THE sweet summer flowers were blooming gaily, and filling the air with their perfume; while numerous birds made the garden resound with their songs of praise.
There was, however, no responsive echo in the heart of one who sat amidst it all. The mourning dress she wore harmonized but too well with her sorrowful face. Birds, flowers, and sunshine only seemed to jar upon her feelings. She could think of nothing but the recent loss of her beloved and only brother.
As long as she could remember anything distinctly, Edward and herself had been inseparable companions. In childhood they had played and studied together; and as they grew in years, they had still shared many pursuits in common; their tastes were similar; they loved the same earthly friends, they believed in and obeyed the same Lord and Saviour. But now this cherished brother was gone, and she missed him more and more every day, while over and over again the longing arose: “O, that he were but still here!”
Helen’s little nephew, a boy of about three years old, had been playing quietly on the floor by her side. The blocks which had long kept him amused now lay spread all around; he was tired of them at last, and something else had attracted his attention.
“Auntie” he began, breaking the long silence, “what are those wooden things on each side of the window?”
“Those are called shutters, my dear,” she replied, rousing from her reverie, and turning at the sound of his voice. “Shutters, because they are shut at night.”
“Shut at night?” repeated the little one.
“Yes,” was the answer. “When you are lying in your little bed, fast asleep, it gradually becomes darker and darker. We call that darkness night, and we shut all the windows and doors, and soon go to bed too.”
“And then it is dark everywhere,” said the child, thoughtfully, as though his little mind were taking in some new idea. “But, Auntie, do you mean that it gets dark even up in heaven? Do they have to close the shutters there?”
Looking earnestly at his aunt for a moment, and clasping his little hands together, Teddie cried, joyously: “O! how glad I am! How happy dear uncle Edward must be! Mother told me he had gone to live with Jesus, so he is always in the light!” At the same instant he caught sight of a butterfly, and, with an exclamation of delight, sprang to his feet, and was very soon at the other end of the garden.
But the words spoken by the tiny child had, through divine grace, turned his aunt’s thoughts from herself and her loneliness to her God and Father’s love, and to her brother’s heavenly bliss. She had mourned for him as dead; now she could rejoice that he was alive for evermore.
“Always in the light! Always in the light!” she whispered to herself. “Yes, I may indeed take comfort! I have been faithless and rebellious to give way so long to this despondent grief. My dearly-loved brother is forever in the light, and even here on earth, the soul that knows and loves God need not remain in darkness. His light overcomes it all; and out of the mouth of babes and sucklings He has perfected praise.”
ML 05/191/1918