Some of the children were silent, and some spoke with Kitty; but little Amy said nothing—the tears filled her eyes and choked her voice.
“You may all be Christ’s little disciples,” said Mrs. Mordaunt. “He calls you to him. You may all come to him privately, as the disciples did; pray to him in secret, and have his words made clear to you, if you will. You may all bring forth fruit to his glory, thirty, or sixty, or a hundred fold.
“You see,” she continued, “although there are only two great bodies or parties in the world,—those in whom Christ’s words live, and those in whom they die,—yet there are many smaller differences among each of these parties. Some of the seed in the parable fell merely on the surface, and never was seen any more after it was sown: just as, I am afraid, some of you have often left all thoughts of God behind when you left the school or the church, and never thought of him or his words from one Sunday to another. The fowls of the air—that is, some light thought or play, or Satan, who goes about to put these in your heart—come the moment the words die on your ear, and take the good seed quite away. And then some of you like to hear about Christ, and his words and works, and are quick, and easily understand and take in new thoughts, and, perhaps, think you would like to be good children, and to love Christ, and be his disciples, and go home and go to sleep full of good intentions and plans of correcting your faults. But the next morning other lessons have to be learned, and other things to be thought about, and your faults and bad habits are strong; and so every day the echo of the Sunday’s teaching grows fainter, and at last the end of the week comes, and finds you no nearer God or the fulfilment of your good resolutions than the beginning. The thorns have sprung up—the cares and pleasures of this world—and choked the good seed that was beginning to grow. And then, again, perhaps, there are some of you who would like very much to be pious, only you are afraid of being unlike others, afraid of being teased for being strict, or laughed at; for persecution does not only consist in burning or hurting the body,—little annoyances are often harder to bear than great sorrows. But think how very cowardly this would be, how very ungrateful and ungenerous to Jesus. He bore the sneers and taunts of crowds for your sake, and bore them too when he was suffering great pain; and can you not bear a little laugh for his sake? Think how happy it is to be able to bear a little for him who bore so very much for us; think what joy to have his eye on us, and to hear his kind voice saying, ‘Blessed are ye, little children, who confess me as your Master before men; for I will confess you to be my beloved ones before the angels of God.’ And then, dear children,” Mrs. Mordaunt added, “I hope there are some of you who do love your Saviour, and are treasuring up his words in your hearts; and to you I would say, there are differences even among Christ’s disciples. Some bring forth fruit thirty, some sixty, and some an hundred fold. Seek, then, not only to bring forth fruit, but much fruit; to be better and happier every day. God means you to do this; he will certainly enable you to do it if you ask.
“And before you leave,” she said, “I will first tell you three things which I particularly wish you to remember: the place where the seed is to grow; the enemies which try to destroy its life; and what makes it grow. First, where is the seed sown?”
“In the heart,” replied all the children.
“Are your spelling lessons, or your lessons on the multiplication table, sown in your hearts?”
The children smiled, and answered, “No.”
“Then you do not expect them to bear fruit in your life. It does not improve your tempers or your hearts to learn that h e a r t spells heart, does it? or that 12 times 12 are 144?”
The children thought not.
“Then all you are expected to do with such lessons is to remember them; is it not?”