MY dear Children,—I am going to write a letter to any of you who may like to read it, boys or girls; but it is especially meant for those about ten years old.
I am now a grown-up woman, but I remember some things that happened when I was a child, better than many in later times.
Something on a recent Saturday brought to my mind a Saturday when I was about ten years old, and I thought perhaps you would like to hear about it, and that perhaps God might speak to the souls of some of you, as He did to me on that occasion, and make you think of eternal things.
Well, the day I am going to tell you about was one winter Saturday.
My sisters and I came in from our usual walk, to find my dear mother with a very grave face. My brothers had just returned from a town a mile or two off with a report of an accident, which had happened to a little girl, who was badly hurt. They had seen drops of blood all along upon the pavement; and they heard it was the child of a tradesman we knew in the town.
Though we came in hungry, I remember we all sat silently at the dinner table; no one seemed to care to eat, and we were glad when we might leave. All that day I could think of little else. “Was it Mary B.? Was she much hurt? Suppose she was killed! What then—where was she now?” Then the thought came: “Suppose it had been me?”
No further news came till the next day, when my father said to my mother, in a low, grave voice, “It is so, it is B.’s child, and she is gone!” Then later we heard more. Little Mary B. was about ten years old; she went to school every day near her home. On this Saturday she was walking home with a little companion; they were merry with the thought of their half holiday, and were eagerly making some little plans for a birthday the following week. They came to a corner where two roads met. Mary’s little friend turned and ran her way, and Mary darted across the busy road, without noticing that a great wagon was coming. In an instant she was under the horses’ feet, and before the driver could pull up, one of the heavy wheels had passed over her.
Tenderly the little wounded girl was picked up, and carried to her home close by. She continued breathing for about an hour, but neither opened her eyes nor spoke again. At last the breath ceased, and Mary was dead.
Now, children, do you not want to know, as I did, where her soul was? Her parents loved God, and carefully brought up their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord; and we soon heard that they had reason to hope that their little girl had been washed white in the blood of Jesus; so that though they sorrowed greatly, they did not sorrow as those who have no hope.
Well, dear children, the question kept coming to my mind: “Are you ready? If you should be run over and killed, would your soul go to Jesus?” Thus it was that God spoke to my soul, till in my fear I looked to Him to save me, wash me white, and make me fit to go to Him.
Now, I want to ask you, boys or girls, whoever is now reading this, Are you ready? God has many ways of sending for people; lately He has called many very suddenly. If He should call you suddenly, Are you ready?
I want you to read this text, “Be ye also ready; for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh.” (Matt. 24:4444Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh. (Matthew 24:44)). Do you feel afraid you are not ready, when you think of Christ’s coming? Why? Is it because you know you are sometimes naughty, that you know you are not fit to stand before a holy God? That is true, is it not?—Your affectionate Friend.
E. B.