MANY years ago there was living in the State of New York a woman and her only child, little Johnny. The woman was not a widow, but times being bad, her husband had gone to seek better fortune in California. After months of suspense the promised letter arrived, bringing the welcome news of brighter prospects, and the desire for the wife and child to join him by the next vessel.
They took the train for New York City, and immediately embarked for California. For two or three days they had lost sight of land.
One day Johnny sat close beside his mother upon the deck. Suddenly, in frightened amazement, he and his mother started to their feet and for a moment stood to listen to the awful cry of the passengers and crew below. The ship was on fire! The terrible news was soon passed from one to another, till everybody echoed back the cry—fire! fire! fire!”
When all hope was gone, the captain ordered the boats to be lowered. The last boat touched the water’s edge and was quickly filled, and a man standing up with his oar was pushing off from the burning wreck. At that moment the mother and Johnny ran to the bulwarks of the ship, and with clasped hands begged to be taken into the boat.
“The boat is full, and we can take no more”, was the cry from a score of voices as the oars splashed in the water. The poor frantic woman turned away in mad despair, as the flames already made their way on the deck. But one man’s heart was moved by the pitiful sight of the boy’s scared look as he clung to his mother’s gown.
“Comrades,” said he, “it seems cruel to leave that woman and her child without trying to help them, let us try and make room for one”; upon which they shouted back to the ship—
“We’ll take one of you, but we can’t possibly take you both; make haste and one come, there is no time to be lost.”
For a moment the mother looked at the boat; there was her only hope of deliverance, and life had never seemed so sweet to her before; for a moment she looked at her child, and he was dearer to her than life itself. She could waver no longer, she caught him in her arms.
“Johnny,” she said, “when you land safely in California and see your father there, tell him, with your mother’s dying love, how she stayed on the burning ship that you might be saved. Farewell, and may God watch over you, my darling boy!”
He kissed his mother, who was loth to part with him, but with a last “goodbye” the boy was lowered by a rope down the ship’s side into the boat. The sailors took him amongst them and rowed off for their lives. He stood waving his little pocket-handkerchief, whilst his mother repeatedly kissed her hand to him, straining her eyes to get along last look at the one she loved so well, scarce heeding her own danger as her whole soul was set on saving him. Presently the rumbling noise told of the explosion, and as the ship was shivered into a thousand pieces, Johnny saw his mother no more. But could he ever forget the last interview? Would not the impress of that loving look be branded on his inmost soul with a hotter fire of love than even the flames of that burning ship! How could he forget her? She loved him and gave herself for him. “Greater love,” saith the Scripture, “hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.” Doubtless this woman would not have sacrificed her life for a common sailor or a fellow-passenger, but for her child—for Johnny (and to her there was but one Johnny in the world)—she was willing to be blown to pieces for his sake, if by any means he might be saved.
This son would be a base miserable wretch if his heart did not swell at every memory of that mother’s dying love. And yet, what is that love? It is but a shadow! It fades into insignificance before the overpowering love of Him who died—not for those who had any claim
upon Him, as this child had upon his mother, but for His foes. O, what love, what love was His! We can truly say of Him— “He loved me, and gave Himself for me.” His was more than a mother’s love; many waters could not quench it, neither could the floods drown it. For Jesus went through a more awful fire than the flames of the burning ship. And for whom did He endure this? It was for me. And what has His thus dying done for me? It has saved me from the fire that is never quenched, where the worm never dies in hell. Wondrous love! wondrous love! is the only answer to it all.
“God commendeth His love toward us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
ML 12/15/1912