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IN a room in a stately mansion, a little babe lay in its mother's arms.
All kinds of beautiful things were around, and many people passed in
and out. Pictures by the first Masters were on the walls; the rarest
exotics filled the air with choice perfumes. The chair in which the
mother sat was gilded and tapestried; the carpet her feet rested on was
soft as mossy turf, and delicate as embroidery. Jewels sparkled on her
dress.
* Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der heiligen Liebe,"
contrasting the world of a cold philosophy, "Ich and Nicht Ich," with
the Christian's world, "Ich und Du."
The windows opened on a magnificent landscape, of park and lake,
woodland and distant hills. But the little babe saw nothing but its
mother's smile—understood nothing, but that it was on its mother's
knee. Its only consciousness was "Thou and I!" and love.
* * * *
The railway train was entering a long tunnel. The babe was still on
its mother's knee. The darkness grew deeper. The heavy train thundered
through the hollow earth. Another met it, and rushed past with a
deafening din. An older child in the carriage screamed with terror.
Many of the passengers felt uneasy, and were impatient to see the light
again. But the baby cared nothing for the noise or the darkness. It
looked in the dim lamp-light into its mother's face, and saw her smile,
and smiled again. It knew nothing of the world but "Thou and I!" and
love.
* * * *
The ship was tossing fearfully on the stormy sea. Every timber
strained, every wave seemed as if it must engulph the vessel. The weak
and timid cried out in an agony of fear. The brave and loving moved
about with white, compressed lips, and contracted brows, striving now
and then to say some brief reassuring words to those for whose safety
they feared. But the babe lay tranquil and happy in its mother's arms.
Her breast was to it a shelter against the world. It knew nothing of
danger or fear. Its world was "Thou and I!" and love.
* * * *
Years passed away, and the baby grew into a child, and the child into
a man. His life was one of many vicissitudes, of passionate hopes, and
bitter sorrows, and wild ambition. He worshipped the world in many
forms, and wandered farther and farther from the Father's house, until
the world which first had beguiled him with its choicest things, came
to feed him on its husks.
And a long way off, he thought of the Father and the home, and rose
to return. His steps were doubtful and slow, but the heart which met
him had no hesitation and no upbraidings. Then the wanderer understood
the love with which he had been watched and pitied all those desolate
years, the love with which he was welcomed now.
The earth, and sky, and human life grew sacred and beautiful to him
as they had never been, because through them all, a living Presence
was around him, a living heart met him; and, as of old on the mother's
knee, once more, as he looked up to God his Father, his world became
only "Thou and I!" and love.
His life moved rapidly on to its dark goal. He had to leave the
sunshine of earth, its pleasant fields, and cherished homes, and all
familiar things, for ever. The light grew dimmer, and the darkness
deepened. But he had no fear.
In the darkness, and the bewildering rush of new experience, he was
again as the babe on the mother's knee. To him there was no darkness,
no confusion. He looked into his Father's face, and smiled. Life and
death and earth, all he left, and all he went to, were as nothing to
him then. He had nothing but that one living, loving Presence, but it
was enough.
Again it was "Thou and I!" and love.
And death found that childlike and angelic smile upon his lips, and
left it there.
* * * *
A day will come of storm, and fire, and tempest, and convulsion, when
earth and heaven shall mingle and be rolled up as a scroll and pass
away. But in that day, what will such have to fear? Amidst all the
convulsed worlds, the redeemed will rest tranquil as the infant in the
storm on its mother's breast. For amidst it all, their eyes will rest
on the Face which was bowed in death to save them, and will know no
fear. It will be, "Thou and I, and Thou art love!" for ever.