ONE Sunday afternoon, some few month: ago, as I was on my way to the Sun day-school, a little boy stepped up to me and said, “Please, Mr. R., George H. is very ill in bed: will you go and see him?” I promised compliance, and went on my way to the school. At the school we commended George to the care of the Lord and, school being over, in company with one of our senior teachers, I started off to the house of sickness.
George’s mother opened the door to us, saying that he was quite unconscious; that he had not spoken a word of recognition for several days, and that his sight was entirely gone. The first cause of illness was over study at the day-school, and he was very clever for nine years of age. “Oh, sir,” the mother cried, “the doctor says he cannot last longer than three days at the outside!”
Poor little fellow, as he lay there slowly panting for breath, how we felt for him, and what silent prayers issued from our hearts for him This dear face, once so bright at our children’s special services―now so sadly changed―how our hearts bled for him! George had been one of the best-behaved boys in our school. I could well remember, three years previously, when he was only a little fellow of six years old, how he came to my desk to have his name enrolled in our register; and then, ten months later, how he waited, after the school, and said, “I want to know more about Jesus;” and, again, how, after some conversation about the loving Saviour, George was satisfied that he was no longer lost, but saved, and that the loving Saviour had washed all his sins away.
The Bible says, “By their fruits ye shall know them” (Matt. 7:20), and well, through the Lord’s grace and mercy, did George testify to Christ’s saving power in his life and conduct. Oh, that there were many more little soldiers such as he!
These thoughts passed through my mind as I stood by the bedside of that poor feeble lamb of Christ’s flock.
The kind teacher who had accompanied me spoke to the little fellow, and asked him several questions, but all to no purpose―no signs of recognition whatever.
“Darling,” said she, “do you feel any pain?”
No response, but a low moan.
“Mr. R. has come to see you. Do you remember Mr. R.?”
Still no response. So I said to Mrs. E., “Just ask him if he knows Jesus.”
So she took his thin hand in hers, and said, “Darling, what has Jesus done for you?” In an instant his face beamed, and he slowly, but distinctly said, “He died for me.”
This was said so distinctly that his mother, who was standing by, expressed her surprise at this sensible recognition of what was being said to him, and these were the only intelligible words he expressed till he passed away on the following Wednesday morning to be with the One who had done so much for him, and who had prepared a mansion beyond for him.
But what a blessed testimony―He knew Jesus, and he could testify in the hour of suffering, “He died for me.” He did not even know his mother, but he knew Christ Jesus. Oh, sweet Name! What fragrance there is in it!
Yes, George could say in the midst of intense suffering and pain, “He died for me.” How beautifully do the Master’s own words come in here, with sweetness unsurpassed, with melody unruffled, and with tenderness unequaled, “I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.” (Matt. 11:25.)
W. H. R.