,  we  watched  thee,  day 

by  day. 
Pale  like  the  second  bow  of  heaven,  as  gently  waste  away : 
And,  sick  with  dark  foreboding  fears  we  dared  not  breathe 

aloud, 
Sat,  hand  in  hand,  in   speechless   grief,  to  wait   death's 

coming  cloud ! 

It  came,  at  length, — o'er  thy  bright  blue  eye  the  film  was 

gathering  fast,  — 
And  an  awful  shade  passed  o'er  thy  brow,  the  deepest 

and  the  last; 
In  thicker  gushes  strove  thy  breath,  — we  raised  thy  droop 

ing  head; 
A  moment  more  —  the  final  pang  —  and  thou  wert  of  the 

Dead! 

Thy  gentle  mother  turned  away  to  hide  her  face  from  me, 
And  murmured  low  of  Heaven's  behests,  and  bliss  attained 

by  thee ; 
She  would  have  chid  me  that  I  mourned  a  doom  so  blest 

as  thine, 
Had  her  own  deep  grief  burst  forth  in  tears  as  wild  as 


We  laid  thee  down  in  thy  sinless  rest,  and  from    thine 

infant  brow 
Culled  one  soft  lock  of  radiant  hair,  our  only  solace  now; 
Then  placed    around   thy  beauteous   corpse   flowers,   not 

more  fair  and  sweet,  — 
Twin  rose-buds  in  thy  little  hands,  and  jasmine  at  thy 

feet. 


The  Death  of  the  First-horn.         299 

Though  other  offspring  still  be  ours,  as  fair  perchance  as 

thou, 
With   all   the  beauty  of  thy  cheek,  the  sunshine  of  thy 

brow,  — 
They   never    can    replace    the    bud    our   early    fondness 

nursed ; 
They  may  be  lovely  and  beloved,  but  not,  like  thee,  the 

First  I 

The  First  !  —  How  many  a  memory  bright  that  one  sweet 
word  can  bring, 

Of  hopes  that  blossomed,  drooped,  and  died,  in  life's  de- 
lightful spring; 

Of  fervid  feelings  passed  away,  —  those  early  seeds  of 
bliss 

That  germinate  in  hearts  unseared  by  such  a  world  as 
this! 

My  sweet  one !  my  sweet  one !  my  fairest  and  my  First! 
When  I  think  of  what  thou  mightst  have  been,  my  heart 

is  like  to  burst; 
But  gleams  of  gladness  through  my  gloom  their  soothing 

radiance  dart. 
And  my  sighs  are  hushed,  my  tears  are  dried,  when  I  turn 

to  what  thou  art ! 

Pure  as  the  snow-flake  ere  it  falls  and  takes  the  stain  of 

earth. 
With  not  a  taint  of  mortal  life  except  thy  mortal  birth, 
God  bade  thee  early  taste  the  spring  for  which  so  many 

thirst. 
And  bliss,   eternal  bliss,   is    thine,   my  fairest   and    my 

First  ! 


300  The  Angel  and  the  Infant. 

THE   ANGEL  AND   THE   INFANT. 

Theodore  Martin,  London. 

{From  the  French  of  Jean  RebouUe,  of  Nismes.') 

An  angel  over  a  cradle  stood ; 

His  visage  shone  with  a  radiant  gleam ; 
And  he  seem'd  on  his  own  fair  form  to  brood 

In  the  mirror  pure  of  a  crystal  stream. 

"  Oh,  come  to  my  home,  sweet  babe  so  fair!  " 
He  murmur'd;   "  Come  with  me  now! 

Ah,  we  shall  be  happy  together  there ; 
The  earth  is  unworthy  of  such  as  thou. 

"Its  gladness  is  never  without  alloy; 

Some  pang  from  its  best  delights  will  rise; 
A  wail  still  rings  through  its  shouts  of  joy, 

And  all  its  pleasures  are  clogg'd  with  sighs. 

*'  O'er  every  feast  is  the  fear  of  doom  ; 

No  sky  so  clear  and  serene,  but  may 
Be  blacken'd  and  riven  with  storm  and  gloom 

Before  the  dawn  of  another  day. 

*'  On  that  pure  brow  shall  the  trouble  pass 
Of  hopes  deceived,  and  of  haunting  fears? 

Shall  those  blue  eyes  be  bedimm'd,  alas! 
By  the  bitter  rain  of  regretful  tears.-* 

"No,  no!  dear  babe,  through  the  fields  of  space 
Thou  wilt  fly  with  me  to  a  better  sphere ; 

God  will  not  exact,  in  His  boundless  grace. 
The  days  that  else  thou  hadst  linger'd  here. 

*' No  soil  of  sorrow,  no  taint  of  sin, 

From  thy  sojourn  here  on  ihy  robes  shall  rest, 

The  smiles  that  usher'd  thy  young  life  in 
Shall  follow  thee  home  to  yon  region  blest. 


The  Sick  Child s  Dream,  301 

"  On  thy  forehead  no  cloud  shall  a  shadow  fling, 
Nor  the  darkness  there  of  the  grave  forecast; 

Of  so  unspotted  and  pure  a  thing 
The  loveliest  morning  is  still  its  last." 

And,  slowly  unfolding  his  wings  snow-white, 

The  angel  ceased,  and  aloft  he  fled 
To  the  blest  abodes  of  eternal  light. 

Alas !  poor  mother !     Thy  boy  is  dead ! 


THE   SICK   CHILD'S   DREAM. 
Robert  Nicoll. 

0  MiTHER,  mither,  my  head  was  sair. 
And  my  een  wi'  tears  were  weet; 

But  the  pain  has  gane  for  evermair, 

Sae,  mither,  dinna  greet : 
And  I  ha'e  had  sic  a  bonnie  dream. 

Since  last  asleep  I  fell, 
O'  a'  that  is  holy  an'  gude  to  name, 

That  I've  wauken'd  my  dream  to  tell. 

1  thought  on  the  morn  o'  a  simmer  day 
That  awa'  through  the  clouds  I  flew. 

While  my  silken  hair  did  wavin'  play, 

'Mang  breezes  steep'd  in  dew; 
And  the  happy  things  o'  life  and  light 

Were  around  my  gowden  way. 
As  they  stood  in  their  parent  Heaven's  sight 

In  the  hames  o'  nightless  day. 

An'  sangs  o'  love  that  nae  tongue  may  tell 
Frae  their  hearts  cam'  flowin'  free. 

Till  the  stars  stood  still,  while  alang  did  swell 
The  plaintive  melodie. 


302  The  Sick  Child's  Dream, 

And  ane  o'  them  sang  wi'  my  mither's  voice, 

Till  through  my  heart  did  gae 
That  chanted  hymn  o'  my  bairnhood's  choice 

Sae  dowie,  saft,  an'  wae. 

Thae  happy  things  o'  the  glorious  sky 

Did  lead  me  far  awaj^, 
Where  the  stream  o'  life  rins  never  dry, 

Where  naething  kens  decay; 
And  they  laid  me  down  in  a  mossy  bed, 

Wi'  curtains  o'  spring  leaves  green, 
And  the  Name  o'  God  they  praying  said, 

And  a  light  came  o'er  my  een. 

And  I  saw  the  earth  that  I  had  left, 

And  I  saw  my  mither  there ; 
And  I  saw  her  grieve  that  she  was  bereft 

O'  the  bairn  she  thought  sae  fair; 
And  I  saw  her  pine  till  her  spii-it  fled  — 

Like  a  bird  to  its  young  one's  nest  — 
To  that  land  of  love;  and  my  head  was  laid 

Again  on  my  mither's  breast. 

And,  mither,  ye  took  me  by  the  hand. 

As  ye  were  wont  to  do, 
And  your  loof,  sae  saft  and  white,  I  fand 

Laid  on  my  caller  brow; 
And  my  lips  you  kiss'd,  and  my  curling  hair 

You  round  your  fingers  wreath'd  ; 
And  I  kent  that  a  happy  mither's  prayer 

Was  o'er  me  silent  breath'd. 

And  we  wander'd  through  that  happy  land, 

That  was  gladly  glorious  a'; 
The  dwellers  there  were  an  angel-band, 

And  their  voices  o'  love  did  fa' 


The  Sick  Child's  Dream.  303 

On  our  ravish'd  ears  like  the  deein'  tones 

O'  an  anthem  far  away, 
In  a  starn-lit  hour,  when  the  woodland  moans 

That  its  green  is  turn'd  to  gray. 

