The ship was tossing fearfully on the stormy sea. Every timber strained, every wave seemed as if it must engulph the vessel. The weak and timid cried out in an agony of fear. The brave and loving moved about with white, compressed lips, and contracted brows, striving now and then to say some brief reassuring words to those for whose safety they feared. But the babe lay tranquil and happy in its mother's arms. Her breast was to it a shelter against the world. It knew nothing of danger or fear. Its world was "Thou and I!" and love.
* * * *
Years passed away, and the baby grew into a child, and the child into a man. His life was one of many vicissitudes, of passionate hopes, and bitter sorrows, and wild ambition. He worshipped the world in many forms, and wandered farther and farther from the Father's house, until the world which first had beguiled him with its choicest things, came to feed him on its husks.
And a long way off, he thought of the Father and the home, and rose to return. His steps were doubtful and slow, but the heart which met him had no hesitation and no upbraidings. Then the wanderer understood the love with which he had been watched and pitied all those desolate years, the love with which he was welcomed now.
The earth, and sky, and human life grew sacred and beautiful to him as they had never been, because through them all, a living Presence was around him, a living heart met him; and, as of old on the mother's knee, once more, as he looked up to God his Father, his world became only "Thou and I!" and love.
His life moved rapidly on to its dark goal. He had to leave the sunshine of earth, its pleasant fields, and cherished homes, and all familiar things, for ever. The light grew dimmer, and the darkness deepened. But he had no fear.
In the darkness, and the bewildering rush of new experience, he was again as the babe on the mother's knee. To him there was no darkness, no confusion. He looked into his Father's face, and smiled. Life and death and earth, all he left, and all he went to, were as nothing to him then. He had nothing but that one living, loving Presence, but it was enough.
Again it was "Thou and I!" and love.
And death found that childlike and angelic smile upon his lips, and left it there.
* * * *