THE first love of a child to its parent is exceedingly sweet and simple; the bright eye and gay step upon the parent’s entry into the room; the joyous laughter of the morning greeting, or the infant’s cheery repetition of the parent’s name as the little one is carried to the object of its heart.
How sweet are these unconscious proofs of love! But tenderness too often grows dull with increasing years; self-will, self-pleasing assert themselves; then rivals enter the heart and dispute its possession, perhaps the parent sometimes learns that even the dear love of childhood extends not to maturer age, and that the delight of calling his name belonged but to infancy.
We have heard of the heart, first won by Christ, and for Christ, whispering to itself continually, “Jesus, Jesus”; of each letter bearing that fragrance upon its pages; of each conversation being musical of Him. Does the simplicity of early love to Jesus wane in our hearts as knowledge increases? Is the outpouring of early Christian life slackened? Have we grown formal, and has our springtime lost its unconscious sweetness? Ah! if so, there are rivals in the heart. Self-will, self-pleasing, have entered its chambers.
If the parent remembers with sadness the days of his children’s simple, though oftentimes strangely-expressed, affection, the Lord Jesus looks upon His people, grown wise in knowledge, but cold in love, and His grieved Spirit says, “I have somewhat against thee—thou hast left thy first love.”