"Lord, I cannot give Thee my heart. I will give it to the world, to pleasure, to sin, to Satan, but not to Thee,—no, not to Thee. I have no birthday present for Thee to-night?"
"Oh, will you not rather say—"
"'Lord, here is my heart; I bring it to Thee; take it for Thine own.
Cleanse it in Thy blood; make it fit to be Thine'"?
"Will you not this night lay at your King's feet the only birthday present you can give Him—the only one He asks for—your heart?"
"Mother," said little Angel, as they walked home, "we can give Him a present, after all."
It was her father who answered her.
"Yes, Angel," he said, in a husky voice; "and we mustn't let Christmas Day pass before we have done it."
And that night amongst the angels in heaven there was joy—joy over one sinner who repented of the evil of his way, and laid at his Lord's feet a birthday present, even his heart.
There was joy amongst the angels in heaven; and a little Angel on earth shared in their joy.
