“Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost.”
It was a bright Sunday in July, and the bells of some of the
neighbouring churches were ringing for afternoon service, as Susan
Morley, after leaving her little brother and sister at the door of
their school, made her way through some narrow bye-streets to the
little ragged school that was so dear to her heart, and from which on
Sunday afternoons for the last four years nothing had ever kept her
absent.
It was a rough-looking place, which had formerly been used as a
coal-shed; but loving hands had hung the walls with sweet texts and
pictures, and transformed it into a pleasant-looking place within;
while the humble appearance of its exterior had this advantage, that it
attracted, while a grander building would have frightened away, the
very class of children it was so desirable to get hold of.
A stranger going in that afternoon, as he looked round on the clean
faces of the children, and marked their generally tidy appearance, and
quiet orderly behaviour, might have questioned the fact of its being
a _ragged_ school. Very different was the appearance of the children
who attended it ten years previously, when it was first opened through
the loving thoughts and efforts of some kind friends who had laboured
earnestly in behalf of the lost little ones; and very different was
the neighbourhood generally then, from what it now was. Through those
years of patient toil and prayer the earnest workers had seen, at first
perhaps only dimly, here and there tokens for good to bid them not be
weary in well-doing; but now, in looking back, they could feel how the
good hand of their God had indeed been upon them, and multiplied the
seed sown a hundredfold. To homes once sunk in darkness and ignorance
had the blessed light been carried, and little children, taught of
Jesus, had borne home to their parents the glad tidings of great
joy, and taught the lips which first taught them to speak the words
of eternal life. Thus had the wilderness been turned into a fruitful
field; and in the day of the harvest those patient sowers shall
doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing their sheaves with them.
As Susan opened the door of the school, a group of children followed
her in; and on taking her place in the class, a little girl stepped
forward, and curtseying, said: “Please, teacher, you told us last
Sunday that we were to try and say ‘come’ to somebody else, and on the
way here I saw two little girls standing at the corner of our street,
and I asked them if they wouldn’t like to come to school with me, and
hear what teacher would tell us about Jesus, and they said they’d like
to come, only they’d got such ragged things, they didn’t like to come
in, because, perhaps, the ladies would be angry, and send them away;
but I said you didn’t mind how ragged we were, if only we came. But
when they got near the school they looked frightened, and said they
couldn’t come, unless so be I asked leave for them. Oh! can I fetch
them in, teacher? I said I was sure you’d say ‘Yes.’”
The eager request was soon granted; and before many minutes the child
returned, leading, one on either side of her, the poor children for
whom she had pleaded. They were indeed ragged, and the sad, pinched
look on both faces told of the privations they must have suffered.
Susan spoke to them very kindly, and, gradually reassured by her gentle
voice and manner, they gained confidence, and ventured to look round
them. When prayers were over, and the other children had said their
texts and hymns, Susan turned to the little strangers and asked them a
few simple questions; amongst others, whether they had ever heard of
heaven? The elder of the two looked at her thoughtfully for a moment,
and then said, “Isn’t that the place where nobody wants nothing to eat
or drink?”
[Illustration]
Deeply touched by an answer which told so much, in a few short words,
of the suffering and want with which they were evidently so early
familiarised, but unwilling to show what she felt, Susan answered:
“Quite right, dear; heaven is a place where nobody wants for anything;
every one there is quite happy. But can you tell me how we may get
there?”
No responsive word or look came this time from either of the little
new-comers; but amongst Susan’s own children many a hand was held out,
and when she made a sign to one of them to answer, a little girl named
Jane Hardy said, “Please, teacher, for Jesus Christ’s sake.”
“Quite right, dear; but now tell me what you mean when you say, ‘for
Jesus Christ’s sake.’”
“Please, teacher, because Jesus came down from heaven to die for our
sins; and if our sins are forgiven for His sake, and our naughty hearts
changed by His Holy Spirit, we shall go to heaven when we die.”
“That’s right, dear; it is only because of our Saviour Christ’s great
love in leaving His home above, and coming down to our earth to live
and die for us, that we can have any sure and certain hope of ever
reaching heaven. You know the little verse which says--
‘And this, not for any good thing we have done,
But all for the sake of His well-beloved Son.’
And now tell me if Jesus is willing to receive little children into His
beautiful home.”