And,  mither,  amang  the  sorrowless  there, 

We  met  my  brithers  three, 
And  your  bonnie  May,  my  sister  fair, 

And  a  happy  bairn  was  she ; 
And  she  led  me  awa'  'mang  living  flowers, 

As  on  earth  she  aft  has  done; 
And  thegither  we  sat  in  the  holy  bowers 

Where  the  blessed  rest  aboon. 

And  she  tauld  me  I  was  in  Paradise, 

Where  God  in  love  doth  dwell, 
Where  the  weary  rest,  and  the  mourner's  voice 

Forgets  its  warld-wail ; 
And  she  tauld  me  they  kentna  dull  nor  care; 

And  bade  me  be  glad  to  dee, 
That  yon  sinless  land  and  the  dwellers  there 

Might  be  hame  and  kin  to  me. 

Then  sweetly  a  voice  came  on  my  ears. 

And  it  sounded  sae  holily, 
That  my  heart  grew  saft,  and  blabs  o'  tears 

Sprung  up  in  my  sleepin'  e'e ; 
And  my  inmost  soul  was  sairly  moved 

Wi'  its  mair  than  mortal  joy; 
'Twas  the  voice  o'  Him  who  bairnies  loved 

That  wauken'd  your  dreamin'  boy ! 


304  The  Child  in  Heaven. 


THE   CHILD  IN   HEAVEN. 
Mary  Howitt,  London. 

We  meet  around  the  board,  thou  art  not  there ; 

Over  our  household  jojs  hath  passed  a  gloom; 
Beside  the  fire  we  see  thy  empty  chair, 

And  miss  thy  sweet  voice  in  the  silent  room. 
What  hopeless  longings  after  thee  arise ! 
Even  for  the  touch  of  thy  small  hand  I  pine; 

And  for  the  sound  of  thy  dear  little  feet. 
Alas  !  tears  dim  mine  eyes, 
Meeting  in  every  place  some  joy  of  thine, 

Or  when  fair  children  pass  me  on  the  street. 

Beauty  was  on  thy  cheek;  and  thou  didst  seem 

A  privileged  being,  chartered  from  decay; 
And  thy  free  spirit,  like  a  mountain  stream 

That  hath  no  ebb,  kept  on  its  cheerful  way. 

Thy  laugh  was  like  the  inspiring  breath  of  spring, 
That  thrills  the  heart,  and  cannot  be  unfelt. 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  green  leaves  and  the  flowers. 
And  every  living  thing. 
Were  a  strong  joy  to  thee  ;  thy  spirit  dwelt 

Gladly  in  life,  rejoicing  in  its  powers. 

Oh !  what  had  death  to  do  with  one  like  thee, 

Thou  young  and  loving  one,  whose  soul  did  cling 
Even  as  the  ivy  clings  unto  the  tree, 

To  those  that  loved  thee.-*    Thou,   whose  tears  would 
spring 
Dreading  a  short  day's  absence,  —  didst  thou  go 
Alone  into  the  future  world  unseen. 
Solving  each  awful  untried  mystery, 
The  dread  unknown  to  know  ; 
To  be  where  mortal  traveller  hath  not  been, 

Whence  welcome  tidings  cannot  come  from  thee  ? 


A  Child's  Grave  at  Florence.         305 

My  happy  boy!   and  murmur  I  that  death 

Over  thy  young  and  buoyant  frame  hath  power? 
In  yon  bright  land  love  never  perisheth, 

Hope  may  not  mock,  nor  grief  the  heart  devour. 
The  beautiful  are  round  thee;   thou  dost  keep 
Within  the  Eternal  presence;  and  no  more  1 

May'st  death  or  pain  or  separation  dread  : 
Thy  bright  eyes  cannot  weep, 
Nor  they  with  whom  thou  art  thy  loss  deplore; 

For  ye  are  of  the  living,  not  the  dead. 

Thou  dweller  with  the  unseen,  who  hast  explored 

The    immense   unknown ;     thou   to    whom   death    and 
heaven 
Are  mysteries  no  more ;  whose  soul  is  stored 

With  knowledge  for  which  man  hath  vainly  striven; 
Beloved  Child,  oh  !  when  shall  I  lie  down 
With  thee  beneath  fair  trees  that  cannot  fade? 

When  from  the  immortal  rivers  quench  my  thirst? 
Life's  journey  speedeth  on  ; 
Yet  for  a  little  while  we  walk  in  shade ; 

Anon  by  death  the  cloud  is  all  dispersed, 
Then  o'er  the  hills  of  heaven  the  eternal  day  doth  burst. 


A  CHILD'S  GRAVE   AT  FLORENCE. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

This  July  creature  thought,  perhaps, 

Our  speech  not  worth  assuming; 
She  sat  upon  her  parents'  laps, 

And  mimicked  the  gnats  humming; 
Said,  "father,"  "  mother,"  —  then  left  off, 
Fortongues  celestial,  fitter; 
Her  hair  had  grown  just  long  enough 
To  catch  Heaven's  jasper-glitter. 
20 


3o6         A  Child's  Grave  at  Florence, 

Babes !  Love  could  always  hear  and  see 
Behind  the  cloud  that  hid  them, 

"  Let  little  children  come  to  Me, 
And  do  not  thou  forbid  them." 


Poor  earth,  poor  heart,  — too  weak,  too  weak 

To  miss  the  July  shining! 
Poor  heart! — what  bitter  words  we  speak 

When  God  speaks  of  resigning! 
Sustain  this  heart  in  us  that  faints, 

Thou  God  the  Self-Existent! 
We  catch  up  wild  at  parting  saints, 

And  feel  Thy  heaven  too  distant. 
The  wind  that  swept  them  out  of  sin, 

Has  ruffled  all  our  vesture  : 
On  the  shut  door  that  let  them  in, 

We  beat  with  frantic  gesture.  — 
To  us,  us  also,  open  straight! 
The  outer  life  is  chilly; 
Are  we,  too,  like  the  earth  to  wait 

Till  next  year  for  our  Lily?* 
—  Oh,  my  own  baby  on  my  knees, 

My  leaping,  dimpled  treasure. 
At  every  word  I  write  like  these. 

Clasped  close  with  stronger  pressure  I 
Too  well  my  own  heart  understands,  — 

At  every  word  beats  fuller,  — 
My  little  feet,  my  little  hands. 

And  hair  of  Lily's  color. 
But  God  gives  patience,  Love  learns  strength, 

And  Faith  remembers  promise. 
And  Hope  itself  can  smile  at  length 

On  other  hopes  gone  from  us. 
Love,  strong  as  Death,  shall  conquer  Death, 
Through  struggle,  made  more  glorious : 

*  "  Lily,"  the  pet  name  of  the  child. 


A  Child's  Grave  at  Florence,         307 


This  mother  stills  her  sobbing  breath, 

Renouncing  yet  victorious. 
Arms,  empty  of  her  child,  she  lifts 

With  spirit  unbereaven,  — 
"  God  will  not  take  back  all  His  gifts ; 

My  Lily's  mine  in  heaven. 
Still  mine!  maternal  rights  serene, 

Not  given  to  another! 
The  crystal  bars  shine  faint  between 

The  souls  of  child  and  mother. 
Meanwhile,"  the  mother  cries,  "content I 

Our  love  was  well  divided  : 
Its  sweetness  following  where  she  went. 

Its  anguish  stayed  where  I  did. 
Well  done  of  God,  to  halve  the  lot, 

And  give  her  all  the  sweetness ; 
To  us,  the  empty  room,  and  cot, — 

To  her,  the  Heaven's  completeness. 
To  us,  this  grave,  —  to  her,  the  rows 

The  mystic  palm-trees  spring  in; 
To  us,  the  silence  in  the  house,  — 

To  her,  the  choral  singing. 
For  her,  to  gladden  in  God's  view, — 

For  us,  to  hope  and  bear  on, 
Grow,  Lily,  in  thy  garden  new 

Beside  the  Rose  of  Sharon  ! 
Grow  fast  in  Heaven,  sweet  Lily  clipped, 

In  love  more  calm  than  this  is. 
And  maj'  the  angels,  dewy-lipped. 

Remind  thee  of  our  kisses! 
While  none  shall  tell  thee  of  our  tears. 

These  human  tears  now  falling. 
Till,  after  a  few  patient  years, 

One  home  shall  take  us  all  in  — 
Child,  father,  mother  —  who  left  out? 

