IT was the Lord's Day afternoon, and the children of our little hamlet were all gathered in the gray old schoolhouse. They were not divided into classes that afternoon, for an aged and devoted servant of God, who loved little children, had corn e from the neighboring city to address them, and they sat in rows, all facing him.
After singing a hymn, and praying to God to give the right word, the servant of God got up into the old pulpit, which stood in the schoolroom—it was a disused chapel—and in loving and persuasive tones began to address the children.
I do not remember what his text was, or even if he gave out one at all; but he had not gone on very far in his address before he quoted those wonderful and ever fresh words of the Lord Jesus to the little ones, " Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not." And he repeated them so lovingly, so entreatingly, just as if he felt the Lord Jesus was bidding him repeat them.
You may have noticed that in reading or repeating these exquisite words, one person will lay the emphasis on one word, and another on another. Well, this dear servant of God laid the emphasis on the word "come." “Suffer the little children to come unto Me." And as he uttered the gracious and blessed word “come," he unconsciously motioned with his hand, as people do when they really want a child to come to them.
As he did so, to the surprise of all, a little fair-haired child of five years of age rose from one of the back seats, with modest courage walked right up the room to the speaker and with wistful, upturned face, stood at the open pulpit door. It was a touching and impressive sight; it touched the heart of the gray-haired man, who, making her step up into the pulpit beside him, laid his hand upon her head, and blessed the little child.
Faith was given him, and he said, “I shall meet you in heaven, my dear little child, I know I shall meet you there."
Then he asked her name, and turning to the wondering children, continued his address—
“It is just so, my dear children, that you must come to Jesus. You have just seen how to do it. Come in your hearts to Jesus, just as Lucy has come on her feet to me, and He will bless you, yea, and you shall be blessed, and I shall meet you, too, in heaven."
Lucy was ever after an object of interest amongst us, often prayed for, and much watched over, fora measure of our old friend's faith concerning the child seemed given to us, and we felt sure we had only to watch to see, 'ere long, the work of grace manifestly begun in her heart. And when our friend came amongst us, which he did at long intervals, Lucy was brought to him that he might speak to her, and he always would say with such evident assurance of faith, "I shall meet that dear child in heaven."
But time passed by, and Lucy, although a meek and well-behaved child-merry enough, too-never showed any concern about her soul, so far as we could tell. When she was ten years old her parents left our village to live in the large city, four miles off, and we almost lost sight of little Lucy.
A long time after, when walking out one evening, I happened to meet Lucy's mother, and of course asked eagerly after the child. Her mother assured me that Lucy was “as strict as ever to her Sunday-school and chapel," but I could not gather that the child was yet converted.
Six years had passed away since Lucy left us, and ten since the Lord's Day afternoon of the address at the Sunday-school, when, as I stood at my window, a young girl of slight figure came up the steps. She bore no resemblance to the white-haired little Lucy I remembered so well, in her lilac print frock and well-washed pinafore. Yet she it was. She said she had come to see me before going to a town two hundred miles away. As soon as our greetings were over, I asked whether she remembered the incident I have related.
“Oh, yes," she answered, brightly, "I remember it well."
“But have you come to Jesus yet, Lucy?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, I have," she instantly replied, in a subdued and earnest tone; "I have come to Him."
"Really come, Lucy?" I asked, scarce daring to believe.
“Yes, really."
“When?"
"About a fortnight ago," she said.
"And where and how did it happen? Tell me all about it."
It was in the mission-room where I go," she replied; "the Spirit was striving with me, and I felt I must give it all up,"
“Give all what up?"
“My sinful ways; and I know I have come to Jesus, and have been happy ever since. I feel the more I love Jesus, the more I want to. My sister laughs at me, but I think, Ah! you won't laugh when the Lord comes."
This was what Lucy called coming to Jesus. And surely so it was; laying her sins and her heart at His feet, who died to take away the one, and to win the other.
"Ever since," she added, "that day in the Sunday-school, when I came when I thought I was called, I have had such a love for the Sunday-school; and although I was not converted, but was a wicked sinner, and had a dreadful temper, it kept me from a great deal of evil. And I'm sure I'm thankful to those who prayed for me.
"Jesus called a little child unto Him." He is calling you, dear young friends; will you not come to the Lord Jesus at once, with your hearts, as Lucy came on her feet to His servant?
E. B—R.