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

by John S. C. Abbott

God, in this world, makes use of all those means which he thinks calculated to affect your feelings and to incline you to his service. You now hear of the love of Jesus, and feel the strivings of the Holy Spirit. You are surrounded by many who love the Savior, and enjoy all the precious privileges of the Bible and the Sabbath. God speaks to you in afflictions and enjoyments, and tries ways without number to reclaim you to himself. If you can resist all this, your case is hopeless. In the world of wo there will be no one to plead with you the wonders of a Savior's love. You will feel no strivings of the Spirit. No Christian friends will surround you with their sympathies and their prayers. The Sabbath will no longer dawn upon you, and the Bible will no longer entreat you to turn to the Lord. If you can resist all the motives to repentance which this life affords, you are proof against all the means which God sees fit to adopt. If you die impenitent, you will for ever remain impenitent, and go on unrestrained in passion and wo. The word of God has declared that, at the day of judgment our doom will be fixed for ever. The wicked shall then go into everlasting punishment, and the righteous to life eternal. The bars of the sinner's prison will never be broken. The glories of the saint's abode will never be sullied.

A few years since, a child was lost in the woods. He was out, with his brothers and sisters, gathering berries, and accidentally was separated from them and lost. The children, after looking in vain for some time in search of the little wanderer, returned just in the dusk of the evening, to inform their parents that their brother was lost, and could not be found. The woods at that time were infested with bears. The darkness of a cloudy night was rapidly coming on, and the alarmed father, gathering a few of his neighbors, hastened in search of the lost child. The mother remained at home, almost distracted with suspense. As the clouds gathered and the darkness increased, the father and the neighbors, with highly-excited fears, traversed the woods in all directions, and raised loud shouts to attract the attention of the child. But their search was in vain. They could find no traces of the wanderer; and as they stood under the boughs of the lofty trees, and listened, that if possible they might hear his feeble voice, no sound was borne to their ears but the melancholy moaning of the wind as it swept through the thick branches of the forest. The gathering clouds threatened an approaching storm, and the deep darkness of the night had already enveloped them. It is difficult to conceive what were the feelings of that father. And who could imagine how deep the agony which filled the bosom of that mother as she heard the wind, and beheld the darkness in which her child was wandering! The search continued in vain till nine o'clock in the evening. Then one of the party was sent back to the village to collect the inhabitants for a more extensive search. The bell rung the alarm, and the cry of fire resounded through the streets. It was, however, ascertained that it was not fire which caused the alarm, but that the bell tolled the more solemn tidings of a lost child. Every heart sympathized in the sorrows of the distracted parents. Soon the multitudes of the people were seen ascending the hill upon the declivity of which the village was situated, to aid in the search. Ere long the rain began to fall, but no tidings came back to the village of the lost child. Hardly an eye was that night closed in sleep, and there was not a mother who did not feel for the agonized parents. The night passed away, and the morning dawned, and yet no tidings came. At last those engaged in the search met together and held a cousultation. They made arrangements for a more minute and extended search, and agreed that in case the child was found, a gun should be fired to give a signal to the rest of the party. As the sun arose, the clouds were dispelled, and the whole landscape glittered in the rays of the bright morning. But that village was deserted and still. The stores were closed, and business was hushed. Mothers were walking the streets with sympathising countenances and anxious hearts. There was but one thought there—What has become of the lost child? All the affections and interest of the community were flowing in one deep and broad channel towards the little wanderer. About nine in the morning the signal gun was fired, which announced that the child was found; and for a moment how dreadful was the suspense! Was it found a mangled corpse, or was it alive and well? Soon a joyful shout proclaimed the safety of the child. The shout was borne from tongue to tongue, till the whole forest rung again with the joyful acclamations of the multitude. A commissioned messenger rapidly bore the tidings to the distracted mother. A procession was immediately formed by those engaged in the search. The child was placed upon a platform, hastily constructed from the boughs of trees, and borne in triumph at the head of the procession. When they arrived at the brow of the hill, they rested for a moment, and proclaimed their success with three loud and animated cheers. The procession then moved on, till they arrived in front of the dwelling where the parents of the child resided. The mother, who stood at the door, with streaming eyes and throbbing heart, could no longer restrain herself or her feelings. She rushed into the street, clasped her child to her bosom, and wept aloud. Every eye was suffused with tears, and for a moment all were silent. But suddenly some one gave a signal for a shout. One loud, and long, and happy note of joy rose from the assembled multitude, and they then dispersed to their business and their homes.

There was more joy over the one child that was found than over the ninety and nine that went not astray. Likewise there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. But still this is a feeble representation of the love of our Father in heaven for us, and of the joy with which the angels welcome the returning wanderer. The mother cannot feel for her child that is lost as God feels for the unhappy wanderers in the paths of sin. The child was exposed to a few hours of suffering; the sinner to eternal despair. The child was in danger of being torn by the claws and the teeth of the bear—a pang which would be but for a moment; but the sinner must feel the ravages of the never-dying worm, must be exposed to the fury of the inextinguishable flame. Oh, if a mother can feel so much, what must be the feelings of our Father in heaven! If man can feel so deep a sympathy, what must be the emotions which glow in the bosoms of angels! Such is the nature of the feelings with which we are regarded by our heavenly Father and the holy angels.

Many parables are introduced in the Bible to illustrate this feeling on the part of God. He compares himself with the kind shepherd, who, finding that one little lamb had strayed from the flock, left the ninety and nine and went in search of the lost one. He illustrates this feeling by that of the woman who had lost a piece of silver, and immediately lit a candle and swept the house diligently, till she found it. In like manner, we are informed, that it is not the will of our Father who is in heaven, that one of his little ones should perish. He has manifested the most astonishing love and kindness that he might make us happy.

