ONCE more it was springtime.
Golden sprays of laburnum wave in the sunny garden of the great square.
May breezes are fanning the opening buds and waking them to life; wafting the sweet scents all around, and bearing them in through the open windows of the houses near. It is nature's resurrection; birds and flowers all feel it, and an anthem of praise fills the air.
Stray sunbeams find their way, one by one, into Geraldine's nursery, and play about her head as she lies, pale as a lily, in her little cot.
It is early and the morn breaks in gladness; Lady L'Estrange has stood for a long time at the window before sunrise watching the cold gray of early morn turn to silver, as chill mists rolled away with the increasing light.
“And now her eyes, heavy with watching and weeping, are fixed on those bright morning clouds, and she gazes beyond them; up above the mists of earth to the blaze of the sun that is fast spreading all around.
A morning song is filling her heart; a song to hush the night of weeping; “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth give I unto you."
We may only partially raise the veil to reveal the conflict that has been raging in that mother's heart; that once proud heart which had risen up in its rebellion, and said, "Not Thy will, but mine," when softened and broken by loneliness and grief had been drawn bleeding and wounded to the Savior's feet; there it had found shelter, rest and peace; and now, knowing "in whom she had believed," the mother was supported in the midst of those terrible waves of sorrow that threatened to engulf her.
She had come out of the darkness into the light of life, and there was a great calm in her soul notwithstanding all her grief.
Many a song had there been in those nights of watching; sweet talks about the home above, and the children in glory; blessed hours were they both to mother and child; hours, which to the mother afterward seemed like years, so rapidly had she then grown in spiritual experience.
Her God had been merciful and gracious in so gradually loosening her hold of her treasure; the bud had lingered so long in its fading beauty, that a glimmer of hope would force itself upon the mind that it might not so soon be gathered home; therefore when the closing scene came at last it seemed to come suddenly, even though they had so long been watching the tide of life ebbing slowly, but oh! so surely, away.
The last night of loving watching had come, but the mother knew it not.
Lady L'Estrange sat down again beside the bed, and presently the sweet brown eyes opened and Geraldine said, "I'm going very soon to Jesus, now, mamma; you will come, too, some day; don't cry, mamma; think how happy we shall be."
Another pause and then—
“Where is Katie? I am so tired, mamma. Is Barbara here?" and the little head sought an easier position on her mother's arm.
L'Estrange, drawing her away from the bed, led her out of the room.
Barbara fell on her knees beside the cot, and wept. The doctor turned towards home with a sad heart.
How should he tell Katie, his little, warmhearted, impulsive, sensitive Katie, whose life was wrapped up in her companion and friend; the only child friend she had on earth?
With a slow, reluctant step he entered the door.
Mrs. Gray caught sight of his grave, sad face and guessed what had happened.
Katie ran down stairs at the sound of his well-known footstep.
“Oh! papa, how is darling Geraldine? Say she is better."
Dr. Gray lifted his little girl in his arms, and carrying her into his study, sat down in the great arm-chair. “Katie, your little friend Geraldine will never be ill any more now; she is gone to Jesus."
“Oh! papa, papa!” sobbed Katie, "oh don't say she is dead; she looked so rosy and pretty the other day when you took me to see her;" and the child put her arms round his neck and sobbed so passionately that her father trembled for her.
“Come to mamma," said Mrs. Gray, and she lifted her in her arms and carried her up stairs into her own room.
They passed Edith on the stairs, who was going to papa to hear all about it.
Mary Keats heard the sobbing and saw Katie carried past, and turning back into the nursery, she hid her face in her hands and wept; while she thanked the Good Shepherd who had released the lamb from its sufferings, and had taken her to Himself.
But the hours dragged heavily to Mary after that, and in the afternoon Mrs. Gray told her she might leave her work and go to her mother; so, after taking a peep at Katie, who had cried herself to sleep on her mamma's bed, she went home.
“I said she was only made for heaven, mother!" she kept repeating after she reached home. “She spoke so sweetly to me last Tuesday, and told me she was very happy I knew by her look she would not be long here, and tried to prepare Miss Katie, but she did not understand."
Two days later Katie stood with Mrs. Gray, Barbara, Lady L'Estrange and Keats, to lay some pure white lilies on the sleeping little form, which seemed to rebuke the sobs which broke the silence of that deserted nursery.
There was mourning at Silversands, for who, in all that quiet village, had not loved little Geraldine, with her sweet, winning ways?
“I thought we should never see her again," said an old cottager; "she looked too lovely for earth the day she went away."
And on Sunday, Mr. Rutherford spoke touchingly to them on the words, “It is well with the child." (2 Kings 4)
The Shunammite's Son—“It Is Well."—2 Kings 4
THERE'S beauty above in the bright blue sky
On earth is the reaper's glee;
'Tis harvest time in Jehovah's land,
And the corn by the breeze is gently fann'd
Like the waves of a golden sea.
But sorrow shall wait on the reaper's mirth,
The lord of those fields shall sigh;
One only boy
Is his father's joy:
This day that boy must die.
The sun has looked forth in his morning pride,
On the child with a scorching ray;
“My head! my head”
Was all he said—
'Twas all the child could say.
And, see, one is come that has borne him home,
And he sits on his mother's knee;
But who can tell
How her countenance fell,
Her alter'd boy to see?
He knows her not, with his dull, fixed eye,
On her bosom he pillows his head;
When the sun shines bright
From his noontide height,
The boy on her knee is dead.
But faith within the mother's breast
Shall calm her agony;
"The God who gave
Is the God who shall save,
And give back my boy to me."
Though sad be her heart, the lamp of hope
Shall light up its innermost cell
The son lies dead
On the prophet's bed,
But the mother can say, “IT IS WELL."
'Tis well with the mother, 'tis well with the boy,
His breath and his life are restored;
The child is awake;
Let her hasten and take
To her arms this new gift from the Lord.
And I know it is well with the servants of God,
Naught them from their stronghold shall sever;
Whether Christ shall soon come
Or they be laid in the tomb,
'Twill be well with His people forever.
They fear not the “arrow that flieth by day,"
Nor the plague that walks forth in the dark; "
The sun shall not smite,
Nor the moon by night."
One who's hid in Christ Jesus, the Ark.
They fear not to die, for the deep, dark grave
Is a bed where their Savior has lain;
They sink not to hell,
But with Him they shall dwell,
For Jesus can raise them again.
And can I, too, hope to arise from the dead,
And Christ as my Savior to see?
If I trust in His Word,
And own Him as Lord.
'Twill be well then forever with me.