Not  mother,  and  not  father! 


l/f 


3o8  A  Messenger  of  Heaven, 

And  when,  our  dying  couch  about, 
The  natural  mists  shall  gather, — 

Some  smiling  angel  close  shall  stand, 
In  old  Correggio's  fashion, 

And  bear  a  Lily  in  his  hand, 
For  death's  Annunciation." 


A  MESSENGER   OF  HEAVEN. 

Mrs.  Hemans. 

No  bitter  tears  for  thee  be  shed. 

Blossom  of  being!  seen  and  gone. 
With  flowers  alone  we  strew  thy  bed, 

O  blest  departed  One  ! 
Whose  all  of  life,  a  rosy  ray, 
Blush'd  into  dawn  and  pass'd  away. 

Yes!  thou  art  fled,  ere  guilt  had  power 

To  stain  thy  cherub  soul  and  form; 
Closed  is  the  soft  ephemeral  flower, 
That  never  felt  a  storm  ! 
$  The  sunbeam's  smile,  the  zephyr's  breath, 
All  that  it  knew  from  birth  to  death. 

Thou  wert  so  like  a  form  of  light, 

That  Heaven  benignly  call'd  thee  hence 
Ere  yet  the  world  could  breathe  one  blight 

O'er  thy  sweet  innocence  : 
And  thou,  that  brighter  home  to  bless, 
Art  pass'd  with  all  thy  loveliness ! 

Oh !  hadst  thou  still  on  earth  remained, 

Vision  of  beauty!  fair,  as  brief! 
How  soon  thy  brightness  had  been  stain'd 

With  passion  or  with  grief! 
Now  not  a  sullying  breath  can  rise 
To  dim  thy  glory  in  the  skies. 


The  Garden  Rosebud,  309 

We  rear  no  marble  o'er  thy  tomb,    - 

No  sculptured  image  there  shall  mourn; 
Ah  !  fitter  far  the  vernal  bloom 

Such  dwelling  to  adorn  ; 
Fragrance  and  flowers  and  dews  must  be 
The  only  emblems  meet  for  thee. 

Thy  grave  shall  be  a  blessed  shrine, 

Adorn'd  with  nature's  brightest  wreath ; 
Each  glowing  season  shall  combine 

Its  incense  there  to  breathe ; 
And  oft  upon  the  midnight  air 
Shall  viewless  harps  be  murmuring  there. 


THE   GARDEN  ROSEBUD. 

Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 
{In  Memory  of  Amite,  ivho  died  at  Milan,  June  6^  i860.) 

In  the  fair  gardens  of  celestial  peace, 
Walketh  a  Gardener  in  meekness  clad; 

Fair  are  the  flowers  that  wreathe  His  dewy  locks, 
And  His  mysterious  eyes  are  sweet  and  sad. 

Fair  are  the  silent  foldings  of  His  robes. 
Falling  with  saintly  calmness  to  His  feet: 

And  when  He  walks,  each  floweret  to  His  will 
With  living  pulse  of  sweet  accord  doth  beat. 

Every  green  leaf  thrills  to  its  tender  heart. 
In  the  mild  summer  radiance  of  His  eye; 

No  fear  of  storm,  or  cold,  or  bitter  frost, 

Shadows  the  flowerets  when  their  sun  is  nigh. 


3IO  The  Garden  Rosebud, 

And  all  our  pleasant  haunts  of  earthly  love 
Are  nurseries  to  those  gardens  of  the  air; 

And  His  far-darting  eye,  with  starry  beam, 
Watcheth  the  growing  of  His  treasures  there. 

We  call  them  ours,  o'erwept  with  selfish  tears, 

O'erwatched  with  restless  longings  night  and  day; 

Forgetful  of  the  high,  mysterious  right 

He  holds  to  bear  our  cherished  plants  away. 

But  when  some  sunny  spot  in  those  bright  fields 
Needs  the  fair  presence  of  an  added  flower, 

Down  sweeps  a  starry  angel  in  the  night; 

At  morn  the  rose  has  vanished  from  our  bower. 

Where  stood  our  tree,  our  flower,  there  is  a  gravel 
Blank,  silent,  vacant,  but  in  worlds  above; 

Like  a  new  star  outblossom'd  in  the  skies, 
The  angels  hail  an  added  flower  of  love. 

Dear  friend,  no  more  upon  that  lonely  mound, 
Strewed  with  the  red  and  yellow  autumn  leaf, 

Drop  thou  the  tear,  but  raise  the  fainting  ej^e 
Beyond  the  autumn  mists  of  earthly  grief. 

Thy  garden  rosebud  bore  within  its  breast 
Those  mysteries  of  color,  warm  and  bright, 

That  the  bleak  climate  of  this  lower  sphere 
Could  never  waken  into  form  and  light. 

Yes,  the  sweet  Gardener  has  borne  her  hence, 
Nor  must  thou  ask  to  take  her  thence  away; 

Thou  shalt  behold  her  in  some  coming  hour, 
Full-blossom'd  in  His  fields  of  cloudless  day  I 


"6>  Little  Child r'  311 


"O   LITTLE   CHILD!" 

J.  Stanyan  Bigg,  Ulverston. 

Not  always  are  we  in  the  weary  mart; 

Not  always  are  we  plodding  in  the  streets. 

We,  in  our  rural  home,  when  the  gray  dusk 

Falls  upon  copse  and  meadow,  saunter  out. 

And  do  not  talk,  but  think  of  thee,  O  child  ! 

And  in  the  night,  when  heavy  hearts  are  hushed, 

In  the  deep  night  we  hear  the  beating  rain, 

And  in  the  beating  rain  the  wailing  wind, 

And  in  the  wailing  wind  a  cry,  a  low, 

Soft  cry,  not  as  of  agony,  but  bliss,  — 

A  silvery  cry,  as  though  we  heard  a  thrill 

Of  spirit-music,  far  beyond  the  rain, 

Beyond  the  wailings  of  the  wind,  beyond 

The  storms  and  gloomy  reaches  of  the  night,  — 

Out  of  the  golden  spaces  far  beyond  : 

And  then  we  dream.     We  do  but  dream,  O  child ! 

O  little  child!  that  camest,  and  art  gone, 

That  wert  our  child,  and  art  our  child  no  more. 

We  dream  thou  hast  not  yet  forgotten  us. 

But  yearnest  from  thy  starry  home,  as  we 

Yearn  towards  the  heavens  for  thee.     We  do  but  dream, 

And  in  our  dreamings  are  not  quite  forlorn. 

Thy  room  is  here,  sweet  babe !  We  enter  it, 

The  room,  but  oh  !  the  child.    Thy  little  bed 

Is  white  in  moonlight;  —  oh !  for  the  beauteous  form. 

Thy  toys  are  trembling  in  our  palms ;  —  but  oh ! 

The  tiny,  dimpled  hands  that  fingered  them. 

The  stairs  are  here ;  —  but  oh  !  the  little  feet ! 

Gone !     Gone  for  ever !     Yet  we  hope  to  reach 

The  heaven  that  holds  thee;  and  with  humble  hearts, 

Thank  God  for  thee,  O  child !  We  know  that  thou 

Art  seeing  now,  and  not  as  in  a  dream. 


312    The  Dying  Mothe7'  and  her  Child, 

The  things  we  long  for,  and  shall  never  see 
Until  we  join  thee  in  the  after-world;  — 
Thee,  little  child  !  who  earnest,  and  art  gone, 
Who  wert  our  child,  and  art  our  child  no  more, 
Being  familiar  with  the  floor  of  heaven. 
And  dwelling  nigh  unto  the  throne  of  God ! 


THE  DYING  MOTHER  AND   HER  CHILD. 

Robert  Pollok,  A.M. 

Our  sighs  were  numerous,  and  profuse  our  tears; 

For  she  we  lost  was  lovely,  and  we  loved 

Her  much.     Fresh  in  our  memory,  as  fresh 

As  yesterday,  is  yet  the  day  she  died. 

It  was  an  April  day;   and  blithely  all 

The  youth  of  Nature  leaped  beneath  the  sun, 

And  promised  glorious  manhood;  and  our  hearts 

Were  glad,  and  round  them  danced  the  lightsome  blood« 

In  healthy  merriment,  when  tidings  came 

A  child  was  born ;  and  tidings  came  again 

That  she  who  gave  it  birth  was  sick  to  death. 

