ABOUT 70 years ago, when the Province of Ontario was not so well settled as it is at present, and When many of the now prosperous farms were covered with forests, a family settled not far from the beautiful little lake, known as Rice Lake. This lake has received its name from the quantities of wild black rice which grows up every year around its shores, and also around the shores of the islands which are found in it.
When the family of whom I speak first settled near the lake, they found it a wild place. Thick forests grew all around them and the lake was the constant resort of Indians, who came to fish, or gather the wild rice, or to shoot the ducks, and other wild birds who came to feed upon the beds of rice. There were not many settlers near them, and they were often frightened by the howling of the wolves in the forest, or the still more alarming cries of the wild Indians.
Little Ellen, who was then perhaps eight years old, would tremble with fear as she sat in the chimney corner, by the huge log fire, listening to the stories of the trappers, who came to her father’s house, and would tell of hair breadth escapes from wild beasts, and wilder men. And yet, when the summer days came, and the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the red strawberries and raspberries ripened in the woods, Ellen half forgot her fears and played merrily with her brothers and sisters, on the edge of the dark forest. But one afternoon, when the play had been more exciting than usual, the little girl found herself, by some means, separated from her companions. Yes, she was all alone! Terrified at her position, she called loudly to the rest, but she received no answer. She ran this way and that, but only to get deeper and deeper into the forest. With a voice choked with sobs, she called Again, but only the squirrels, and chipmunks in the trees answered her. At last she sat down upon a fallen tree feeling too tired to walk any further. Darkness was already beginning in the recesses of that deep wood; bats, and night hawks were coming out of their hiding places, and, the harsh cry of the owl frightened the poor little child more and more. Her feet were sore and aching; her hands and face scratched and bleeding. What could she do! She thought longingly of the bright kitchen at home, where fire, and light and food awaited her, but, alas, how could she get there? Do you not think little Ellen was in a sad, sad plight?
And yet, little child, though you may not know it, you are in a very similar condition. Do you ask, How can that be? Do you say, “There are no woods filled with Indians or wild beasts near me”? Yes, I know all that, and yet I must again tell you, that if Jesus, the Good Shepherd, has not found you, you are still in a lost condition, straying upon the mountains of sin, with that “roaring lion” the devil, walking about seeking to devour you. You are far away from the Home, where all is light and joy, and as the years go on, if you are not found by that Good Shepherd, you will experience that this world is a sad dark place, full of thorns and briars which will tear you, and wound you, even as little Ellen was torn and wounded in the forest.
As that poor child sat weeping upon the fallen tree, how altogether helpless she felt. She could do nothing more to help herself. There is a verse in the fifth chapter of Romans which tells us that our condition is just the same; that in spite of all our efforts to “do better,” to find the road to heaven, we are still “without strength” still “ungodly,” still “sinners.” If you think this description of you is not true, read the chapter carefully and with this prayer upon your lips, “Lord, show me myself.” And if one little child reads this story who has found out their lost condition, do not despair, but remember that it is the LOST sheep. the Good Shepherd came to seek and save.
ML 10/21/1906