The Child at Home: The Principles of Filial Duty, Familiarly Illustrated

by John S. C. Abbott

"The prospect of finding a lost child in those extensive prairies, would, at any time, be sufficiently discouraging. The difficulty must be greatly increased by a dark, rainy night. We travelled many miles, and to a late hour. At length we became satisfied that further search would be unavailing; and all but the mother determined to return home. It was an idea she could not, for a moment, endure. She would hear of nothing but further search. Her strength, at last, began to fail her, and I prevailed on her to return to her abode. As she turned her face from further search, and gave up her child as lost, her misery was almost too great for endurance. 'My child,' said she, 'has been devoured by a wild beast; his little limbs have been torn asunder; and his blood been drunk by the hideous monster,'—and the idea was agony. As she clung to my arm, it seemed as if her heart-strings would break. At times I had almost to support her in my arms, to prevent her falling to the earth.

"As we proceeded on our way back, I thought I heard, at a great distance, the sound of a horn. We stopped, and listened: it was repeated. It was the concerted signal. The child was found. And what were the feelings of the mother!" Language cannot describe them. Such is the strength of maternal affection. And can a child be so hard- hearted as not to love a mother? Is there any thing which can be more ungrateful than to grieve one who loves you so ardently, and who has done so much for you? If there be any crime which in the sight of God is greater than all others, it appears to me it must be the abuse of parents. If the spirit of a demon dwells in any human breast, it must be in that breast which is thankless for parental favors, and which can requite that love, which watched over our infancy and protected our helpless years, with ingratitude and disrespect.

CHAPTER V.

RELIGIOUS TRUTH.

In this chapter I shall take up the subject of religion. That you may understand your duties, it is important that you should first understand your own character in the sight of God. I can, perhaps, make this plain to you by the following illustration:

A few years since a ship sailed from England to explore the Northern Ocean. As it was a voyage of no common danger to face the storms and the tempests of those icy seas, a crew of experienced seamen was obtained, and placed under the guidance of a commander of long-tried skill. As the ship sailed from an English port, in pleasant weather and with favorable breezes, all was harmony on board, and every man was obedient to the lawful commander. As weeks passed away, and they pressed forward on the wide waste of waters, there were occasional acts of neglect of duty. Still the commander retained his authority. No one ventured to refuse to be in subjection to him, But as the ship advanced farther and farther into those unexplored regions, new toils and dangers stared them in the face. The cold blasts of those wintry regions chilled their limbs. Mountains of ice, dashed about by the tempests, threatened destruction to the ship and to the crew. As far as the eye could reach, a dreary view of chilling waves and of floating ice warned them of dangers, from which no earthly power could extricate them. The ship was far away from home, and in regions which had been seldom, if ever, seen by mortal eyes. The boldest were at times appalled by the dangers, both seen and unseen, which were clustering around them. Under these circumstances the spirit of revolt broke out among that ship's crew. They resolved that they would no longer be in subjection to their commander. They rose together in rebellion: deprived him of his authority, and took the control of the ship into their own hands. They then placed their captain in an open boat, and throwing in to him a few articles of provision, they turned him adrift upon that wide and cheerless ocean, and he never was heard of more. Appointing one of their number as commander, they turned the ship in a different direction, and regulated all their movements by their own pleasure. After this revolt, things went on pretty much as before. They had deprived their lawful commander of his authority and elevated another to occupy his place. A stranger would, perhaps, have perceived no material difference, after this change, in the conduct of the crew. The preservation of their own lives rendered it necessary that the established rules of naval discipline should be observed. By night the watches were regularly set and relieved as before. The helmsman performed his accustomed duty, and the sails were spread to the winds, or furled in the tempest, as occasion required. But still they were all guilty of mutiny. They had refused to submit to their lawful commander. Consequently, by the laws of their country, they were all condemned to be hung. The faithful discharge of the necessary duties of each day after their revolt, did not in the least free them from blame. The crime of which they were guilty, and for which they deserved the severest punishment, was the refusal to submit to authority.

Now, our situation is very similar to that of this rebellious crew. The Bible tells us that we have said in our hearts that "we will not have God to reign over us." Instead of living in entire obedience to him, we have chosen to serve ourselves. The accusation which God has against us, is not that we occasionally transgress his laws, but that we refuse to regard him, at all times and under all circumstances, as our ruler. Sometimes children think that if they do not tell lies, and if they obey their parents, it is all that God requires of them. This, however, is by no means the case. God requires of us not only to do our duty to our parents, and to those around us, but also to love him with our most ardent affection, and to endeavor at all times to do that which will be pleasing to him. While the mutinous seamen had command of the ship, they might have been kind to one another; they might, with unwearied care and attention, have watched over the sick. They might, with the utmost fidelity, have conformed to the rules of naval discipline, seeing that every rope was properly adjusted, and that cleanliness and order should pervade every department. But notwithstanding all this, their guilt was undiminished. They had refused obedience to their commander, and for this they were exposed to the penalty of that law which doomed them to death.

It is the same with us. We may be kind to one another; we may be free from guile; we may be faithful in the discharge of the ordinary duties of life; yet, if we are not in subjection to God, we are justly exposed to the penalty of his law. What would have been thought of one of those mutinous seamen, if, when brought before the bar of his country, he had pleaded in his defence, that, after the revolt, he had been faithful to his new commander? Would any person have regarded that as an extenuation of his sin? No! He would at once have been led to the scaffold. And the voice of an indignant public would have said that he suffered justly for his crime.

Let us imagine one of the mutineers in a court of justice, and urging the following excuses to the judge.

Judge.—You have been accused of mutiny, and are found guilty; and now what have you to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced against you?