IT was a lovely evening in June. The soft golden sunlight was stealing through the window of the apartment where I lay. The sweet warbling of the happy birds, as they flew in and out amongst the leafy trees in the garden, was pleasant to the ear. But, faint and weary with the labors of the day, I lay down to rest instead of taking my usual duty of walking with the pupils of the school to which, at that time, I was attached. Thoughts of my uselessness, consequent upon the prostration to which I had latterly been no stranger, filled my breast with sadness, and the hot tears chased each other down my cheeks in the silence of that pleasant room. In my folly, I thought it hard to be denied the strength which so many others enjoyed. But better thoughts were soon suggested to my weary spirit. Had not my loving Lord I is own purpose connected with His dealings towards me? Was not what He planned the very best thing for me? Yes! I knew it, and my thirsty soul drank afresh of those living waters that cheer and invigorate the drooping spirit. If He loved me so deeply, so intensely, what was my part in the matter? Surely to tie quietly in His hands, and get as close to His tender heart as possible. Though my work might be, humanly speaking, almost at a standstill, maybe He had lessons to teach me which might be too difficult to learn in the hum; of the busy schoolroom. Quietly and peacefully I lay at last under His shadow "with great delight," finding "His fruit sweet to my taste." "Teach me Thy mind, Lord," I said, "and keep me very near to Thee, and make One satisfied to be useless in the outer world, if it be Thy will." It was enough. Sweet peace filled my soul, and I gladly rose to meet the children as they came in from their pleasant ramble. It was not a large school, but amongst that little band there were some to whore the precious name of Jesus was nothing. It, woke no glad, answering response in their hearts, for some knew not the virtue of "the blood that cleanseth from all sins.”
Tea was waiting for the little party, and hats and jackets deposited in their proper places, the children entered the long narrow dining-room in which the repast was prepared. It was customary for the pupils to tell me what had interested them in their walk, and conversation soon commenced.
“Oh! Miss B—," said Emilie Faybaud, a little French girl, of about thirteen years of age, "we had such a nice walk, only we were in danger of being translated.”
"Translated, dear? I suppose you mean prosecuted," said I, as I saw the expression upon the child's countenance and drew my own inference.
“No, I think it was translated," replied Emilie, musing. “‘If anyone is found inside these grounds they shall be translated,’ it said.”
It was as I supposed. Emilie's little French mind had not retained the correct word. But I felt the Lord might use the term she had misapplied.
“Emilie," said I, after a moment's silent prayer, "if sending you all back into those grounds would translate you, I would send you back at once. Even tired as I am, I would take you all there myself.”
A puzzled expression of surprise passed over the child's face, as she asked in an eager tone, "What does translation' mean, Miss B—?”
“Translation means a passing out of one state into another. There is a verse in the Bible which says, Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light, who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of His dear Son.' Do you know what that translation is, dear children?" I asked, as I looked at the eager faces turned towards my own. "I do!" "I do!" said one or two voices in low, soft tones, and I knew they spoke truly. But from many came no response to the question, and amongst them was the little French girl of whom I have spoken.
“My dears," said I, after a moment's pause, during which I had seen that more than one of the silent children was anxiously listening, "there are two kingdoms. One belongs to Satan now. In it are all those not washed from their sins by the precious blood of Christ. By nature, every man, woman, and child is found there. The other kingdom is that of God's dear Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. His kingdom is holy, pure, undefiled. None may enter it with sin upon them. But God translates from the kingdom of Satan into that of His dear Son. Jesus Christ shed His precious blood to put away our sins. 'Believe in the lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Now, who would not long to be translated?”
Thoughtful and serious, the children resumed their evening tasks, but I noticed that Emilie was unusually silent. Even when the hour arrived for free converse amongst the happy group, she sat alone, evidently occupied with her own thoughts. Anxiously I watched her, hoping that the seed dropped might have fallen upon good ground. Only a day or two passed, when one evening she came and stood by my side. Her hand was placed confidingly in mine and she said—
“Dear Miss B—, I have been so sad since that night at tea. I knew I was in the wrong kingdom. My sins were not washed away, but this evening I have come to Jesus like a poor, lost sinner, and He has translated me into His kingdom." And the little arms were about my neck, and the glad, happy tears flowing down the little French girl's face.
What could I do but lift my heart in one long, deep strain of gratitude to my loving Lord for His wondrous grace to Emilie and me? To Emilie, in thus revealing to her the efficacy of His person and work, and translating her into "His glorious kingdom;" and to me, a poor, frail vessel that He had deigned to use in a moment of weariness and exercise, to make known His mind and heart to one of His chosen ones.
Let us not repine or waste our time in useless regrets for the bodily strength that may at times be wisely withheld from us. Rather let our very weakness cast us more and more upon our loving Saviour, drawing us closer and closer beneath the "shadow of His wing," that thence we may be able to speak the "word in season" to hearts that know nothing of His love. “Let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not." M. V. B.