But what greater proof of love can we have than that which God has given in the gift of his Son! That you might be saved from sin and ceaseless wo, Jesus came and died. He came to the world, and placed himself in poverty, and was overwhelmed with sorrow, that he might induce you to accept salvation, and to be happy for ever in heaven. The Savior was born in a stable. When an infant, his life was sought. His parents were compelled to flee out of the country, that they might save him from a violent death. As he grew up, he was friendless and forsaken. He went about from town to town, and from village to village, doing good to all. He visited the sick, and healed them. He went to the poor and the afflicted, and comforted them. He took little children in his arms, and blessed them. He injured no one, and endeavored to do good to all. And yet he was persecuted, and insulted, and abused. Again and again he was compelled to flee for his life. They took up stones to stone him. They hired false witnesses to accuse him. At last they took him by night, as he was in a garden praying. A cruel multitude came and took him by force, and carried him into a large hall. They then surrounded our blessed Savior, and heaped upon him all manner of insult and abuse. They mocked him. They collected some thorns, and made a crown, which they forced upon his head, pressing the sharp thorns into his flesh, till the blood flowed down upon his hair and his cheeks. And after thus passing the whole night, he was led out to the hill of Calvary, tottering beneath the heavy burden of the cross, which he was compelled to bear upon his own shoulders, and to which he was to be nailed. When they arrived at the place of crucifixion, they drove the nails through his hands and his feet. The cross was then fixed in the ground, and the Savior, thus cruelly suspended, was exposed to the loud and contemptuous shouts of an insulting mob. The morning air was filled with their loud execrations. A soldier came and thrust a spear deep into his side. To quench his burning thirst, they gave him vinegar, mixed with gall. Thus did our Savior die. He endured all this, from the cradle to the grave, that he might save sinners. And when he, while enduring the agony of the cross, cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" he was then suffering those sorrows which you must otherwise have suffered. If it had not been for our Savior's sorrows and death, there would have been no help for any sinner. You never could have entered heaven. You must for ever have endured the penalty of that law which saith, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die." Was there ever such love as this? And, oh, must not that child's heart be hard, who will not love such a Savior, and who will not do all in his power to prove his gratitude by a holy and an obedient life? Christ so loves you, that he was willing to die the most cruel of deaths, that he might make you happy. He is now in heaven, preparing mansions of glory for all those who will accept him as their Savior, and obey his law. And where is the child who does not wish to have this Savior for his friend, and to have a home in heaven?

The Holy Spirit is promised to aid you in all your efforts to resist sin. If, when the power of temptation is strong, you will look to him for aid, he will give you strength to resist. Thus is duty made easy, God loves you. Angels desire that you should come to heaven. Jesus has died to save you. The Holy Spirit is ready to aid you in every Christian effort, and to lead you on, victorious over sin. How unreasonable, then, and how ungrateful it is, for any child to refuse to love God, and to prepare to enter the angels' home! There you can be happy. No night is there. No sickness or sorrow can ever reach you there. Glory will fill your eye. Joy will fill your heart. You will be an angel yourself, and shine in all the purity and in all the bliss of the angels' happy home.

CHAPTER VI.

PIETY.

In the last chapter I have endeavored to show you in what your sin principally consists; and also the interest which God feels in your happiness, and the sacrifice he has made to lead you to penitence and to heaven. But you desire more particular information respecting the duties which God requires of you. I shall in this chapter explain the requirements of God; and show you why you should immediately commence a life of piety.

Probably no child reads this book who is not conscious of sin. You feel not only that you do not love God as you ought, but that sometimes you are ungrateful or disobedient to your parents; you are irritated with your brother or your sister, or you indulge in other feelings, which you know to be wrong. New, the first thing which God requires of you is, that you should be penitent for all your sins. At the close of the day, you go to your chamber for sleep. Perhaps your mother goes with you, and hears you repeat a prayer of gratitude to God for his kindness. But after she has left the chamber, and you are alone in the darkness, you recall to mind the events of the day, asking yourself what you have done that is wrong. Perhaps you were idle at school, or unkind to a playmate, or disobedient to your parents. Now, if you go to sleep without sincere repentance, and a firm resolution to try for the future to avoid such sin, the frown of your Maker will be upon you during all the hours of the night. You ought, every evening, before you go to sleep, to think of your conduct during the day, and to express to God your sincere sorrow for every thing you have done which is displeasing to him, and humbly implore the pardon of your sins through Jesus Christ. Such a child God loves. Such a one he will readily forgive. And if it is his will that you should die before the morning, he will take you to heaven, to be happy there. But remember that it is not enough simply to say that you are penitent. You must really feel penitent. And you must resolve to be more watchful in future, and to guard against the sin over which you mourn. You have, for instance, spoken unkindly, during the day, to your brother. At night, you feel that you have done wrong, and that God is displeased. Now, if you are sincerely penitent, and ask God's forgiveness, you will pray that you may not again be guilty of the same fault. And when you awake in the morning, you will be watchful over yourself, that you may be pleasant and obliging. You will perhaps go to your brother, and say, "I did wrong in speaking unkindly to you yesterday, and I am sorry for it. I will endeavor never again to do so." At any rate, if you are really penitent, you will pray to God for forgiveness, and most sincerely resolve never willingly to be guilty of the same sin again.