I HAVE a story to tell the readers of “Messages of Love,” one I think they will be as much interested in as I was, when a friend who loves to speak of the Lord Jesus, the Saviour of sinners, told it to me.
One day this gentleman went into the country. It was a lovely day, the sun shone brightly, the birds sang in the trees, primroses and violets grew along the mossy banks, and Mr. F. walked on feeling very happy and thankful, as he said some sweet Bible words over and over: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.” (Psalm 23:11<<A Psalm of David.>> The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. (Psalm 23:1).)
Just then a boy carrying an old rusty bird-cage came down the lane. Even before he got near enough for Mr. F. to see what was in the cage, he heard such piteous chirps, not at all like the song of the free birds around. As the boy drew nearer, Mr. F. saw about half a dozen poor little sparrows all trying so hard to get out of the cage, but in vain. They clew round and round, and beat their heads against the wires, but the door of the cage was tied with a strong string, and there was no way of escape for the tiny prisoners.
Mr. F. put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “My boy, whose birds are those?”
The boy looked at Mr. F. for a moment, then answered, “Mine, sir.”
“Yours, are they; how did you get them?”
“Caught them in a trap in the woods.” “And what are you going to do with them now?”
“Give them to our cat.”
“Poor little things, I should like to buy them. How much will you sell them for?”
“Fifteen cents, sir.”
Without another word Mr. F. took the money out of his pocket and put it into the boy’s hand. He looked as if he could not quite understand why a gentleman should give so much for a few little birds, but he only said:
“Thank you, sir. Going to the station, are you? I’ll carry the cage up for you.”
But Mr. F. did not want the cage taken to the station; cutting the string that fastened the door with his pocket knife, he put his hand into the cage and took out a bird, smoothed its feathers, then let it fly; another, then another, till in less time than it takes me to write it, the cage was empty.
The boy looked on, he could not make it out; to buy the birds only to set them free. he would not have done so he was sure. At last he said:
“O, sir, you have let them all go!”
“Yes, they are all gone; why did you not stop me if you thought I was doing wrong? You said they were your birds when I first met you.”
“So they were, sir, till—till you paid for them.”
“So that makes all the difference. I bought them, then they were mine, and I could do what I thought best with them: is that it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. F. and the boy stood talking a long time after the birds were set free, for Mr. F. had a very sweet and wonderful story to tell—the story of the life of the Lord Jesus who gave His own life, His own precious blood, because there was nothing else great or good enough to set poor captives of Satan free. Gave it that He might save the small boys and girls, just as much as the grown-up men and women.
And those who have really come to Jesus and trusted Him as their own Saviour do not belong to themselves at all. Are they sorry? O, no, very glad; for they serve such a good kind Master the Lord Jesus Christ. He makes them so happy in trying to serve and please Him here, and His own word tells them that when their work on earth is done, He will send for them, or perhaps fetch them Himself to live in His own beautiful Home, where they will serve Him better and be with Him forever.
Dear little reader, is the Lord Jesus your own precious Saviour?
ML 10/20/1918