WILLIAM AT HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE.
As the time appointed for his departure drew near, William's heart
became very sad. The prospect of being separated from his friend
George gave him no little pain. He shrunk, too, from the idea of
living with perfect strangers.
Time, however, waits for no one. The day but one before that on which
he was to set out arrived; and having gone around to say farewell to
his acquaintances, he made his last visit to the church-yard where his
parents lay buried. His mother had been peculiarly fond of flowers,
and when obliged to give up her garden, had beautified and planted her
husband's grave with some of the choicest of her treasures. Her only
recreation was this labour of love; for she took a mournful pleasure
in thus decorating the little hillock, and she spared no pains to keep
it in order. It is a well-known custom of the Germans to adorn graves
with flowers; and inheriting this feature of her country's usages to
the fullest extent, she had ornamented the little space allotted for
their burial-place with taste and beauty.
Now she was herself sleeping among the flowers she had planted and
tended, but no want of care was yet visible about the spot; kind hands
had made up the grave, and William had removed the roses she nourished
in pots, sinking them in the earth; and now, in the full bloom of
summer beauty, they were shedding their fragrance and leaves over the
little mounds.
The orphan boy came for the last time to visit the spot where his
dearest earthly treasure was buried. He knelt down beside the graves,
and wept as he prayed that God would go forth with and protect him in
the new station which he must now fill.
When calmness was again restored, he seated himself on a grave at a
little distance, and taking a piece of paper and a pencil from his
pocket, he drew a sketch of the little square where his loved ones
slept. There were no stones to mark the spot, but there was no need of
any; the adornment of the place would have told the traveller that no
memorial of that kind was necessary, for true affection was keeping
the record. The little drawing was finished, and once more he broke
into a violent fit of weeping, from which he was suddenly disturbed by
the sound of a footstep near him. He turned, and saw a stranger
standing behind him, whose countenance was not only most
prepossessing, but now wore an expression of sympathy that operated at
once upon the heart of the desolate boy.
William rose, and would have left the spot, but the gentleman laid his
hand on his shoulder, and inquired, "Who are buried in these graves so
beautifully adorned?"
"My father and mother," answered the boy, the tears again flowing from
his eyes.
"Father and mother!" repeated the stranger; "poor orphan, what a
treasure of love belonging to thee may be buried here! Have you
brothers and sisters?"
"No, sir. I have no near relations; I am now alone in the world."
"Who, then, is to take care of you now?" asked the stranger.
"My guardian, sir," replied William, "from whom I am to learn a
trade."
"That is well, my poor boy," rejoined the stranger. "God grant that he
may prove worthy of his trust, and be a parent to you. But a great
deal lies in your own powers. Be obedient and industrious, and thus
endeavour to win his confidence and satisfaction."
"I intend to do so, sir," replied William; "my parents always told me
obedience was right."
"Were your parents pious?" again inquired the stranger.
"Ah yes, sir, indeed they were," answered the boy. "I promised my
mother time and again that I would love God and keep his
commandments."
The stranger continued to gaze on the boy with much emotion. It was
evident, from the expression of his whole face, that his heart had
been subject to the transforming operation of divine grace; and he
possessed the true Christian spirit, which leads to the practice of
that Christian charity which "never faileth." He laid his hand upon
the boy's head, and said, in a solemn tone, "May God bless and care
for thee, poor orphan; may it be with thee as with the good seed sown
in good ground; where it taketh root, by the blessing of God it
groweth and bringeth forth fruit, even to a hundred-fold."
William looked up into the stranger's face in grateful astonishment;
just so had his mother often laid her hand upon his head and blessed
him; and now the stranger's caress did him good, although he did not
comprehend the meaning of his words.
"You do not understand me," said he; "I will explain. When you plant a
seed or little twig in the earth, It forms a root: you water it when
it is dry; the sunshine, the dew, and the rain, all refresh and
promote it's growth; so that at length it becomes a large and
beautiful tree. So when any one receives the word of God Into his
heart in faith, it will strike deep root, spring up, grow and ripen
with a rich increase, bringing forth abundantly those good fruits of
the Spirit 'which are through Jesus Christ to the praise and glory of
God.' But as, without proper attention, your tree would wither or grow
into wildness, so also is it necessary to nourish the good seed sown
in our hearts; and this can only be done by constant and fervent
prayer."
The stranger went on to explain, in such terms as a child could
understand, the operations of the Spirit of grace and the exercise of
faith. He told him of One who was mighty to save, who had said,
"Suffer little children to come unto me," and was ever near to those
Who trust in him; who would hear their prayer in distress, and aid
them In the hour of temptation. "But remember," he added, "there is no
true happiness except in the service of God; and to do this acceptably
it is necessary to 'watch and pray.' Watch that you may pray, and pray
that you may be safe."
William listened to the words of the stranger with an emotion
altogether new to him; he had heard such words before, but now they
were invested with a new meaning. Was it not the quickening influence
of the Spirit of grace that was now operating upon his saddened heart,
like the silent but refreshing dew on the arid earth? Our tale must
show whether the seed thus down by the way-side was to spring up,
perish, or bring forth fruit a hundred-fold.
The stranger saw the impression he had made. He would not interrupt
the workings of the child's soul by further words, and turning away
toward another part of the graveyard, he left the boy to his
self-communion.
After a while he returned, and found him still sitting on the grave
where all his treasure of love was buried; but he had ceased weeping,
and his countenance no longer wore the expression of despairing
sorrow; trust in God and faith in the promise of heavenly protection,
had strengthened his soul, and instead of the heart-breaking sense of
loneliness that had rested on him since the loss of his mother, he
felt the blessedness of assured protection from Him who has promised
to be the orphan's Father. He was holding the little rude sketch he
had made, to be treasured as a memorial of the spot so sacred, when
far away, and was gazing on it attentively when the stranger returned.
"Are you going to colour your sketch?" he asked in a kindly tone; "it
would make it more lively and natural."
"I have no colours, sir," replied William; "and do not know how to
paint. My father could paint, but he never wished me to learn; but
when I look on this little drawing, I can think of the bright roses
and the green grass here, and that will do."
"Give me your picture, my child; I will colour it for you," said the
stranger. "I am a painter, and have been staying for some days in the
village; come this evening to my room, No. 24, at the hotel, and I
will return your picture, and then you can tell me more of yourself
and your parents."
And now they parted, each one taking opposite paths, for their present
homes lay quite apart from each other. It was late before William
found time to go to the hotel, but when he asked the landlord to show
him to the painter's room, No. 24, instead of ushering him into the
presence of his unknown friend, the old man handed him a small packet,
telling him, at the same time, that the stranger had received
intelligence which had demanded his sudden departure, but that he had
left the packet to be delivered by his own hand.
These tidings fell like a weight of lead on the boy's heart; he would
gladly have seen that benevolent face again; but, unable to utter a
word or repress the tears that would force themselves into his eyes,
he took the folded package and went home.
The stranger had taken a hasty departure, but he had not forgotten or
neglected his promise; for, on opening the letter, there was his
picture coloured,--and on the back of it was written, "Watch, that you
may pray; and pray, that you may be safe." The boy's heart was touched
with even deeper emotion than before, and as he knelt down that night,
the last he was to spend in his native village, he prayed that God
would help him to nourish the good seed sown in his heart, and be his
Father and Guide in the new life on which he was entering.