A February Morning.
YOU shall come with me this morning and see the sun rise, and as it is still wintry weather, though the corning spring shows itself here and there upon the hedge-rows, you will not have to be out of bed very early. We are up before the sun, but not before the robin. See him upon yonder fence, with his bright black eye looking kindly upon us, and his red breast turned towards the eastern glow. He seems to ask the sun to shine quickly, so that he may find his breakfast; for the ground is hard, and the frost lies in countless tiny balls upon dried leaves and green grass blades.
We all love the robin. With his wistful little head turned upon one side, and his bright, bead-like eye, he seems to say he knows that we shall not be unkind to him. If he fluttered away the moment we approached him, I question if we should love him so well, but he stays and sings, and in his pretty way shows that the confides in us, and so wins our love. A robin came into my room one day and sat upon the window-ledge as I was writing, and now and again gave me a little cheerful song; so no wonder I love his red breast. Sometimes children find it hard to confide in their friends. I do not doubt your love to your parents; but, like the robin, show by trustful ways that you know they love you. A little boy used to come into his father’s room, saying, “Papa, I want to be with you. I will not say one word while you read: only want to sit close to you.” This sweet confidence is treasured still, though the dear boy has gone on high to be close to Jesus.
And if you love the trust of the little bird, and if a parent’s heart so rejoices in the child’s confidence, think how the God of love finds pleasure in the trustful spirit of His children, Tell Him everything, draw near to Him. It is His children keeping at a distance from Him, and not confiding in Him, that grieves the heart of God.
But see the sun! He shows his face over yonder hill, and sends his golden beams along the bottoms of the trees. How the brown ferns shine and the myriad balls of hoar-frost sparkle! Robin gives forth a cheery song, his red breast is crimsoned with the glow, and down he darts among the leaves. The most beautiful of things is rendered still more so by the sunlight, and even these dead dry leaves look bright in his presence. And thus it is that the sun is the emblem of the Lord Jesus. It is as Jesus shines upon us that we are bright. We have no light in ourselves or of ourselves, all our goodness is in and of the Lord. The way to be happy is to be in the sunshine of Christ’s love, and those who are much there are the brightest. Some persons try to make themselves bright, but it does not require effort on the part of these globes of hoar-frost to do so, for they shine like jewels in this morning glory. And by-and-by, when the Lord comes, He will make His people, old and young, like Himself. No weak bodies then; no sorrow then; no wish for anything but Himself then. “We ought to love Jesus very much,” said a child to me the other day, and spoke the truth.
Now we will return homewards by the brook. And this brook reminds me of a chat with some boys in the Sunday-school class not long since. Their lesson was what the seventh chapter of John teaches us about Jesus. “What sort of horses drink when they come to the water?” I asked. One boy said “brown horses,” another “black,” a third cried, “horses which pull a heavy load,” and as that was no answer, a fourth exclaimed, “tired horses.” Hush, boys,” I said,” think, and do not give such silly replies. What sort of horses drink when they come to the water?” “Thirsty horses,” they cried. Yes; and you know that though you may bring a horse to the water, yet you cannot make him drink; and so it is with you, we may tell you of Jesus, bring you as it were to the fountain of life, but you must want Him in your own hearts, you must drink for yourselves, and this is what the Lord says, “If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and drink.”
How is it with you, young friends? Are you the thirsty ones? See how sweetly this little brook flows on, so clear and fresh, and whether you wish for its refreshment or not, still on, on its waters flow, saying as they glide by, “Quench your thirst.”
You have never seen the fountain-head of this little stream, for it rises pure and sweet some miles away in yonder hills. You cannot see where the waters of this brook rise. But you know whence come the living waters which quench the soul’s thirst―” And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.” Can you understand this? Every stream springs up out of some rock or soil. The water of life comes out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.
God’s throne―that is the place of power and justice, and “of the Lamb”―that shows us that Jesus died so that we might live. Yes, from the holy throne of God, and of the One who died for sinners, comes to this thirsty earth the life stream. On, on, flows this stream, and as its waters glide by they seem to sing, “Quench your thirst.” But it is the thirsty one who drinks.
What is this round ball, so still and lifeless on the roadside? Poor little hedgehog! Why should you be ever the object of boys’ cruelty? Just because of the spines· upon your back, I fear. Yes, your armor is your ruin. But one lesson you shall teach, humble friend. Let the children who read this be like you when you roll yourself amongst the apples. For after the little hedgehog has eaten his meal he will roll himself over upon the fruit, then one or two apples stick fast to his spines, and so off he trots home with his treasure. Can you all guess what I mean?
Do not simply read our pages, but carry away our little lesson in your memories; think and talk over what we have been telling you. Now, farewell.