My last words shall be to parents. Many parents neglect the training of
their children until the boys and girls have grown to be almost men and
women, and then they expect all at once to develop them into
well-rounded characters, as if by magic. Others fix upon a definite time
in life--say, ten or twelve years old--before which time they say it is
unnecessary to seek to make lasting impressions upon the minds of
children, all unconscious of the fact that the character may have been
long before that period biased for good or evil.
I say it deliberately--it is a deep and abiding conviction with me, that
the time to begin to shape the character of children is as soon as they
begin to know their own mothers from other mothers, or as soon as they,
become awake to the events which are taking place around them. The
farmer who has the notion that his child can wait, does not dare to let
his corn and cotton wait. He has observed that there are noxious weeds
which spring up side by side with the seed he has planted, and,
marvelous to say, the weeds outgrow the plants. They must, therefore, be
cut down and kept down, or else they will ruin the crop.
Side by side with your tender babe in arms there are growing now, dear
mothers, the poisonous tares. They are rooted already in the child’s
heart, and, unless they are stricken down pretty soon, they will
dominate the child’s life. And, of course, there is only one way to
destroy evil--that is, to plant good in its stead. If there is one
untenanted chamber in your child’s heart, inhabit it, I pray you, with
nobler and purer thoughts which before long shall bring forth fruit unto
God. Satan does not wait, I assure you; he never allows a vacancy to
remain unoccupied in anybody’s heart, old or young. He rushes into empty
hearts and idle lives and sows tares thicker than the strewn leaves of
autumn. It is an old and senseless and barbarian custom which has taught
us that the child can wait or must wait. If anybody must wait at table
to be served, it is usually the little child, who may be the hungriest
of all; if some one must remain away from church or Sunday-school, it is
often the youngest child, who perhaps needs most to go; if some one must
be kept out of the day-school, it is the smallest child, of course; and
during the year that he remains idle he may receive impressions and
learn lessons that will mar his whole future life. Let us have done with
this barbaric practice. Make room for the children; give them not only
the first place but the best place.
In almost any city in the South any Sunday in the year you will find
more children--more boys and girls--outside of the Sunday-schools than
you will find inside. There is a loud and crying call sounding from the
past and from the future and bidding mothers and fathers to be more
diligent in the matter of having their children embrace opportunities of
growth and spiritual culture which are almost within a stone’s throw. If
mothers and fathers will not hear and obey this clarion call I believe
that they will be brought to account for it in the day of judgment. Not
only so, but in the years to come they will be compelled to wail out
their sorrow over prodigal sons and daughters who might have proven to
be ornaments to society and to the church if their parents had devoted
half the care upon them that they expended upon colts and calves,
kittens and puppies that grew up with them!
In all earnestness I implore those to whom God has given winsome little
children to begin early, as early as thy find it possible, to train
their young lives for God and heaven. Let their little voices learn
early to lisp the precious name of Jesus and be attuned to sing His
praise. If you leave them this legacy--than which there is none
greater--there will come peace and joy to your old age, and the light of
heaven, like the golden glow of a radiant sunset, will rest on your
dying bed.
And now, as I close these stories, there comes to me across the
intervening space of silence and of tears fond memories of a sweet and
patient mother. I cannot remember when she began to talk to me of Jesus
nor read to me the word of God. I remember well when she taught me how
to read, and the old-fashioned blue back spelling book is as plainly
before me now as in those long past days. But, long before that, I had
heard her read the Bible and raise her voice in prayer for all whom she
loved. And to-day those memories live when a thousand busy scenes of
after life lie dead. And when old age comes on--if God should spare me
to be old--the memory of my mother’s words and her reverential prayers
will be the brightest of all the joys that shall light up the evening of
my life.