Several hands were held out, and almost with one voice the children
answered: “Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
Susan then told the children to turn to their Bibles; and, after
reading with them the parable of the lost sheep, she told them as
simply as possible, how Jesus is the Good Shepherd who goes out after
the lost sheep, and never rests until He has found them; how by the
“lost sheep” are meant those who have not known His love in dying for
them; how tenderly He loves little children, and longs for them to come
into His fold. She explained to them how weak and unable to protect
themselves the sheep are; and just so, how feeble and helpless we all
are in ourselves, and what need we have to be led and kept day by day
in the right way. She spoke to them of the tender love of the Good
Shepherd for every one, even the least and feeblest of His lambs; of
their great enemy, the devil, from whom He died to deliver them: how He
knows each little one by name, keeps His eye always upon them, watches
over them by night and by day, goes after them when they wander from
Him, and brings them back to His fold; and, at length, when life is
over, receives them into His own gloriously bright and holy kingdom
above.
The children all listened quietly and attentively; and amongst the
little eyes fixed on the kind young teacher, none seemed more riveted
than the poor little stranger-children, by whom alone of all the class
the sweet story of old--the story which is ever new--was heard for the
first time.
When school was over, the children stood up and sang together the sweet
hymn, which followed so well on the subject of the lesson:
“Jesus is our Shepherd,
Wiping every tear,
Folded in His bosom,
What have we to fear?”
When the class was dismissed, Susan called the little strangers to her,
and asked them their names, and where they lived, and if they would
like to come to the school again. The elder one answered:
“I’m called Polly, and that’s Lizzie. We don’t live nowhere. This is a
rare nice place; we’d like to come again.”
“And have you no father or mother?”
“Please, ’m, mother’s dead, and father went away to sea long ago, and
we’ve nobody to look after us.”
“And where are you going now?”
“We shall walk about till it’s dark, and then creep under one of the
arches, or on to a doorstep, if nobody don’t turn us away; but most
often we get turned away from one house after another, or the police
sees us, and then we has to hide away as fast as we can. It’s not
as bad now as in the winter. Lizzie gets a cough then; and I don’t
know how to keep her warm; we often shiver all night long. Arches is
draughty; but sometimes we find an old barrel, and creep into that;
that’s the best place.”
“Not quite the best,” said the younger child; “we once slept in a warm
place.”
The elder child here shook her head at poor little Lizzie, and made a
sign to her to say no more; but the movement did not escape Susan’s
observation, and only served to confirm what she had already strongly
suspected, that these poor, forlorn children were none other than
Daisy’s “prayer-children.” It had been her earnest hope that somehow,
through means of the ragged school, which brought her into contact
with so many of the poor children and homes of the neighbourhood, she
might learn something about them; and now the longings and prayers
of the past months seemed at length about to be answered. Their eyes
brightened when Susan asked them if they would like to go home with
her, and to have some warm tea and bread-and-butter; and poor little
Lizzie could not resist saying, “We’re so hungry; we’ve had nothing but
some dry crusts since yesterday morning.”
Telling them to keep close to her, and talking to them, as they walked
along, of the Good Shepherd who loved them, and was even now seeking to
bring them to His fold, Susan led them to her own home. The shutters
being closed, the children did not at first recognize the place where
six months before they had found shelter; but as Susan led them through
the shop, watching their faces meanwhile, to discover any sign of
recognition, Lizzie suddenly pulled her sister’s arm, and said in a low
voice, “Wasn’t this the place where we slept that night?”
Polly looked frightened, and whispered, “Perhaps we shall be punished
for it;” and in another moment both of them would have darted out of
the door, had not Susan closed it and taken them by the hand, saying
to them very gently, “Don’t be afraid, dear children; this is the nice
place where you once slept, one cold night in the winter, and we hoped
you would have come to it again, and used to leave the door unlatched
for you every night. God your Father in heaven led you here, and we
asked Him to bring you back, and He has heard our prayers. Polly and
Lizzie needn’t fear anything now; for, if they are good, they shall
stay here always, and never sleep out in the cold any more again.”
Then leading them into the inner room, she brought them to Daisy, who
was lying on her couch in the window, and said:
“Daisy, here are your ‘prayer-children,’ found at last through your
prayers and my dear little school.”
Daisy’s face beamed with joy and thankfulness. During the quiet hour
while her brother and sisters were at school, and her father and mother
at church, she had been praying that Jesus would suffer these little
children to come unto Him, and that they might be found; and even while
the prayer was rising up from her heart the answer of peace was coming
down, and the promise of old being fulfilled: “It shall come to pass,
that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking,
I will hear.”
There was general rejoicing that afternoon in the Morleys’ home when
the rest of the family came in.
Kind Mrs. Morley, with Elsie’s help, soon washed and dressed the poor
children in some better garments than their own miserable rags; and the
loving mother’s heart did not repent when she saw poor little Lizzie
sitting at the tea-table that evening in Lily’s place, and clad in
Lily’s clothes.
Happy, thrice happy, they who know the joy and blessed privilege of
ministering to the Lord of glory, in the person even of a little child,
and who, from love to the Saviour who loved them and gave Himself for
them, receive one such little one in His name.