A story has gone the round of the American press that made a great
impression upon me as a father. A father took his little child out
into the field one Sabbath, and, it being a hot day, lie lay down
under a beautiful shady tree. The little child ran about gathering
wild flowers and little blades of grass, and coming to its father and
saying:
"Pretty! pretty!"
At last the father fell asleep, and while he was sleeping the little
child wandered away. When he awoke, his first thought was:
"Where is my child?"
He looked all around, but he could not see him. He shouted at the top
of his voice, but all he heard was the echo. Running to a little hill,
he looked around and shouted again. No response! Then going to a
precipice at some distance, he looked down, and there, upon the rocks
and briars, he saw the mangled form of his loved child. He rushed to
the spot, took up the lifeless corpse, and hugged it to his bosom, and
accused himself of being the murderer of his child. While he was
sleeping his child had wandered over the precipice.
I thought as I read that, what a picture of the church of God! How
many fathers and mothers, how many Christian men and women, are
sleeping now while their children wander over the terrible precipice
right into the bottomless pit! Father, mother, where is your boy
to-night?