IT is a beautiful, warm summer morning, the sun shining brightly into a cozy little room in the suburbs of one of our large towns. A little fair-haired girl, of some five years or more, sat at her mother’s feet, listening eagerly while she read aloud the daily portion of the Bible. Slowly and distinctly the twenty-second chapter of Revelation is read, and each word of these first grand verses falls sweet and clear in the silence of the room: “And He showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.”
And, as each verse was read, the description of that fair city seemed glorious indeed to the little listening child: “And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign forever and ever.”
The child sat quietly, with clasped hands and flushed cheeks, as she listened to the revelation of the glory of the City of Light, and looking at the dancing sunbeams that streamed through the window panes she thinks, “No candles, neither light of the sun.” “Behold, I come quickly,” the mother reads, and the child lifts her eyes to the blue heavens as if expecting to see them roll away and the Lord descend with a shout, “for the time is at hand.” But then the awful words of the next few verses filled her with dismay. “He that is unjust, let him be un-just still,” and the gentle voice reads on, till, pausing slightly, she ends with—“Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.”
“For without” —O, how that sad word pierced through the listening child and reached her very soul, “for without are dogs,” and on through the verse ending with, “and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.”
“O! mother,” cried the child, starting to her feet, and the big tears rolled down over her cheeks. “O, mother, mother, I will be shut out.” Surprised, the mother drew the little one towards her, and placing her arms round the trembling form, asked her to tell her all.
“Will one little sin shut me out of heaven?”
“My dear child,” the mother answered earnestly, “there shall nothing enter into that fair city that defileth, and one little lie, one single stain of sin, will shut you out forever from that beautiful city I have just been reading of.”
“Then, mother,” sobbed the child, “I can never go to heaven, for I know I have told lies and sinned many times. What shall I do; will Jesus forgive me?”
Very tenderly the mother told the weeping child the sweet, old story of Jesus and His love of how He died for sins not His own, suffering in our room and stead; then, turning to 1 John 1, she read in the seventh verse: “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.”
Slowly the light from heaven dawned on that little soul, and she saw it was for her Jesus died, and His blood cleanseth “whiter than snow.” And she learned that thus cleansed she would have her part in the heavenly city.
ML-12/12/1920