So  swift  trod  sorrow  on  the  heels  of  joy ! 

We  gathered  round  her  bed,  and  bent  our  knees 

In  fervent  supplication  to  the  Throne 

Of  Mercy,  and  perfumed  our  prayers  with  sighs 

Sincere,  and  penitential  tears,  and  looks 

Of  self-abasement;  but  we  sought  to  stay 

An  angel  on  the  earth,  a  spirit  ripe 

For  heaven  ;  and  Mercy,  in  her  love,  refused  : 

Most  merciful,  as  oft,  when  seeming  least! 

Most  gracious  when  she  seemed  the  most  to  frown! 

The  room  I  well  remember,  and  the  bed 

On  which  she  lay,  and  all  the  faces,  too, 

That  crowded  dark  and  mournfully  around. 


The  Dying  Mother  and  her  Child.    313 

Her  father  there,  and  mother,  bending,  stood; 

And  down  their  aged  cheeks  fell  many  drops 

Of  bitterness.     Her  husband,  too,  was  there, 

And  brothers,  and  they  wept;  her  sisters,  too, 

Did  weep  and  sorrow,  comfortless ;  and  I 

Too  wept,  though  not  to  weeping  given  :  and  all 

Within  the  house  was  dolorous  and  sad. 

This  1  remember  well ;  but  better  still 

I  do  remember,  and  will  ne'er  forget. 

The  dying  eye !     That  eye  alone  was  bright, 

And  brighter  grew  as  nearer  death  approached : 

As  I  have  seen  the  gentle  little  flower 

Look  fairest  in  the  silver  beam  which   fell 

Reflected  from  the  thunder-cloud,  that  soon 

Came  down,  and  o'er  the  desert  scattered  far 

Apd  wide  its  loveliness.     She  made  a  sign 

To  bring  her  babe  :  'twas  brought,  and  by  her  placed. 

She  looked  upon  its  face,  that  neither  smiled 

Nor  wept,  nor  knew  who  gazed  upon  't ;  and  laid 

Her  hand  upon  its  little  breast,  and  sought 

For  it,  with  look  that  seem'd  to  penetrate 

The  heavens,  unutterable  blessings,  such 

As  God  to  dying  parents  only  granted, 

For  infants  left  behind  them  in  the  world. 

"  God  keep  my  child !  "  we  heard  her  say,  and  heard 

No  more.     The  Angel  of  the  Covenant 

Was  come,  and,  faithful  to  His  promise,  stood 

Prepared  to  walk  with  her  through  death's  dark  vale. 

And  now  her  eyes  grew  bright,  and  brighter  still, 

Too  bright  for  ours  to  look  upon,  suffused 

With  many  tears,  and  closed  without  a  cloud. 

They  set,  as  sets  the  morning  star,  which  goes 

Not  down  behind  the  darkened  west,  nor  hides 

Obscured  among  the  tempests  of  the  sky, 

But  melts  away  into  the  light  of  heaven. 


314  ^^  The  Dew-drops  Gone,^^ 

JESUS   IN  THE   STORM. 

Rev.  Dr.  Alex.  Wallace,  Glasgow. 

.    Sad,  sad  thoughts  and  weary 
Had  preyed  upon  my  mind; 
A  darkness  deep  and  dreary 
Had  made  me  sick  and  blind. 

But  now  upon  the  ocean 
Of  troubled  thoughts  I  see 

My  Saviour's  graceful  motion  : 
He  Cometh  unto  me. 

The  winds  and  waves  He  stilleth, 

And  all  is  calm  again; 
My  soul  with  life  He  filleth. 

Like  sunshine  after  rain. 

The  eye  of  faith  is  beaming 
With  joy  sen-t  from  above ; 

The  rainbow  cloud  is  streaming, 
The  pledge  of  constant  love. 

My  loosened  tongue  adoreth 
The  greatness  of  His  might; 

His  smile  alone  restoreth 
The  darken'd  soul  to  light. 


*'THE  DEW-DROPS   GONE." 

John  Critchley  Prince,  Lancashire. 

*'Oh,  dearest  mother!  tell  me,  pray. 

Why  are  the  dew-drops  gone  so  soon? 
Could  they  not  stay  till  close  of  day 
To  sparkle  on  the  flowery  spray, 
Or  on  the  fields  till  noon.^" 


"  The  Dew-drofs  Gone,'''  315 

The  mother  gazed  upon  her  boy, 

Earnest  with  thought  beyond  his  years, 

And  felt  a  sharp  and  sad  annoy, 

That  meddled  with  her  deepest  joy; 
But  she  restrained  her  tears. 

*'My  child,  'tis  said  such  beauteous  things, 

Too  often  loved  with  vain  excess, 
Are  swept  away  by  angel  wings, 
Before  contamination  clings 

To  their  frail  loveliness. 

Behold  yon  rainbow,  brightening  yet! 

To  which  all  mingled  hues  are  given; 
There  are  thy  dew-drops,  grandly  set 
In  a  resplendent  coronet 

Upon  the  brow  of  heaven. 

No  stain  of  earth  can  reach  them  there. 
Woven  with  sunbeams  there  they  shine, 

A  transient  vision  of  the  air, 

But  yet  a  symbol,  pure  and  fair. 
Of  love  and  peace  divine." 

The  boy  gazed  upward  into  space. 

With  eager  and  inquiring  eyes. 
Whilst  o'er  his  sweet  and  thoughtful  face 
Came  a  faint  glory,  and  a  grace 

Transmitted  from  the  skies. 

Ere  the  last  odorous  sigh  of  May, 
That  child  lay  down  beneath  the  sod! 

Like  dew  his  young  soul  passed  away, 

To  mingle  with  the  brighter  day 
That  veils  the  throne  of  God. 

Mother!  thy  fond,  foreboding  heart 

Truly  foretold  thy  loss  and  pain ; 
But  thou  didst  choose  the  patient  part 
Of  resignation  to  the  smart, 

And  owned  thy  loss  his  gain. 


3i6  The  Rosebuds, 


THE   ROSEBUDS. 

Rev.  William  M.  Taylor,  A.M.,  Liverpool. 

A  ROSE-TREE  bj  mj  house-side  I  did  plant, 

And  in  its  growing  I  took  great  delight; 

I  nailed  its  branches  to  the  wall,  and  watched 

Them  spread,  until  thej  wreathed  my  window  round 

With  leafy  beauty.     Every  time  I  looked 

Abroad,  its  verdure  feasted  my  glad  eyes ; 

And  when,  returning  from  my  vineyard  work 

At  night,  I  sought  my  home,  I  lingered  still 

Upon  the  threshold,  that  once  more  I  might. 

Before  I  slept,  behold  its  loveliness 

Each  little  spray  I  knew,  its  very  leaves 

I  numbered,  and  with  rapture  saw  at  length. 

One  morning,  'mid  the  sparkling  drops  of  dew. 

Its  virgin  buds  peep  out,  their  conic  forms 

All  fringed  with  mossy  softness,  and  the  white 

Beneath  half  covered,  half  revealed.     I  clapped 

My  hands  for  joy,  and  called  my  friends  and  showed 

My  new  discovered  riches.     Nine  there  were. 

All  lovely,  and  I  said,  with  heart  sincere,  — 

**  As  each  one  ripens  to  its  fragrance  full, 

I'll  give  it  to  my  Lord ;  "  for  this  had  been 

My  purpose  from  the  planting  of  the  tree; 

And  this  it  was  that  made  my  joy  so  rich. 

I  left  my  home  that  morning  as  my  wont, 

Only  my  heart  was  blither  than  sometimes, 

And,  at  my  work,  I  thought  full  oft  about 

My  rosebuds,  wondering  much  what  like  they'd  be 

At  my  return,  and  almost  wishing  that 

The  day  were  done,  that  I  might  see  them  still 

Again.     The  evening  came,  I  hastened  home, 

And  looked  ;  and  lo  !  there  were  no  more  than  seven  I 

Some  hand  had  plucked  the  other  two,  and  left 

The  stem  on  which  they  grew  a  broken  thing. 


