It was blossom-time, and in the quiet of the early May morning the
church bells rung out their loving call. “Come, come, come!” they
seemed to say, and, accepting the invitation, we shortly found
ourselves sitting, with other strangers, in the Episcopal church of a
favorite resort.
It was during the Scripture lesson that a little maiden of about
four years of age quietly walked up the long aisle, looking to right
and left, scanning the faces in every pew, until she had reached the
chancel. The clergyman’s voice was no doubt familiar to her, for she
showed no timidity. Not seeing the one she sought, she turned and
tripped down the aisle again. But on nearing the door she put out her
hands and extended her arms in a pleading baby fashion, as if to say,
“I do not want to go away. I cannot find my papa or mamma, but will not
some one lift me up? I came to church to stay.” And a kind-hearted man,
seeing the gesture, took up the baby beside him.
The little one reverently entered into the worship of the hour. As
prayer followed prayer, the blue eyes closed tight, and the wavy
golden hair fell forward over the bent head. At the time of singing
she rose with others, and her voice carolled out the tune, though her
words were those of her own devising. One little hand tightly clasped
a penny, and as the collection-plate was passed she eagerly dropped in
her contribution.
It was time to go home, and as nearly all present were strangers, many
watched to see what the baby girl would do. A mother by my side said
to her, “I have a little girl at home, about as big as you. I would
not want her to be lost, and if you will tell me where you live I
will take you home.” Then a quiet dignity seemed to possess the wee
maiden, as with courteous action she pointed to a large white house
about one hundred feet away. Lifting the blue eyes to the lady’s face,
she replied, “I live there. I love to come to church, and I thought I
should find papa; he always goes, but”—gravely shaking her curls—“I
couldn’t find him this morning. But I can go home by my own self.” And
then, child fashion, she ran on, as though to satisfy us that she knew
the way.
Walking under the apple boughs back to the hotel, we thought of the
sermon this child’s presence had preached. And the question came, Why
do not all parents so train their little ones that they love God’s
house? This little girl had given the congregation a lesson which
should make a children’s day of every Sabbath the year around. The
Bible says, “Their angels do always behold the face of the Father,” and
“Unless ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom.”
Where young children sit side by side with their parents in church,
and so learn to “remember the Sabbath day,” they will early wish to
consecrate their lives to Christ. They will not enter heaven “so as by
fire,” but “as kings crowned,” for they will not wait to work for the
Master until the time when the “grinders shall cease because they are
few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,” but will use
the hours of every day as in God’s sight, and in the companionship of
Him who is invisible.