I will tell you a little story
In a homely sort of rhyme.
It is about a little girl
Who was born in a southern clime
She lived in a pretty cottage,
With flowers round the door;
From which the busy little bees
Gathered up their winter store.
Every morn she ran to school
And quickly learned to read,
While to the stories of the Testament
She gave most careful heed.
For the mistress had bought,
From a pedlar going round,
Some copies of this precious book
In French schools seldom found.
But this man of God with longing heart,
For the children in the school,
Had asked the Lord to make her buy—
Though it was against the rule.
And oft he prayed and oft he longed
To know if any child
Had learned to love the holy book,
That he had left behind.
One day while passing very near,
He knocked at the school-room door,
But found a stranger in the place
Of her he had seen before,
He asked about the Testaments,
At first she scarce replied,
But when he seemed so anxious,
She said, she had laid them aside.
He asked if they were ever read,
She said she did not know,
But one had gone to a little girl
Who was at school some time ago.
He asked if the child lived very near,
She said just over there,
And she pointed to the cottage
With the flowers round the door.
The pedlar soon was seated
Within the little room,
And listening to the story
How the book there had come.
The father said, “Our little girl,
Came home from school so ill,
That her mother put her in to bed,
Where she lay very still.
The doctor came and saw Jeannette
(That is the little girls name),
He said it was fever she had got
And many were ill with the same.
Her mother nursed her night and day,
And tried to ease her pain,
But still the fever raged away,
And made her efforts vain.
At last we thought she must die,
And it nearly broke our heart,
To think that from our darling
We must for ever part.
But she only smiled most sweetly,
And said, ‘Please do not cry,
For the blessed Lord will take me
To His home beyond the sky.
He has said, Suffer the little children
And forbid them not to come,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
My bright eternal home.
Their hearts are bad and full of sin,
But My blood will wash them white
And not a spot will there be seen
When they stand in God’s pure light.
So I came to Him and He made me clean
And death cannot me harm.
For He’ll carry me in His bosom
And round me put His arm.’ [strange
She ceased; I thought these words so
Came from a fevered brain,
But she said, ‘Oh no, ‘tis all quite true,
I have read it again and again.’
At three weeks’ end the fever
Left our darling very weak,
She lay so quietly and so still
We scarcely dared to speak.
But as her strength came slowly back,
And no sound from her lips had come,
We feared what proved to be too true—
That our child was deaf and dumb.
Her patient little trustful face
Was bright as in days of yore;
But a longing look was in her eyes,
That was never seen there before. [have,
I knew there was something she wished to
But she only shook her head,
As toy after toy was brought to her
And laid upon her bed.
One morn I saw her look at a shelf
Where an, old book had lain long,
I brought it, at first she seemed herself,
But soon with a sigh laid it down.
I thought at once, to the school I’ll go
And ask for some story book;
Or perhaps the mistress can tell
Why the child has the wistful look.
When I asked, she said: ‘Oh, yes, I am sure,
‘Tis the Testament she wants,
For she always read it at play hour,
And o’er it seemed entranced.’
She gave it me, and I rushed home,
With my prize to dear Jeanette,
Who kissed and clasped it to her heart.
In a transport of delight,
Her eyes no more had the wistful look,
Her heart seemed satisfied.[book,
While she pointed out each verse in the
That tells how for sinners Christ died.
And so she taught her mother and me,
To love God’s holy word.
And I’m not ashamed to tell it thee,
We are saved through the precious blood.
The father ceased. The pedlar raised
His eyes to his Father in heaven,
And said, “Oh, Lord, I thank Thee much
For the answer to prayer Thou hast given.”
And then he told them what you know,
How the books he there had, sold,
And how he prayed both night and day,
They might prove more precious than gold.
And now we must say good-bye to Jeanette,
And good-bye to the pedlar too,
But the words of the Lord you must never forget,
For he meant them for each of you:
Suffer the little children,
And forbid them not to come,
For I want to have them with Me,
In My bright and beautiful home.