Parental  Consolation.  317 

I  sighed,  and  cried,  and  wept,  and  like  to  her, 

Whose  bitter  wail  of  old  made  Ramah  sad, 

I  would  not  be  consoled.     Long  time  I  stood 

And  gazed  in  blank  perplexity.     I  could 

Not  speak  for  tears ;  but  when  I  turned  I  saw 

My  Lord  himself,  with  my  twain  buds  upon 

His  breast.     "I  gathered  them,"  He  said,  and  that 

Was  all ;  but  yet  it  was  enough  to  soothe 

My  wounded  spirit;  so  I  calmly  said, — 

*'  For  Thee,  dear  Lord,  I  meant-them  from  the  first; 

I  thought,  indeed,  to  keep  them  till  full  blown, 

And  then  present  them  at  their  best  to  Thee, 

Not  deeming  that  Thou  caredst  for  them  thus. 

But,  as  Thou  wilt,  Thy  best  is  best,  and  if 

I  erred  in  my  poor  thoughts,  forgive,  nor  chide 

My  tears.    That  which  I  had  designed  for  them 

At  last,  is  given  me,  only  sooner  than 

I  first  had  planned.     But  my  great  end  is  gained, 

And  since  Thou  wear'st  them  on  Thy  breast,  '  It's  well !  '** 


PARENTAL   CONSOLATION. 
Rev.  John  Guthrie,  M.A.,  Glasgow. 

When  troubles  like  a  tempest  sweep. 

And  tides  of  fierce  temptation  roll. 
As  deep,  remorseless,  calls  to  deep. 

Around  my  whelmed  and  sinking  soul ; 
Lo !  He  is  near,  my  Saviour  dear. 

Who  trode  affliction's  path; 
Who  walked  the  wave,  despoiled  the  grave, 

And  plucked  the  sting  from  death. 

If  in  bereavement's  bitter  cup 
Some  dregs  continue  to  the  end. 

As  memory  wakes  the  image  up 
Of  parent,  brother,  sister,  friend; 


3i8  Resigned  in  Hope, 

Mj  Lord  who  wept  o'er  him  that  slept, 
And  soothed  the  sisters  twain, 

From  heaven  on  high,  with  tender  eje, 
Still  marks  the  mourner's  pain. 

When  weeping  o'er  my  children's  grave, 

As  if  to  rescue  from  its  gloom 
The  golden  hopes  that  childhood  gave. 

Now  quenched  and  buried  in  their  tomb; 
Thou  fondling  arm,  thou  bosom  warm, 

Where  babes  of  old  were  pressed, 
I  joy  to  see  my  lambs  with  Thee, 

Safe  folded  on  Thj  breast! 

If  infants  none  in  heaven  were  found. 

To  glad  its  golden  street, 
*0-  But  only  star-bright  victors  crowned, 

Then  heaverr  were  incomplete. 
Such  stars  may  gem  Christ's  diadem, 

Yet  infants  too  have  place; 
These  flowerets  young  are  garlands  strung, 

Sweet  trophies  of  His  grace. 


RESIGNED   IN   HOPE. 
William  T.  M'Auslane,  Glasgow. 

Our  little  boy  is  gone ! 
His  gladsome  voice,  whose  music  lately  filled 
Our  homes  and  hearts,  is  now  for  ever  stilled! 
How  changed  his  looks !    Closed  are  his  bright  eyes  now; 
Pale  is  his  cheek,  as  marble  cold  his  brow;* 
Those  limbs,  before  so  active,  are  at  rest. 
The  spring  is  broken,  motionless  the  breast, 

Life,  light,  and  joy  are  flown  ! 


To  a  Bereaved  Mother,  319 

Oh,  earthly  hopes,  how  vain  ! 
Frail  is  the  fabric,  fair  though  it  appear, 
Which  on  uncertain  human  life  we  rear; 
Before  some  sudden  storm  it  yields  away, 
A  ruin  lies,  and  sinks  into  decay. 
So  have  our  hopes  of  what,  in  future  days, 
Our  boy  might  prove,  crumbled  before  our  gaze, 

Ne'er  to  revive  again  ! 

But  why  should  we  repine? 
Our  darling  child  was  only  ours  in  loan, 
God,  when  he  lent  him,  tent  what  was  His  own. 
And  shall  we  feel  displeased  He  now  should  come 
To  claim  and  take  him  to  the  Heavenly  Home? 
Oh,  rather  let  us,  though  'tis  sad  to  part. 
Yield  up  the  loved  one,  and,  with  thankful  heart, 

Bow  to  the  will  Divine! 

Then  let  our  tearful  eyes 
Turn  from  the  little  tenement  of  clay 
From  which  the  ransom'd  soul  has  passed  away; 
Let  us  behold,  by  faith,  that  land  so  fair, 
Now  dearer  to  us  that  our  boy  is  there. 
And  may  we  seek  to  join  him  on  that  shore 
Where,  when  we  meet,  we  meet  to  part  no  more, 

But  dwell  beyond  the  skies. 


TO   A  BEREAVED   MOTHER. 

Rev.    Henry  Batchelor,  Glasgow. 

The  life  ethereal,  sublime, 

Wastes  not  beneath  the  senseless  clod. 

The  folded  bud  has  changed  its  clime, 

And  opens  in  the  light  of  God; 

The  soul  its  mortal  chrysalis  has  riven, 

And  spreads  its  wings  a  seraph  bright  in  heaven. 


320  "  The  Angels  Singing" 

THE   CONTRAST. 

Rev.  a.  Wallace,  D.D.,  Glasgow. 

Weep  not  for  me  :  the  smoking  flax 

Shall  flame  in  heaven  a  radiant  star; 
The  bruised  reed  shall  stronger  wax, 

In  grace  and  strength  surpassing  far 
The  cedar  on  the  mountain's  brow,  — 
No  withered,  wavering  weakling  now, 
But  fairest  workmanship  of  love, 
A  pillar  in  the  courts  above. 


"THE   ANGELS   SINGING." 
James  D.  Burns,  M.A.,  London. 

I  HEARD  the  angels  singing 

As  they  went  up  through  the  sky, 
A  sweet  infant's  spirit  bringing 

To  its  Father's  house  on  high : 
"  Happy  thou,  so  soon  ascended. 

With  thy  shining  raiment  on  ! 
Happy  thou,  whose  race  is  ended 

With  a  crown  so  quickly  won  ! 

Hushed  is  now  thy  lamentation. 

And  the  first  words  to  thee  given 
Will  be  words  of  adoration 

In  the  blessed  speech  of  Heaven ; 
For  the  blood  thou  mightst  have  slighted 

Hath  now  made  thee  pure  within. 
And  the  evil  seed  is  blighted 

That  had  ripened  unto  sin. 


Not  Dead  but  Changed,  321 

"  We  will  lead  thee  bj  a  river, 

Where  the  flowers  are  blooming  fair; 
We  will  sing  to  thee  for  ever, 

For  no  night  may  darken  there. 
Thou  shalt  walk  in  robes  of  glory; 

Thou  shalt  wear  a  golden  crown ; 
Thou  shalt  sing  Redemption's  storj, 

With  the  saints  around  the  throne. 

"Thou  shalt  see  that  better  country, 

Where  a  tear-drop  never  fell,  — 
Where  a  foe  made  never  entry. 

And  a  friend  ne'er  said  farewell 
Where,  upon  the  radiant  faces 

That  will  shine  on  thee  alway, 
Thou  shalt  never  see  the  traces 

Of  estrangement  or  decay. 

"Thee  we  bear,  a  lily-blossom 

To  a  sunnier  clime  above; 
There  to  lay  thee  in  a  bosom 

Warm  with  more  than  mother's  love. 
Happy  thou,  so  timely  gathered 

From  a  region  cold  and  bare. 
To  bloom  on,  a  flower  unwither'd. 

Through  an  endless  summer  there  I  ** 


NOT  DEAD,   BUT   CHANGED. 

William  Freeland,  Glasgow. 

Late  living,  and  now  dead !     O  beauteous  boy. 
So  early  dead,  who  wast  so  late  a  joy ! 
Ah,  me!  how  still  and  strange 
Is  this  God's  dream  of  change ! 
Transfigured  in  the  light  of  death. 
Thou  seemest  breathing  without  breath  ! 
21 


322        The  Lambs  all  Safely  Folded. 

How  shall  we  fill  our  hearts  with  other  glee, 
Who  loved,  of  all  the  world,  but  thee  — but  thee ! 

Can  ever  we  behold 

So  sweet  a  bud  unfold? 
O  pale  cold  snowdrop  of  our  married  spring, 
How  deep  God  pierces  with  so  slight  a  thing! 

