Resurrection.
MY little sister captured a large, brown
worm early in the fall, and put him in a cage,
feeding him for some time with fresh leaves
from the grape-vine on which she found him.
For a while he seemed to thrive in his
confinement; but afterward he grew
discontented in his close quarters, and sought
to escape, refusing to eat the dainty fare
provided for him.
Soon when we looked at him, his brown body
appeared faded, and the white spots that
showed so plainly on his sides were almost
gone. Now he is wound up in a soft white
ball, fastened to the twigs on the bottom of
his cage. Shake him about, and there is no
motion or life.
Why do we keep him? Why don't we
throw him away? Listen a moment and I
will tell you why. Very soon, now that the
spring brings life to everything else, our poor
worm, lying shriveled and bound up on the
bottom of his cage will awaken. What! And
be a live worm again? Oh! No, dear little
friend, not an ugly, brown worm, crawling
about, and eating grape leaves, but a bright,
beautiful butterfly, flitting about the garden,
instead of hanging all day on a leaf or crawling
about a cage as he has done all his life.
Do you know what it has made me think
of, dear children, as I have passed near our
worm in my work this afternoon? Have any
of you ever seen a little child, one of Christ's
lambs, your own little brother or sister, perhaps,
taken away from life, its active limbs
shrunken and cold, the eyelids drooping over
the bright eyes that used to sparkle so when
they saw you coming, the cheeks that used to
be red like peaches, all white, thin, and cold?
You would hardly have known him if father
had not lifted you up beside the small coffin,
and said, "Look at little brother once more
before he is carried away." Perhaps you hid
your face on father's shoulder, feeling
frightened; and if you awakened in the night, you
may have thought of the little white face, and
cried softly to yourself in the dark. But, dear
little one, do you remember what I said about
the worm's being dead and shriveled in his
cage? He will wake sometime a beautiful
butterfly; and if God does not forget to wake
this ugly worm, do you suppose he will forget
to wake the little form in the coffin that we
were talking about? Sometime, and not very
long first, Jesus will come, and your little
brother, or sister, or playmate, that you have
seen laid away in the ground, will wake again
out of sleep, and if they were God's little ones
while alive, with you will roam about among
the sweet flowers under the beautiful trees in
the new earth. Their eyes will never grow
dim there, their faces never pale with sickness,
no sorrows chill their little hearts; and,
best of all, Jesus, our dear Jesus, who died
the cruel death on the cross that we might
enjoy all this, will be there. Will we all be
there, little friends? Are we all trying to be
God's dear children here? Have we made
the blessed Jesus our friend, and are we asking
ourselves every day, as we go about our
work or our play, Does Jesus want me to do
this? or will he be grieved at that? Do we
ask him every day and every hour in the day
for help to do right? If we do, he will surely
help us; and if we are lying asleep in Jesus
when he comes to call his people, we shall
rise with them, to be with him. But if we do
not remember him, if we do not try to do as
he bids us, or are ashamed to have others
know we are trying to be God's children, and
keep his commandments, he will let us sleep
on till he calls the wicked dead from their
graves to receive their dreadful punishment.
O children, let us remember this.
ESTHER H. WHITNEY.
Malone, N. Y.
Nearing The Other Shore.
WHEN, after the weary voyage that I first
made across the ocean, sick and loathsome, I
arose one morning and went upon the deck,
holding on, crawling, thinking I was but a
worm, I smelt in the air some strange smell, and
I said to the captain, "What is that odor?"
"It is the land-breeze from off Ireland." I smelt
the turf, I smelt the grass, I smelt the leaves,
and all my sickness departed from me; my
eyes grew bright, my nausea was gone. The
thought of the nearness of the land came to
me. And when, afar off, I saw the dim line
of land, joy came and gave me health, and
from that moment, I had neither sickness nor
trouble; I was coming nearer to the land.
Oh! Is there not for you, dear reader, a land-
breeze blowing from off Heaven, wafting to
you some of its sweetness? Behold, the garden
of the Lord is not far away. I know from
the air. Behold, the joy of home! Do I not
hear the children shout? The air is full of
music to our silent thought. Oh! How full of
music when our journey is almost done, and
we stand upon the bound and precinct of that
blessed land! Hold on to your faith. Believe
more firmly. Take hold by prayer and by
faith. Away with trouble and buffetings. Be
happy; you are saved. In a few hours the
vision of God and all the realities of the eternal
world shall be yours, and you shall be
saved with an everlasting salvation.
The Standard
