ALTHOUGH Louisa J. was only fourteen years old when she died, yet she had learned to trust in the Lord Jesus, and was very happy in knowing that, in life and in death, she belonged to Him who had loved her and given His own life for her. Louie had the good gift from God of a dear mother who loved the Lord, but her father seemed to have no thought save for the things of time. The Lord’s Day found him busily working in his garden, and when he spoke of the holy things which were so dear to his wife and his little daughter, it was only to treat them with contempt.
Yet, though he had no thought of God or of his own soul, Louie’s father loved, with tender affection, the child God had given to gladden his home; and bitter indeed was his sorrow when, after she had been ill for some months, he heard the doctor say that he could do no more for his little pet—that Louie was very ill, and could live but a short time longer.
About this time the writer of this story often visited the sick child and talked to her about Jesus, and very much did Louie enjoy these conversations and the sweet hymns, in singing which she would always join while her strength lasted. Louie’s father was never present at these times, but sometimes when coming downstairs her visitor met him, noticed his sad looks, and said a word or two about the little sufferer.
Little Louie grew very thin and weak, and as her mother sat one day by her bedside, doing all she could to comfort her dying child, she found that though Louie was suffering great pain there was a grief which lay heavy upon her young heart, which she felt harder to bear than any bodily sufferings, which were to be so soon over. What was the sick child’s sorest trouble?
Ah, it was not the thought that she was soon to leave her bed of pain, and, like a dove, flee away and be at rest—that was a welcome thought, that brought no fear or trouble with it. But with the thought of going soon to the arms of Jesus, came another thought, Louie must leave those whom she loved here.
She knew that from the dear mother, whose arms were round her now, the parting would be short—the farewell words might scarcely have died upon their lips before mother and child, both ransomed by a Saviour’s death, should meet in His presence to go no more out. But her father! As Louie thought of him, in her agony she cried out, “Oh, father, if I could hear you pray before I die, I should die happy!”
The sorrow-stricken father heard that cry, and it went to his heart. Could it be that he, her father, should refuse the last request of his dying child? Could it be that she, his little Louie, who was so sure that she was going to heaven, so happy at the thought of being with Him whose love she knew so well, should be in anguish on account of her poor father? At last he could bear it no longer, and, kneeling beside the little sufferer, the strong man bowed his head, and, amid sobs and tears, prayed that God, who had saved his child, would save him too, and would suffer him to meet her in heaven.
Little Louie listened to her father’s prayer, and in a few moments passed away to the presence of her Lord. Her poor father’s prayer was answered; he, too, trusted in Jesus as his Saviour, and now both parents look to meet their child one day in that home of which little Louie loved to sing—the blessed place “where Christ is gone.” R. B.