So  slight  a  thing!     Man's  pyramids  shall  yield 
Their  high  borne  heads  unto  the  humblest  field  : 

Each  ancient  star  and  sun 

Shall  crumble  one  by  one  : 
But  thou,  who  keep'st  with  death  such  early  tryste, 
Shalt  bloom  eternal  in  the  realms  of  Christ  ! 


THE   LAMBS  ALL   SAFELY  FOLDED. 

I  LOVED  them  so. 
That  when  the  Elder  Shepherd  of  the  fold 
Came,  covered  with  the  storm,  and  pale  and  cold, 
And  begged  for  one  of  my  sweet  lambs  to  hold, 

I  bade  Him  go. 

He  claimed  the  pet; 
A  little  fondling  thing,  that  to  my  breast 
Clung  always,  either  in  quiet  or  unrest; 
I  thought  of  all  my  lambs  I  loved  him  best, 

And  yet —  and  yet  — 

.  I  laid  him  down, 
In  those  white  shrouded  arms,  with  bitter  tears ; 
For  some  voice  told  me  that,  in  after  years. 
He  should  know  nought  of  passion,  grief,  or  fears, 
As  I  had  known. 


The  Larnbs  all  Safely  Folded.        323 

And  jet  again 
That  Elder  Shepherd  came;  my  heart  grew  faint: 
He  claim'd  another  lamb,  with  sadder  plaint. 
Another!     She,  who,  gentle  as  a  saint, 

Ne'er  gave  me  pain. 

Aghast  I  turned  away; 
There  sat  she,  lovely  as  an  angel's  dream, 
Her  golden  locks  with  sunlight  all  agleam. 
Her  holy  eyes  with  heaven  in  their  beam ; 

I  knelt  to  pray  : 

"Is  it  Thy  will.? 
My  Father!  say,  must  this  pet  lamb  be  given.? 
Oh,  Thou  hast  many  such,  dear  Lord,  in  heaven ! " 
And  a  soft  voice  said,  "Nobly  hast  thou  striven; 

But  —  peace,  be  still ! " 

Oh,  how  I  wept 
And  clasped  her  to  my  bosom,  with  a  wild 
And  yearning  love,  —  my  lamb,  my  pleasant  child  ! 
Her,  too,  I  gave :  the  little  angel  smiled, 

And  slept ! 

"  Go  !  go!  "  I  cried  : 
For,  once  again,  that  Shepherd  laid  His  hand 
Upon  the  noblest  of  our  household  band  : 
Like  a  pale  spectre,  there  He  took  His  stand, 

Close  to  his  side. 

And  yet  how  wondrous  sweet 
The  look  with  which  He  heard  my  passionate  cry  : 
"Touch  not  my  lamb  —  for  him,  oh,  let  me  die  I" 
*' A  little  while,"  he  said,  with  smile  and  sigh, 

"  Again  to  meet." 


324        The  Lambs  all  Safely  Folded. 

Hopeless  I  fell; 
And  when  I  rose,  the  light  had  burned  so  low, 
So  faint,  I  could  not  see  my  darling  go. 
He  had  not  bidden  me  farewell ;  but,  ah  1 

Yfelt  farewell  — 

More  deeply  far 
Than  if  my  arms  had  compass'd  that  slight  frame; 
Though  could  I  but  have  heard  him  breathe  my  name, 
"  Dear  mother!  "  but  in  heaven  'twill  be  the  same; 

There  burns  my  star ! 

He  will  not  take 
Another  lamb,  I  thought;  for  only  one 
Of  the  dear  fold  is  spared  to  be  my  sun. 
My  guide,  my  mourner  when  this  life  is  done; 

My  heart  would  break. 

Oh,  with  what  thrill 
I  heard  Him  enter;  but  I  did  not  know 
(For  it  was  dark)  that  he  had  robbed  me  so; 
The  idol  of  my  soul,  —  lie  could  not  go ! 

Oh,  heart  be  still! 

Came  morning:  can  I  tell 
How  this  poor  frame  its  sorrowful  tenant  kept,? 
For  waking  tears  were  mine ;  I,  sleeping,  wept, 
And  days,  months,  years,  that  weary  vigil  kept. 

Alas,  "Farewell!" 

How  often  it  is  said  ! 
I  sit  and  think,  and  wonder,  too,  sometime. 
How  it  will  seem,  when,  in  that  happier  clime, 
It  never  will  ring  out  like  funeral  chime 

Over  the  dead. 


The  Day  Dawn.  325 

No  tears  !  no  tears  ! 
Will  there  a  day  come  that  I  shall  not  weep? 
For  I  bedew  my  pillow  in  mj  sleep. 
Yes,  yes,  thank  God,  no  grief  that  clime  shall  keep  ! 

No  weary  years. 

Ay,  "  It  is  well!  " 
Well  with  my  lambs,  and  with  their  earthly  guide  : 
There,  pleasant  rivers  wander  they  beside. 
Or  strike  sweet  harps  upon  its  silver  tide ! 

Ay,  "  It  is  well!  " 

Through  the  dreary  day 
They  often  come  from  glorious  light  to  me ; 
I  cannot  feel  their  touch,  their  faces  see, 
Yet,  my  soul  whispers,  thej^  do  come  to  me ; 

Heaven  is  not  far  away! 


THE    DAY    DAWN. 
Rev.  Richard  Cecil. 

[The  following  lines  were  written  by  the  revered  Author,  on  the  death  of 
his  infant,  who  departed  at  ^i3y-break.] 

Cease  here  longer  to  detain  me. 
Fondest  mother,  drowned  in  woe; 

Now  thy  kind  caresses  pain  me  : 
Morn  advances,  let  me  go. 

See  yon  orient  streak  appearing, 

Harbinger  of  endless  day: 
Hark,  a  voice  the  darkness  cheering. 

Calls  my  new-born  soul  away. 


326  The  Day  Dawn. 

Lately  launched,  a  trembling  stranger, 
On  the  world's  wild,  boisterous  flood, 

Pierced  with  sorrows,  tossed  with  danger, 
Gladly  I  return  to  God. 

Now  my  cries  shall  cease  to  grieve  thee, 
Now  my  trembling  heart  finds  rest; 

Kinder  arms  than  thine  receive  me, 
Softer  pillow  than  thy  breast. 

Weep  not  o'er  those  eyes  that  languish, 
Upward  turning  to  their  home  ; 

Raptured,  they'll  forget  all  anguish, 
While  they  wait  to  see  thee  come. 

There,  my  mother,  pleasures  centre; 

Weeping,  parting,  care,  or  woe 
Ne'er  our  Father's  house  shall  enter: 

Morn  advances,  let  me  go  ! 

As  through  this  calm,  this  holy  dawning. 
Silent  glides  my  parting  breath. 

To  an  everlasting  morning. 
Gently  close  my  eyes  in  death. 

Blessings  endless,  richest  blessings. 
Pour  their  streams  upon  thine  heart, 

(Though  no  language  yet  possessing) 
Breathes  my  spirit  ei-e  we  part. 

Yet  to  leave  thee  sorrowing  rends  me. 
Though  again  His  voice  I  hear : 

Rise  !  may  every  grace  attend  thee; 
Rise,  and  seek  to  meet  me  there! 


^ 


The   Three  Sons.^^  327 


THE   THREE   SONS.' 
John  Moultrie. 


I  HAVE  a  son,  a  third  sweet  son  ;  his  age  I  cannot  tell, 
For  they  reckon  not  bj  years  and  months  where  he  is  gone 

to  dwell. 
To  us,  for  fourteen  anxious  months,  his  infant  smiles  were 

given, 
And  then  he  bade  farewell  to  earth,  and  went  to  live  in 

Heaven. 


I  cannot  tell  what  form  his  is,  what  looks  he  weareth  now, 
Nor  guess  how  bright  a  glory  crowns  his  shining  seraph 

brow. 
The  thoughts  which  fill  his  sinless  soul,  the  bliss  which  he 

doth  feel. 
Are  numbered  with  the  secret  things  which  God  will  not 

reveal. 

But  I  know  (for  God  hath  told  me  this)  that  he  is  now  at 

rest. 
Where  other  blessed  infants  be,  on  their  Saviour's  loving 

breast. 
I  know  his  spirit  feels  no  more  this  weary  load  of  flesh. 
But  his  sleep  is  blessed  with  endless  dreams  of  joys  for 

ever  fresh. 

