A KIND friend recently gave the children a small cardboard box, with eight little grey worms, or caterpillars in it. They were silkworms.
There were some mulberry leaves in the box, and the worms were busy feeding upon them. That was really all they did, and almost every day we could see them getting bigger. The children diligently kept them supplied with fresh mulberry leaves, and it was not many days before they were full grown, and then a strange thing happened:
One morning when we brought in their fresh supply of leaves, one of the worms was missing, and in one corner of the box was a queer little case, made of silk. It is called a chrysalis, but we knew that it was the coffin that the worm had made for itself before it departed. It was not long before all the worms followed the example of the first, and instead of six little wriggling, crawling worms, there were only six little motionless “coffins”. (The baby had got hold of the box, and killed two of the eight, leaving us only six!)
Now, I wonder if my young friends can guess what happened next. Half of the worms were appointed to a second death, —to be dropped into a pot of boiling water; and half were appointed to a new life, and before many days, three beautiful, snowy white moths or butterflies, appeared in our little box, —creatures not made to crawl on the earth, but fitted to fly about in the air.
The lesson needs little interpretation. Those worms, —things of the earth, —surely tell us of ourselves by nature. From childhood we are formed by what we feed on. Is it the “sincere milk” of the Word; or is it the trash that abounds all about us today?
Like those worms, whether we realize it or not, we, too, are preparing to leave this earth. Every day, as it passes, brings us nearer the last day to be spent upon it. One day our friends will find us gone; and if the Lord should still tarry, only a coffin and its contents in our place, and the soul, —your soul, —where will it be?
But like those little silk worm chrysalids, the coffin is not the end. One morning we found that beautifully made little coffin broken, and abandoned. It was of no more use or interest. Its inmate was gone, resurrection had come, and a new life, —a life fitted for the heavens, —had begun. Yes, for three of these worms, such a life had begun; but three others were reserved for the awful second death. They also would leave their coffins, but for what a fate.
And, friend, when the resurrection morn awakes, will you be among those who rise to meet the Lord in the air, either from the ranks of those “who are alive and remain”, or from those who are “fallen asleep”; or will you be among those appointed to die, “and after death the judgment”?
If this is your last day upon earth, —if tomorrow you will be in your coffin, —will you leave it to stand before that great white throne, and there be judged according to your works, and then to be cast forever into that awful lake of fire? “This is the second death.”
Reader, if still unsaved, be warned by the silkworm; and today make sure of your portion in the heavens.
ML 03/15/1925