THE keen cold breath of winter
Was blowing sharply round,
And every crack and crevice
In door and shelter found.
The trees were shorn of beauty,
The edges black and bare;
And cheery little feathered friends
Found only scanty fare.
sought a collier’s cottage
On such a wintry day,
Where a poor Sunday scholar
In helpless sickness lay.
A kind and ready welcome
I met with from the boy,
And something seemed to whisper
His heart was full of joy.
Though painful were his struggles.
And hard and short his breath,
Though life seemed slowly ebbing—
He had no fear of death.
I spoke to him of heaven
And heaven’s eternal day,
And of that precious Saviour
Who wash’d my sins away.
And when I spoke of heaven,
Where soon I hope to be,
“And so do I,” he answered,
“For Jesus died for ME.”
Whene’er I spoke of Jesus
Upon the cursed tree,
He said, “He died for sinners,
But, sir, He died for me.”
Long time I sat conversing
With this dear, happy youth,
So pleased to find his spirit
Rejoicing in the truth.
He seemed so calm and happy,
His heart from fears so free—
The secret of his gladness
Was “Jesus died for me.”
And so, I sat conversing
On Jesus and His love,
To fix the boy’s affections
On happy scenes above.
A few more weeks, and Jesus
Had call’d the boy away,
To be with Him forever
‘Mid joys of endless day.
The tomb and slab of marble
Mark not his lowly grave;
Nor does a sombre yew-tree
Its solemn branches wave.
There bloom the simple daisies
Till winter winds destroy,
Which lift their eyes to heaven,
As did that happy boy.
’Tis this that makes me joyful,
And keeps my heart so free,
To know Christ died for sinners,
But that HE died for ME!