I  know  the  angels  fold  him  close  beneath  their  glittering 

wings. 
And   soothe  him  with   a  song  that  breathes  of  Heaven's 

divinest  things. 
Iknow  that  we  shall  meet  our  babe  (his  mother  dear  and  I), 
Where  God  for  aye  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  every 

eye. 


328  "i7(?  is  not   There''' 

Whate'er  befalls  his  brethren  twain,  his  bliss  can   never 

cease ; 
Their  lot  may  here  be  grief  and  fear,  but  his  is  certain 

peace. 
It  may  be  that  the  tempter's  wiles  their  souls  from  bliss 

may  sever; 
But,  if  our  own  poor  faith  fail  not,  he  must  be  ours  for 

ever. 

When  we  think  of  what  our  darling  is,  and  what  we  still 

must  be ; 
When  we  muse  on   that  world's   perfect  bliss,   and   this 

world's  misery; 
When  we  groan  beneath  this  load  of  sin,  and  feel  this 

grief  and  pain, — 
Oh !  we'd  rather  lose  our  other  two,  than  have  him  here 

again. 


*'HE   IS   NOT  THERE." 
John  Pierpont. 

I  CANNOT  make  him  dead  ! 

His  fair  sunshiny  head 
Is  ever  bounding  round  my  study-chair; 

Yet,  when  my  eyes,  now  dim 

With  tears,  I  turn  to  him, 
The  vision  vanishes  —  he  is  not  there! 

I  walk  my  parlor  floor. 

And,  through  the  open  door, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber  stair; 

I'm  stepping  toward  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy  a  call ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that  —  he  is  not  there! 


^^ 


"^^  He  is  not   There,^^  329 

I  thread  the  crowded  street, 

A  satchell'd  lad  I  meet, 
With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  colored  hair; 

And  as  he's  running  bj, 

Follow  him  with  mj  eye, 
Scarcely  believing  that —  he  is  not  there. 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin  lid; 
Closed  are  his  eyes;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that —  he  is  not  there. 

I  cannot  make  him  dead ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed, 
So  long  watched  over  with  parental  care, 

My  spirit  and  my  eye 

Seek  it  inquiringly. 
Before  the  thought  comes  that  —  he  is  not  there! 

When  at  the  cool,  gray  break 

Of  day,  from  sleep  I  wake, 
With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air. 

My  soul  goes  up,  with  joy. 

To  Him  who  gave  my  boy, 
Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that  —  he  is  not  there! 

When  at  the  day's  calm  close. 

Before  we  seek  repose, 
I'm,  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer. 

Or  evening  anlhems  tuning, 

In  spirit  I'm  communing 
With  our  boy's  spirit,  though  —  he  is  not  there! 

Not  there! — Where,  then,  is  he? 
The  form  I  used  to  see 
Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  used  to  wear : 


330  The  Good  Shepherd  and  the  Lamb, 

The  grave,  that  now  doth  press 
Upon  that  cast-ofF  dress, 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked;  — he  is  not  there  I 

He  lives!  —  In  all  the  past 

He  lives;  nor,  to  the  last, 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair. 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now; 

And,  on  his  angel  brow, 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  there !  '* 

Yes,  we  all  live  to  God ! 

Father!  Thj  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  Thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear, 

That,  in  the  spirit-land. 

Meeting  at  Thy  right  hand, 
'Twill  be  our  heaven  to  find  that  —  Thou  art  iberef 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD  AND  THE   LAMB. 
Meinhold. 

Gentle  Shepherd,  Thou  hast  still'd 
Now  Thy  little  lamb's  long  weeping; 

Ah,  how  peaceful,  pale,  and  mild, 
In  its  narrow  bed  'tis  sleeping! 

And  no  sigh  of  anguish  sore 

Heaves  that  little  bosom  more. 

In  this  world  of  care  and  pain, 

Lord,  Thou  wouldst  no  longer  leave  it; 

To  the  sunny  heavenly  plain. 

Dost  Thou  now  with  joy  receive  it. 

Clothed  in  robes  of  spotless  white, 

Now  it  dwells  with  Thee  in  light. 


"  The  Evening  Star''  331 

Ah,  Lord  Jesus  !  grant  that  we 

Where  it  lives  may  soon  be  living; 
And  the  lovely  pastures  see 

That  its  heavenly  food  are  giving;  . 
Then  the  gain  of  death  we  prove, 
Though  Thou  take  what  most  we  love. 


"THE   EVENING  STAR." 
.    (From  the  "Christian  Treasury.") 

She  was  "  the  evening  star  "  I  thought  would  shine 
Upon  my  path,  as  I,  with  years  decline, 
Thought  I  should  watch  its  lustre  softer  glow, 
Cheering  my  weary  pilgrimage  below; 
But  God  has  set  my  bright  and  gentle  star 
In  heaven  afar. 

She  was  my  flower  :  the  sad  pathway  of  life. 
So  full,  to  sinful  man,  of  care  and  strife. 
Was  by  her  presence  stripped  of  many  a  thorn, 
Making  my  trials  easier  to  be  borne. 
My  flower  is  now  in  realms  of  holy  light. 
In  glory  bright. 

Yes,  she  is  there ;  for,  while  on  earth  in  pain, 
She  loved  supremely  her  Redeemer's  name; 
Now  she  is  with  Him,  near  His  throne  she  stands, 
Rests  in  His  arms,  one  of  His  folded  lambs. 
Soon  shall  we  meet  before  that  glorious  throne, 
My  little  one. 

Yes,  there's  my  child;  I  see,  with  eye  of  faith, 
Her  happy  spirit  free  from  sin  and  death; 
She  is  a  jewel  on  her  Saviour's  brow; 
Low  at  His  feet  her  crown  she  loves  to  throw; 
While  He,  enthroned  in  love  and  mercy  mild, 
Smiles  on  mv  child. 


332  Gone  to  Paradise. 

Shall  I  then  grieve  my  precious  one  is  where 
She  doth  the  golden  crown  and  white  robe  wear? 
No  ;  rather  would  I  joy  that  she  is  free, 
And  wait  vay  Father's  summons  patiently, 
To  join  with  her  the  heavenly  blessed  throng, 
In  glorious  song. 


GONE   TO   PARADISE. 
Charles  Wesley. 

Wherefore  should  I  make  my  moan, 
Now  the  darling  child  is  dead.? 

He  to  rest  is  early  gone, 
He  to  Paradise  is  fled  ! 

I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he 

Never  shall  return  to  me. 

God  forbids  his  longer  stay, 
God  recalls  the  precious  loan  ! 

He  hath  taken  him  away. 
From  my  bosom  to  His  own. 

Surely  what  He  wills  is  best; 

Happy  in  His  will  I  rest. 

Faith  cries  out,  "  It  is  the  Lord ! 

Let  Him  do  what  seems  Him  good  : 
Be  Thy  holy  name  adored, 

Take  the  gift  awhile  bestowed; 
Take  the  child,  no  longer  mine; 
Thine  he  is,  for  ever  Thine!  " 


Ej^itafhs  oil  Infants,         ,        333 

THE   HIGHEST  RANK  IN   HEAVEN. 

Ralph  Erskine. 

In  heavenly  choirs  a  question  rose, 
That  stirred  up  strife  will  never  close; 
*'  What  rank  of  all  the  ransomed  race 
Owes  highest  praise  to  Sovereign  grace?" 
Babes  thither  caught  from  womb  and  breast 
Claimed  right  to  sing  above  the  rest; 
Because  they  found  the  happy  shore 
They  never  saw  nor  sought  before. 


EPITAPHS   ON  INFANTS. 

Robert  Robinson. 

Bold  infidelity,  turn  pale  and  die ! 
Beneath  this  stone  four  infants'  ashes  lie ; 

Say,  are  they  lost  or  saved? 
If  death's  by  sin,  they  sinned,  for  they  lie  here : 
If  heaven's  by  works,  in  heaven  they  can't  appear. 

Reason,  ah,  how  depraved ! 
Revere  the  Bible's  sacred  page,  the  knot's  untied ; 
They  died,  for  Adam  sinned  :  they  live,  for  Jesus  died  I 


Wm.  Cowper. 

Bewail  not  much,  my  parents !  me,  the  prey 
Of  ruthless  Hades,  and  sepulchred  here. 
An  infant,  in  my  fifth  scarce  finish'd  year, 
He  found  all  sportive,  innocent,  and  gay, 
Your  young  Callimachus ;  and  if  I  knew 
Not  many  joys,  my  griefs  were  also  few. 


