LIITTLE Bobbie had been lying on a small bed in the Children’s Hospital for two years. The nurse said he had hip disease, and we soon saw that it was a; hopeless case. No wonder that his face had grown, oh, so white and thin, and his eyes large and hollow; but the little hand that was lying outside the bedclothes, and looked hardly strong enough to lift a feather, was raised to shake hands with us. All the other children were having their tea, yet, though a large mug-full stood beside Bobbie’s bed, he did not seem inclined to taste it, but lay with his eyes closed, and a peaceful look upon his little wan face.
“Well, Bobbie,” said one who knew him well, “are you happy?”
“Yes,” said the child.
“Loving Jesus?”
The thin lips parted this time with a smile, and the same answer.
“And are you happy to go to Him, Bobbie?” asked his friend.
We caught another faint “Yes,” and bright smile before we turned away.
What! I thought to myself, as we left the Hospital, can a little child of eight years old (for that was Bobbie’s age) really be happy, lying there day after day, never seeing any birds, or trees, or flowers, and never able to run about like others boys? It seemed very strange, but when I thought of Bobbie’s next answer I laid hold of his secret. He said he loved Jesus. Then it was that which made him so happy.
Have you ever driven on a cold winter’s night through dark narrow lanes, with the wind blowing so hard in your face, that although the rain fell heavily, it was impossible to hold up an umbrella? But if you have had a very dear friend with you, who has talked pleasantly-all the way, and tried to sheer you from the wet and cold, then you have not minded one bit. The journey has seemed so short that you were quite surprised when you reached home.
Well, this was how it was with Bobbie. There was One who more than eighteen hundred years ago had given him a proof of His love — such as Bobbie could never forget. I need hardly tell any of you who it was. It was Jesus — yes, it was the Lord Jesus Christ, who loved little Bobbie with such a deep, such a wonderful love, that He left His beautiful home on high, where He was daily His Father’s delight, and came into this world, to endure the shameful death of the cross; if only by shedding His own precious blood, He could bring any poor sinners to dwell with Him forever in His Father’s house.
Oh! I wish you were like a little girl that I heard a gentleman telling about the other day. She was at school and very unhappy indeed, because she had not peace with God — she was not trusting to the blood of Jesus. At last she told her trouble to her school mistress, who, instead of pointing her to the Lord Jesus, gave her books to read, which made her only become more and more miserable. But one night, as she lay awake in her bed, too wretched to sleep, this verse came into her mind, “God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” “What,” she thought, “is it possible that I have been trying all this time to love God, and it says He loves me?” And as she thought, her joy became so great, that she could not help shouting out, “GOD LOVES ME―GOD LOVES ME!” till the schoolmistress and all the girls came running in to know what could be the matter.
And ever since that night she has found out more and more what “God is love” means; for “in this was manifested the love of God towards us, because that God sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him.”
Oh, can you not go on to the next verse and say from your heart, “Herein is lore, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins?” “We love Him because He first loved us.”
“How great is the love
Which Jesus hath shown!
He came from above,
From heaven’s bright throne,
That He might deliver
Poor sinners from hell,
And take them forever,
In glory to dwell.”
W.
DEAR SIR. — Kindly accept the enclosed little fable (which is translated from the French) for “MY LITTLE FRIEND.” This is my first attempt at translation by myself, but I hope you will receive it favorably. I am too old to compete for the prizes in “Dot’s Corner,” for I am nearly thirteen years old. With best wishes, I am, sir, yours, etc.,
CHERRY RIPE.
Ross, Herefordshire.