IN A BEAUTIFUL home in the suburbs there lived a Christian lady with her only child, a little fellow five years old. She was wealthy, but her husband had died, and now her affections and cares all centered in her little Charles. The great desire of her heart was that he should be converted to the Lord, and she prayed earnestly that God would draw his heart after the Saviour. She sought to teach him some prayers, but only one would he learn and that was: “Lord, convert me; change my heart; teach me to trust thee, and to love my brethren as Jesus loved us.” Charles would recite his prayer then quickly say, Amen, and climb into bed. His poor mother wept and prayed much for him, but his little heart only seemed to get harder.
One day a servant came to tell the lady that Charles had disappeared. The anxious mother ran through the house, the garden, and all around the neighborhood, searching and asking people if anyone had seen her little boy. She published the news of his disappearance in the papers, and offered a large reward for any information concerning him, but to no avail. Many were the reports that came to her from far and near but none turned out to be her lost son.
Time went by and one told her he had seen a small child down by the river, that he had been drowned and buried in a small cemetery downstream. Believing this to be her little son, the poor mother went there to weep. She had a tombstone erected to his memory, upon which was engraved the image of a small child kneeling, and this prayer: “Lord, convert me; change my heart; teach me to trust Thee, and to love my brethren as Jesus loves us. Amen.”
Three sorrowful years passed by for the lonely Christian mother. It was summertime, and she had made a visit to the country, during which time the servants were busy cleaning the mansion. Returning unexpectedly, she was surprised to find a little chimney sweep, black as coal, leaning against the fireplace. He looked so sad, and big tears rolled down his thin little cheeks leaving white traces upon his dark face.
“What is the matter, my child?” she asked kindly.
“It’s because —” he replied, trying to keep back the tears, “it’s because — my master will beat me.” “Tell me about it — why does he beat you?”
" ‘Cause I don’t earn enough money. I call out loud as I can to people to let me clean their chimneys, and nobody wants me. He says I don’t climb fast enough, and I don’t scrape hard enough. Yesterday I fell and hurt my leg, and tore my pants. We come to clean your chimney and my master is on the roof now. He is coming down,” and the little fellow sobbed bitterly.
“Well, I will speak to your master.”
“Oh please don’t,” he pleaded, “he will beat me all the more.”
“I will talk to God about you tonight.”
“To God? Oh I keep asking Him to take me back to my mother.” “You have a mother then?”
“I had one once. Oh if I could only go back to her!”
“Do you know where she lives?” questioned the lady, her interest mounting.
“No; I was only little when I knew her. I remember only one house — and it had a garden. The fireplace was over here like yours, and Mother had a kind sad face like — oh, I’m sorry,” he broke off, for the words overcame the poor lady. She sank upon the sofa, then taking the boy’s hand she drew him near to her and said, “And what of your mother?”
He tried to recall some things out her, and then suddenly remembered -
“She taught me a prayer” he said.
“Tell me that prayer. Tell me!”
Kneeling down, with trembling voice the little fellow prayed: “Lord, convert me — change my heart; teach me to trust Thee, and to love my brethren as Jesus loves us. Amen.”
“My boy! my boy!” cried the mother as she pressed him to her bosom regardless of his soot, “You are my son, Charles! I’m your mother!” and the sobs of both stopped their voices. They both wept, but they were tears of joy. Scarcely could the mother contain herself as she exclaimed, “O thank God! my boy! my boy!”
(To be continued)
ML-07/04/1971