334  E^itafhs  on  Iiifants. 

Thomas  Aird. 

The  glistening  infant  dies  in  its  first  laugh, 
Like  flower  whose  fragrance  is  its  epitaph. 

Peace  to  mj  Judith  in  the  grave!  she  died  in  her  young 
days,  

God  took  her  to  Himself,  and  I  blessed  the  Almighty's 
ways.  ^ 

Mrs.  Hemans. 

Thou,  that  canst  gaze  upon  thine  own  fair  coy, 

And  hear  his  prayer's  low  murmur  at  thy  knee, 

And  o'er  his  slumber  bend  in  breathless  joy, 

Come  to  this  tomb!  it  hath  a  voice  for  thee! 

Pray  !  Thou  art  blest,  —  ask  strength  for  sorrow's  hour. 

Love,  deep  as  thine,  lays  low  its  broken  flower. 


Hartley  Coleridge. 

Yet,  sure  the  babe  is  in  the  cradle  blest, 
Since  God  Himself  a  baby  deign'd  to  be; 
And  slept  upon  a  mortal  mother's  breast, 
And  steep'd  in  baby  tears,  —  His  Deity. 


Hartley  Coleridge. 

Oh,  sleep,  sweet  infant,  for  we  all  must  sleep, 
And  wake  like  babes,  that  we  may  wake  with  Him 
Who  watches  still  His  own  from  harm  to  keep. 
And  o'er  them  spreads  the  wings  of  cherubim. 


Professor  John  Wilson. 

No  fears  have  we  when  some  delightful  child 
Falls  from  its  innocence  into  the  grave; 
Soon  as  we  know  its  little  breath  is  gone, 
We  see  it  lying  on  the  Saviour's  breast 
A  heavenly  flower,  there  fed  with  heavenly  dew. 


Efitafhs  071  Infants.  335 

R.  B.  Sheridan. 

In  some  rude  spot  where  vulgar  herbage  grows, 

If  chance  a  violet  rear  its  purple  head, 
The  careful  gardener  moves  it  ere  it  blows, 

To  thrive  and  flourish  in  a  nobler  bed; 

Such  was  thy  fate,  dear  child, 
Thy  opening  such  ! 
Pre-eminence  in  early  bloom  was  shown; 

For  earth,  too  good,  perhaps ; 
And  lov'd  too  much, — 
Heaven  saw,  and  early  mark'd  thee  for  its  own. 


The  cup  of  life  just  to  her  lips  she  press'd. 
Found  the  taste  bitter,  and  declined  the  rest; 
Then  looking  upward  to  the  realms  of  day. 
She  gently  sighed  her  little  soul  away. 

James  Cawthorn  (1719). 

These  happy  infants,  early  taught  to  shun 
All  that  the  world  admires  beneath  the  sun, 
Scorn'd  the  weak  bands  mortality  could  tie, 
And  fled  impatient  to  their  native  sky. 

Dear,  precious  babes !  alas  !  when  fona.y  wild, 

A  mother's  heart  hung  melting  o'er  her  child; 

When  my  charm'd  eye  a  flood  of  joy  express'd. 

And  all  the  father  kindled  in  my  breast, 

A  sudden  paleness  seized  each  guiltless  face. 

And  Death,  though  smiling,  crept  o'er  every  grace. 

Nature,  be  calm ;  heave  not  the  impassion'd  sigh 
Nor  teach  one  tear  to  tremble  in  mine  eye; 
A  few  unspotted  moments  pass'd  between 
Their  dawn  of  being  and  their  closing  scene; 
And  sure  no  nobler  blessing  can  be  given. 
When  one  short  anguish  is  the  price  of  heaven. 


33^  Efita^hs  on  Infants, 

Francis  Davison  (1635). 

Wit's  perfection,  Beauty's  wonder, 
Nature's  pride,  the  Graces'  treasure, 

Virtue's  life,  his  friends'  sole  pleasure, 
This  cold  marble-stone  lies  under, 

Which  is  often  moist  with  tears 

For  such  loss  in  such  young  years. 

Lovely  boy,  thou  art  not  dead. 
But  from  earth  to  heaven  fled ; 
For  base  earth  was  far  unfit 
For  such  beauty,  grace,  and  wit. 

Thou,  alive  on  earth,  sweet  boy, 
Hadst  an  angel's  wit  and  face ; 

And  now  dead,  thou  dost  enjoy 
In  high  heaven  an  angel's  place. 


Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 

Ere  Sin  could  blight  or  Sorrow  fade, 
Death  came  with  friendly  care, 

The  opening  bud  to  heaven  conveyed. 
And  bade  it  blossom  there. 

Its  balmy  lips  the  infant  blest, 

Relaxing  from  its  mother's  breast, 

How  sweet  it  heaves  the  happy  sigh 
Of  innocent  satiety! 

And  such  my  infant's  latest  sigh ! 

Oh,  tell,  rude  stone,  the  passer  by 
That  here  the  pretty  babe  doth  lie 

Death  sang  to  sleep  with  lullaby. 


Efitafhs  on  Infants.  337 

Samuel  Wesley  (1692). 

Beneath,  a  sleeping  infant  lies, 

To  earth  whose  ashes  lent, 
More  glorious  shall  hereafter  rise, 

Though  not  more  innocent. 

When  the  archangel's  trump  shall  blow. 

And  souls  and  bodies  join. 
What  crowds  will  wish  their  lives  below 

Had  been  as  short  as  thine! 


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Fi-om  an  Editorial  Note  to  Volume  Ten,  by  the  Rev.  JOHN  Stan- 
ford Holme,  D.D. 
"  If  there  is  a  minister  of  the  gospel  in  the  world  who  is 
truly  cosmopolitan,  that  man  is  Charles  H.  Spurgeon.     Mr. 
Spurgeon  has  now  ministered  for  many  years  to  the  largest 


congregation  in  the  world.  To  see  him  and  to  hear  him  has 
become  a  matter  of  curiosity  to  all  who  visit  the  great  metrop- 
olis. But  it  is  not  on  these  accounts  chiefly  that  he  is  a  man 
of  general  interest  throughout  Christendom.  It  is  rather 
that  over  fifteen  hundred  of  the  sermons  of  this  one  man 
have  been  accurately  reported  and  printed.  It  is  that  the 
number  of  readers  of  these  sermons  has  continued  steadily 
to  increase  for  more  than  twenty  years,  until  now  they  are 
read  weekly  by  hundreds  of  thousands  wherever  the  English 
tongue  is  spoken.  It  is,  above  all,  that  these  sermons  have 
been  blessed  to  the  conversion  and  edification  of  multitudes 
in  all  lands. 

"  Many  of  the  causes  of  the  wonderful  popularity  of  this 
distinguished  preacher  are  not  difficult  to  discover.  In  fresh- 
ness and  vigor  of  thought,  in  simplicity  and  purity  of  lan- 
guage, in  grasp  of  gospel  truth,  and  in  tact  and  force  in  its 
presentation,  he  is  perhaps  without  a  peer  in  the  pulpit.  .  .  . 

"  It  is  not  his  manner  to  spin  his  web  out  of  himself.  The 
resources  from  which  he  draws  are  not  measured  by  the 
strength  and  the  store  of  his  own  faculties,  but  rather  by 
the  infinite  fulness  of  the  divine  word.  He  never  preaches 
from  a  topic.  He  always  has  a  text.  His  text  is  not  a  mere 
motto,  but  in  it  he  finds  his  sermon.  He  uses  his  text  with 
as  much  reverence  and  appreciation  as  if  those  few  words 
were  the  only- words  God  had  ever  spoken.  The  text  is  the 
germ  which  furnishes  the  life,  —  the  spirit  and  substance  of 
the  discourse.  Every  sermon  has  the  peculiar  flavor  and 
fragrance  and  color  of  the  divine  seed-truth  of  which  it  is  the 
growth. 

"  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  sermons  so  varied, 
fresh,  and  evangelical,  should  have  so  large  a  circulation. 
...  As  some  of  these  volumes  have  had  an  issue  of  one 
hundred  thousand  copies,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  circulation 
of  these  sermons  even  in  this  country  is  altogether  without 
precedent  ;  and,  as  the  verdict  of  the  Christian  public,  it 
fully  justifies  the  estimate  we  have  placed  upon  them." 


jrtance  to