A FATHER and his son of fifteen years of age were working deep under the earth in the coal mine. The father was a God-fearing man, who loved the Lord Jesus and His word and sought to live by it. He was in the habit of carrying a pocket Bible with him, and the son, who had received one in the Sunday-school he attended, walked in his father’s footsteps. and would often read in idle moments by the light of his pet lamp.
One day father and son were working beside each other, when the former started to go some distance after a tool, and the roof fell in behind him, Alarmed, he ran back thinking that his son had been killed by the falling slate, and called him by name. At last the son answered in a feeble voice.
“My boy” cried he, “are you alive yet?” “Yes, father, but my legs are buried underneath the rocks.”
“Where is your lamp, my son?”
“It still burns, father!”
“What are you doing, my son?”
“I am reading my Bible, father, and the Lord is strengthening me!”
These were the last words of our Sunday-school scholar. He died for want of air, but his soul went up to Him, who in His word showed him the Way.
ML 03/21/1909