IT was drawing towards the close of a lovely day in May. The beams of the setting sun were gilding trees, hedges, and flowers with all the changeful beauty of evening splendor. Gold and crimson tints of loveliness rested in profusion on sea and land, as the sun sank nearer the horizon, spreading its soft, mellow radiance upon every object far and near. The sweet fragrance of early summer blossoms was pleasant and refreshing to the senses, while the soft, gentle twitter of the birds, as one by one each flew homeward to his leafy nest, seemed to speak aloud of harmony and peace. Here and there tall pine trees swayed backwards and forwards in the evening breeze, their dark green foliage now lighted up with sunset brightness.
Upon every object far and near the sunset beauty rested, continually delighting the eye with its wonderful transformations. And passing from the outer world, flooding the sick chamber with all its indescribable brightness, the sunset glory came in through the open window of a pleasant villa in the neighborhood of B —. Slowly it crept up the snowy counterpane of the bed in the corner of the apartment, till it rested at last in all its loveliness on the face of a dear little girl of eleven years old.
But the little sufferer knew nothing of its presence. Unconscious of all the wealth of light and beauty around her, little Edith lay.
But for the changing flush on her fevered cheek, and the restless, sudden, occasional movement of the weary limbs, it would have been easy to imagine that life had already passed away from her prostrate form. So changed, so altered by one short week of suffering was the little one at my side. Yes, only a few days before, brightest and merriest among her schoolfellows little Edith had been. Full of life and vivacity, she had mingled in the tasks and pleasures of her youthful companions. One short week, and how different! What had appeared, at first, but trivial indisposition, had proved to be the precursor of the disease which was now so swiftly carrying her from our midst.
Yes, it was vain now to hide the truth from our sorrowing hearts. Little Edith was dying, and we knew it at last. The fond father learned it as night after night he watched by the bedside of his little daughter, and, hoping and fearing, the tender mother, and sisters ministered to the sick child’s necessities. And now, for the first time, I knew it also, sitting alone in the quiet chamber, with the soft, sweet, sunset radiance resting fully on the little unconscious face.
For a few moments head and heart were alike bowed down in the certainty of what lay before us. Yet, even as tears fell fast on the dear child’s pillow, thoughts of that brighter world to which Edith was passing and the precious Saviour who would welcome her there, calmed my spirit into restfulness and peace. That the dear child, though so young, had trusted in Jesus, the Saviour of sinners, I had no doubt. Often had we read God’s holy word together, and spoken of the love of Him who died to put away the sins of those who believe in Him. Yet my heart yearned to hear once again from her childish lips the assertion of the conscious possession of life and peace through the Saviour’s finished work.
I looked once more at the parched, feverish lips, and marked again the deepening flush on the otherwise pallid countenance. As I watched her in silence, the gold and crimson sunlight faded slowly from the chamber, and the sun sank down behind the bank of cloud on the distant horizon. And in the stillness of little Edith’s quiet chamber, the thought that it was but rising again in all the brightness of morning splendor for other dwellers of this habitable globe came to my mind.
With it, too, came to me that heart-searching question, “Is there anything too hard for the Lord?”
Daylight faded, and one by one faintly shining stars glimmered in the gathering twilight. Momentarily they grew in intensity and brightness, serving for the moment to remind me of the hand of Him who held them in their appointed course. Emphatically their very existence in that boundless firmament responded to my question, testifying aloud, “There is nothing too hard for the Lord.”
Humbly and fervently I asked for some little word of testimony from the voiceless lips of the little one at my side, and God, in His love and goodness, gave me my heart’s desire. As I ceased to gaze on those wonderful but, nevertheless, mysterious orbs of beauty, I found that little Edith’s eyes were resting on my face with a glad look of recognition and delight. Oh! how precious were the few moments that followed this unlooked-for answer to my request!
Softly and gently I spoke to the dear little girl of the constant, unchanging love of Jesus, who had given Himself to make atonement for her sin. The silent pressure of my hand and the happy expression of her peaceful face, were proofs of how fully she assented to all that I was saying. Too ill to speak, she lay and listened.
“You are not afraid, my darling?” I said, as I kissed her marble brow, and smoothed back the long dark hair from her throbbing temples. Then only a look of wonder and surprise passed over the little sufferer’s face, as in a low, feeble voice she whispered, “Jesus died!” It was all that she could say. Other words were in her mind, but utterance failed. A joyful smile rested on her peaceful face as she saw that I comprehended her meaning, and her hands clasped mine still more closely as I repeated her words. “Yes, darling,” I said quietly, “‘Jesus died.’ Jesus died to save you from your sins. His precious blood has made you fit for His presence, and now He is the Good Shepherd — the Good Shepherd ‘who gave His life for the sheep.’ With His own precious blood He bought them, and they belong to Him forever. He ‘gathers the lambs in His arms, and carries them in His bosom.’ ‘None can pluck them from His hand.’ He will be with you all the way home.”
A look of indescribable joy and satisfaction rested on dear Edith’s face as I ceased speaking, as weary and exhausted she lay on her pillow. Not many minutes passed before the dear child again relapsed into unconsciousness; but for me it was enough. With a full heart I could thank God for that one feeble utterance — “Jesus died!” Only two simple words, yet words of untold blessing for every poor sinner who believes them.
A few days later and dear little Edith entered into rest. Just as the sun was rising again in brightness and beauty over her father’s dwelling the dear little girl’s happy spirit passed into the presence of Him who had died for her. Sweet and blessed it is to think of her there, as well as to tell to other dear children how she got there. For you, too, dear girls and boys, there is but one Saviour; but He is waiting to bless you. Just as He led little Edith to trust in His precious blood, so may He lead you. Young as you are, you have sinned. Hence you need a Saviour. And Jesus is that Saviour, inviting you to come to Him to-day. Can you think lightly of such love as His? Oh, dear children, perhaps some of you can say, like little Edith, “Jesus died!” But some cannot do so. And it is for you that I write. Think of those solemn words which came so vividly to my mind as, a few days later, we laid the remains of the dear little girl in the quiet cemetery —” Be ye also ready.” You may be tempted to say, “I am not ill like little Edith.” No, but you cannot be sure of tomorrow. “Now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.” Just as you are Jesus waits to bless you. With all your sins you may come to Him, and be as happy as little Edith. Jesus alone can make you truly happy for time and eternity.