THE following narrative is well fitted to impress the lesson of doing today “whatsoever thy hand findeth to do.” Duty delayed may not only become duty neglected, but it may involve an eternal loss.
“Little Willie,” writes a teacher, “is a name which brings before me visions of his blue eyes and golden hair, of his rosy cheeks, where dimples loved to linger, and the ruby lips that so often used to say, ‘Tecer, are I a dood boy today?’ But best of all were the gentle words and winning smiles that made him such a sunbeam in our school. His heart seemed overflowing with love and sympathy for every one.
“One afternoon I told the class, of which he was a member, how Christ took little children in His arms, and blessed them, and I taught them the verse, ‘Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ That afternoon, after school was dismissed, as I was locking my desk, Willie stole softly back. Climbing upon the desk, he put his arms around my neck, and kissed me, saying,—
“‘I love oo Tecer.’
“‘What is love, Willie?’ I asked.
“He thought a moment, then replied earnestly—
“‘It’s what makes us dood to folks.’ After a little pause, he added, ‘Tecer, who is Kwist that best ittle children?’
“Before I could reply, there came a knock at the door. I opened it, and a little girl handed me a note, saying timidly,—
“‘Mrs. H— supposed it, had been sent before.’ It contained an urgent invitation for me to spend the afternoon with a friend of mine. I knew that Willie was the child of irreligious parents, and that I ought to encourage this his first seeking after Divine truth; but the tempter whispered, Tomorrow will do as well, and I yielded to the voice. Tomorrow how many broken hopes, how many duties unfilled come from too firm a reliance on its deceitful promises.
“But the next day Willie’s place was vacant. I missed the bright face and ringing laugh of my little pet.
“On the first opportunity, some days after, I directed my steps to his father’s house. On my way I met his sister. Taking my hand, she said hurriedly,—
“‘O teacher, won’t you come right down to our house? Willie is so sick, and don’t know any of us.’
“In a few moments I stood by the bedside of the little sufferer. He was tossing to and fro in restless pain; and they told me that scarlet fever was drying up the fountains of that young life.
“As I entered the room, he said softly, ‘Who is Kwist that best ittle children?’ Sitting beside him, I told him then the sweet story of the cross. But reason seemed clouded; and yet, when I ceased speaking, he said, with pleading earnestness,—
“‘Pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children?’
‘Will you pray for us?’ asked the father.
“It was all he could say, for his heart was full. Kneeling there, I prayed that God would spare our darling, if it was His will, and if not, that He would comfort the hearts of his parents in their great sorrow, and make me more faithful to the little ones committed to my charge.
“When we arose, a convulsion came over Willie, and the little form writhed in agony. It was but for a moment; then he lay still, with closed eyes and clasped hands. Silently we watched beside him, till the ticking of the old clock that stood in one corner seemed like a somber interlude, weaving the moments of suspense together. An hour passed on. Then there was another convulsion. It was longer and harder than the last. At its close he lay pale and exhausted. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and his lips unclosed. There was a strange agonizing earnestness in his voice, as he pleaded:—
“ ‘Pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children. Oh, pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children.’
“ ‘Pray for him, for him,’ sobbed the father; and I prayed then as I had never done before, that Christ would reveal Himself to that dying child.
“God heard the prayer; for as we watched him, an exultant look glanced across Willie’s face. He lifted his head, and stretched forth his little hand toward heaven. I shall never forget his last words:—
“‘There is Kwist that best ittle children. I coming; I coming.’ And the little hand was buried in the pillows, the beating heart was hushed forever.
“Two days after, when the clouds were weeping rain-tears, we laid him down in his last earthly resting-place. And as the aged pastor told us that Willie had gone to see Jesus Christ who blessed little children, there were eyes unused to tears, and hardened sunburnt faces, that were moistened with something else than the rain-drops that were falling thickly around us.
“Brief was his life, beautiful his death, yet, through God’s blessing, they were the means of leading his parents to fix their hopes for both time and eternity on that dear Saviour who blessed little children.”
ML 05/25/1902