Once upon a time a little boy came, during his play, to the bank of a
river. The waters of the river were very dark and wild, and there was
so black a cloud over the river that the little boy could not see the
further shore. An icy wind came up from the cloud and chilled the
little boy, and he trembled with cold and fear as the wind smote his
cheeks and ran its slender icicle fingers through his yellow curls. An
old man sat on the bank of the river; he was very, very old; his head
and shoulders were covered with a black mantle; and his beard was white
as snow.
"Will you come with me, little boy?" asked the old man.
"Where?" inquired the little boy.
"To yonder shore," replied the old man.
"Oh, no; not to that dark shore," said the little boy. "I should be
afraid to go."
"But think of the sunlight always there," said the old man, "the birds
and flowers; and remember there is no pain, nor anything of that kind
to vex you."
The little boy looked and saw the dark cloud hanging over the waters,
and he felt the cold wind come up from the river; moreover, the sight
of the strange man terrified him. So, hearing his mother calling him,
the little boy ran back to his home, leaving the old man by the river
alone.
Many years after that time the little boy came again to the river; but
he was not a little boy now,--he was a big, strong man.
"The river is the same," said he; "the wind is the same cold, cutting
wind of ice, and the same black cloud obscures yonder shore. I wonder
where the strange old man can be."
"I am he," said a solemn voice.
The man turned and looked on him who spoke, and he saw a warrior clad
in black armor and wielding an iron sword.
"No, you are not he!" cried the man. "You are a warrior come to do me
harm."
"I am indeed a warrior," said the other. "Come with me across the
river."
"No," replied the man, "I will not go with you. Hark, I hear the
voices of my wife and children calling to me,--I will return to them!"
The warrior strove to hold him fast and bear him across the river to
the yonder shore, but the man prevailed against him and returned to his
wife and little ones, and the warrior was left upon the river-bank.
Then many years went by and the strong man became old and feeble. He
found no pleasure in the world, for he was weary of living. His wife
and children were dead, and the old man was alone. So one day in those
years he came to the bank of the river for the third time, and he saw
that the waters had become quiet and that the wind which came up from
the river was warm and gentle and smelled of flowers; there was no dark
cloud overhanging the yonder shore, but in its place was a golden mist
through which the old man could see people walking on the yonder shore
and stretching out their hands to him, and he could hear them calling
him by name. Then he knew they were the voices of his dear ones.
"I am weary and lonesome," cried the old man. "All have gone before
me: father, mother, wife, children,--all whom I have loved. I see them
and hear them on yonder shore, but who will bear me to them?"
Then a spirit came in answer to this cry. But the spirit was not a
strange old man nor yet an armored warrior; but as he came to the
river's bank that day he was a gentle angel, clad in white; his face
was very beautiful, and there was divine tenderness in his eyes.
"Rest thy head upon my bosom," said the angel, "and I will bear thee
across the river to those who call thee."
So, with the sweet peace of a little child sinking to his slumbers, the
old man drooped in the arms of the angel and was borne across the river
to those who stood upon the yonder shore and called.