He
could see the boy was dying. He could feel the cold damp of death. "My
son, do you know you are dying?" "No, am I?" "Yes; you are dying." "And
shall I die to-day?" "Yes, my boy, you cannot live till night." "Well,
then, I shall be with Jesus to-night, won't I, father?" "Yes, my son,
you will spend to-night with the Saviour." Mothers and fathers, the
little ones may begin early; be in earnest with them now. You know not
how soon you may be taken from them, or they may be taken from you.
Therefore let this impression be made upon their minds--that you care
for their souls--a million times more than for their worldly prospects.
The Stolen Boy--A Mother's Love.
There was a boy a great many years ago, stolen in London, the same as
Charley Ross was stolen here. Long months and years passed away, and the
mother had prayed and prayed, as the mother of Charley Ross prayed, I
suppose, and all her efforts had failed and they had given up all hope;
but the mother did not quite give up her hope. One day a little boy was
sent up to the neighboring house to sweep the chimney, and by some
mistake he got down again through the wrong chimney. When he came down,
he came in by the sitting-room chimney. His memory began at once to
travel back through the years that had passed.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253