A LITTLE Indian girl was dying, One afternoon she begged her father to take her to the brook once more. He did so and sat down in the shade, where the little girl could see the water. Turning away her wasted face, she said earnestly, “Pray, Father.”
“Oh! I can’t, my darling,” he said hastily.
“Father,” she said, “I am going to heaven soon; and I want to tell Jesus that my father prays.”
The strong man’s head was bowed, and there went up such a prayer of repentance, and confession as must have thrilled with joy the courts of heaven.
CHILDHOOD’S years are passing o’er us,
Youthful days will soon be gone;
Cares and sorrows lie before us,
Hidden dangers, snares unknown.
O may He, who, meek and lowly,
Trod Himself this vale of woe,
Make us His, and make us holy,
Guard and guide us where we go.
Soon we part—it may be never,
Never here to meet again;
Oh, to meet in heaven forever,
And the crown of life to gain.
SEEK the Lord while He may be found.
EVERY one that seeketh findeth.
ML-06/01/1969