IT was a dull, cheerless day in the middle of November. Heavy fog pervaded the atmosphere, through which the houses on the opposite side of the street were only just visible. Indoors, bright blazing fires and comfortably furnished rooms might compensate for the outward gloom, but in these the fog was already casting its shadow, and making their brightness a little cold and chill. It had even entered the pleasant nursery in which little Emma B. was seated, gazing thoughtfully out into the street below.
It was Sunday, and brothers and sisters more robust than herself had accompanied their parents to a simple service held not far distant. Emma had watched them disappearing round the neighboring corner, inwardly wishing that she herself could have been one of their number. A shadow was on the little girl’s face, the impress of some deep subject of thought which was just at present occupying her mind. Something was troubling her; for the dark brown eyes usually so bright and animated, were now thoughtful and sad.
During the early morning reading, Emma had heard words of such deep import to her mind that she had been anxious and uneasy ever since. The chapter selected had been the twentieth of Revelation. One verse in particular had fallen on her ears with strange solemnity, and had awakened in her mind the feeling of uneasiness to which we have already referred. The verse in question was the fifteenth and last: “And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” No wonder that little Emma looked sad as she pondered over its meaning. Was her own name in scribed in that precious volume? This was the question occupying Emma’s mind as she stood gazing silently out of the nursery window into the street below.
Many a Bible story rose to her remembrance, the principal characters of which she tried to recall. The names of Sarah, Rebekah, Ruth, Naomi, Mary, Martha, and many others presented themselves readily to her imagination. But she could not recollect any incident in connection with her own name.
Tears filled her eyes as she turned from the window, and with her little Bible seated herself by the blazing fire; for to her childish mind the book she held in her hand was none other than the “book of life” of which We verse had spoken. How frequently had it been called such within her hearing!
Eagerly, anxiously, the little girl commenced her search. But no trace of her name could she discover. Verse after verse, page after page, chapter after chapter were closely examined, but with the same result. Once her eye fell upon the name of a playmate to whom she was greatly attached, and her heart beat quickly as she thought her own name night not now be far distant. But “Julia” was not, as she had hoped, followed by “Emma.” And, after an hour’s search, poor little Emma closed her Bible, buried her face in her hands and wept. Her name was not to be found in the “Book of Life,” and hence there was but one terrible conclusion.
Presently the little girl raised her head and looked around. All spoke of wealth and comfort. Not many nurseries were furnished so luxuriantly as her own. In one corner stood the large exercising chair, the delight of the children in rainy weather. In another, the commodious rocking-boat, capable of holding five of the party at once. Then there was the quaint-looking but nevertheless sweet-tuned sideboard piano, upon which any of the children might amuse themselves without fear of correction. But even as Emma looked at one after another of these treasures, she remembered another verse that did not at this moment tend to allay her fears. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”
A species of picture-frame suspended from the wall suddenly attracted her attention. It was a strange design. By means of touching a small spring, twelve views of various incidents in the journeying of the Israelites were successively disclosed to view.
Hope filled little Emma’s mind as she drew her chair in front of the picture, and then tried to compare it with the Bible narratives in her hand. Long lists of names were to be found among the descriptions, each of which was anxiously examined, but all ending with the same result. Once or twice nurse passed in and out of the apartment, but observing that Emma was apparently reading, she did not interrupt her in her occupation.
Slowly the morning wore away, and with it hope had died out of the little girl’s heart. Once more her face was wet with tears. It was thus that her mother found her upon her return. Drawing Emma to her side she gently drew forth the cause of her sorrow.
Tenderly and simply she pointed out her little daughter’s error, after which she explained to Emma the meaning of the verse that had so affected her.
“Jesus loved us, my darling,” she said, as the little aching head was laid against her bosom. “Sin had come in and separated us from God. But He loved us, and came to bear the penalty of our guilt. For us He suffered the shameful death of the cross, that all who believe may be brought into the blessedness of life and peace. To believe in His love, Emma, is what He asks.
Listen to His own blessed words, ‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.’
All who trust in His precious blood are transferred from the kingdom of Satan to the kingdom of God’s dear Son, and their names are entered in the book of life of which we were reading. None can pluck the sheep from the Good Shepherd’s hand, they belong to the Saviour, and He will guard and keep them till He calls them to dwell forever in His presence.”
And resting quietly in her mother’s arms, dear little Emma took in the sweet story of a Saviour’s love, and her little heart found “joy and peace in believing.” No further fear or uneasiness with regard to her name ever again crossed her mind; she “believed” in the name of Jesus, and was perfectly happy in the knowledge of His love tards her.
Long since little Emma has passed away; she rests now at home, and joyful in the presence of Him who died for her. How blessed for her that when called to die she could be quite sure that her name would be found where she wanted it to be!
Dear little reader, are your names in the book of life? The Saviour waits to bless you, as He blessed the dear little girl of whom I have told you. He offers peace, pardon, and life to you to-day; accept His blessed message.
M. V. B.