A great crowd of people had gathered around
A small ragged urchin stretched out on the ground
In the midst of the street; and some cried, “For shame!”
And others, “Can any one tell us his name?
For that poor little body, now bleeding and still,
Was all that was left of once bright little Will.
A great heavy cart had come rattling that way
Where Willie and others were busy at play.
And the poor little fellow, now stretched on the stones,
Seemed only a mass of bruised flesh and crushed bones.
But still there was life, and a kind doctor said;
“We must take the child home and put him to bed.
He must have all the care we can possibly give,
And it may be the poor little fellow will live.”
But, alas, for poor Willie! he had no nice home,
He lived in an alley, in one little room;
And his poor mother, working from earliest light,
Had often no supper to give him at night.
But joy for poor Willie, for not far away
From the place where all bleeding and shattered he lay,
Is a very large house standing back from the street,
With everything round it so quiet and neat,
Which many good people had built in His name
Who healed all the sick when from heaven He came;
And who promises blessings that ever endure
To those who shall comfort the sick and the poor.
So there, in a room, large and cheerful and bright,
Little Willie was laid on a pillow so white,
The walls with bright pictures were all covered o’er;
Will never had seen such a clean place before.
Long rows of small beds, with small tables between,
The coverlets white, and the beds painted green;
And so many children, all sick, but so bright;
Will almost forgot his great pain at the sight,
But the poor little boy suffered terrible pain
When the good surgeon came to examine again
Those poor little limbs; and he said that, next day,
He must bring his sharp knives, and cut both legs away.
O, how could he bear it! O, what should he do!
So small and alone, he could never get through.
And then he knew well that he never could run
And play with the boys, as before he had done.
Poor Willie! he felt that, in all that great city,
There was no one to help him and no one to pity.
It was night; in the hospital ward all was still,
Save the low moans of anguish from poor little Will,
When a dear little girl in the very next bed,
Turned round on her pillow, and lovingly said:
“Little boy, what’s the matter? Are you very ill?”
“O, yes,” said poor Willie, “and what is worse still,
The doctor is going to hurt my legs so
Tomorrow, I never can bear it, I know.”
“But Jesus will help you,” said dear little Sue;
“He suffered and died, Willie, for such as you.”
The child was astonished, and thus made reply:
“Why, Susie, who’s Jesus? and what made Him die?”
“O, Willie! how sad! I thought everyone knew
You didn’t go to Sunday-school; isn’t that true?”
“No, I never have been,” the boy made reply;
“But tell me of Jesus, and what made Him die?
“Well, Jesus,” said Susie, “came down long ago,
Because He was sorry we all suffered so,
And would be so naughty. And He was a child,
Just as little as we, but so gentle and mild.
And when He grew up, He went all through the land,
And healed all the sick with a touch of His hand,
And He took little children right up on His knee—
O, Willie, I wished it had been you and me!
But some cruel men caught Jesus one day,
And beat Him, and mocked Him, and took Him away,
And nailed Him with nails to a great cross of wood.
O, wasn’t it hard, when He’d done them such good?
How He must have loved us to die on the tree!”
“But,” said Will, “if He’s dead, how can He help me?”
“Why, I’ll tell you,” said Susie, “though now He’s in heaven,
In the Book He has left us, a promise is given
That whenever we want Him, He’ll come to our aid.
I’m so sure He loves me, I’m never afraid.
I know that He’s come to this hospital here;
And though folks can’t see Him, they feel He is near.
I know, for I’ve tried it again and again,
He helps us bear sickness and sorrow and pain.”
“O, how good!” said the boy, with a long thankful sigh,
“But I am so small that He might pass me by;
So I’ll put up my hand, just so He can see,
He’ll know that I want Him and come right to me.”
When the bright sun peeped in on that little white bed,
The hand was still raised, but poor Willie was dead!
The sad look of pain had gone from his face,
And the sweetest of smiles had taken its place;
For far off in heaven, that beautiful land,
Kind Jesus had seen little Will’s left hand,
Dear friends, who have read this sweet story, you see
That trusting in Jesus will save you and me.
O, that all who of Jesus’ great mercy have heard,
Would, like dear little Willie, take Him at His word!
ML 10/06/1912