The Morning Lesson by C. M. Willis

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 8, 1867

The Morning Lesson.

By C. M. Willis

As I took my Bible to read my morning lesson, I inadvertently opened it at the family record. Two mournful inscriptions met my eye, and, directly opposite them, two little locks of hair. This silken, yellow coil, was one of the golden curls that decked the head of our little boy, the only one God ever gave us. Memory carried me back five years ago to that bright August morning, when he awoke with a smile as his eyes rested on my face, sat on his father's lap and partook of a hearty breakfast, played on the floor with his little twin sister until time for his forenoon nap, when I placed him in his cradle, sung his lullabye song, and saw his blue eyes close in sleep. Ah, me! I never saw them open again! It was the sleep which knows no waking until we shall see the King in his beauty. At four o'clock, P. M., his stiffened form was all we had left. Ah, well! We saw the greedy grave receive our treasure, and then came the long dreary days of mental questioning, doubting and waiting, known only to stricken hearts. How our stubborn hearts will repine! How nature will cling to its idols, and it takes so long for the dimmed vision to peer through the darkened clouds, and see that all is for the best.

This little brown ringlet was clipped from the head of our darling little Mary, whose eyes were black as sloes, and running over with mischief. All through the autumn and winter we watched her busy footsteps, but when her second spring came, bringing cherry blossoms white and innocent, we placed one in her waxen hand, and laid her away beside her little brother, safe from the cares and storms of life. With tearful eyes and aching heart, I gathered up each sacred momento, and laid them carefully away.

My beautiful, my blessed one, And she, too, passed away? I tried to say “Thy will be done,” But found it hard to say.

Ah how often have I seen parents, with their families around them, not one link missing in the golden chain, murmuring at toil and labor, all unmindful of the hand that protects their flock from the destroyer. Others, have I seen rearing their children up in wretchedness, filth and ignorance; whose only idea of a God is a being whose name they can use as a by-word; sending them out into the world to run the same race of sin and degradation, which their fathers ran before them; a disgrace to themselves and a dishonor to the community in which they live. Why were these spared, and my lambs taken? Ah why? I would have instilled good, moral principles into their youthful minds; given them the advantages of a good education, and taught them from the Bible to avoid the follies peculiar to youth. But hush, murmuring heart. Where are thy imaginations leading thee too? Five years have they slumbered, and I thought I had learned resignation.

So ran my thoughts, and I turned the leaves to find my lesson. The first words my eyes rested upon read thus: “And he took them in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.” Was not that a reproof for the bitter thoughts just passing through my mind? But oh! was it not a most precious consolation offered to a bleeding heart? How cheering the thought, that though death claims our loveliest flowers, and blasts our most cherished hopes; his power ends here. One who has broken the bars of death, and risen a mighty conqueror, has taken little children in his arms, blessed them, and expressed a special care for them. Pure and undefiled we laid them away; pure and undefiled we shall receive them again; and although we cannot—as many profess to do—see them with an eye of faith, clothed in robes of light, and bearing golden harps before the Father's throne, we may indulge the more scriptural hope, that “they without us shall not be made perfect;” but that if faithful to the faith given, we with them shall enter, hand in hand, through the gates into the city, and gaze on the glory exhibited there, and wonder and rejoice together.

Another salutary lesson I learned from the same chapter, which I would wish to teach to others who are repining at the loss of their children; or who are indulging great hopes for their future. It told of one who came running to the Saviour, and kneeling to him inquired what he should do to be saved. The Saviour in answer to his inquiry refers him to the great moral law, the ten commandments, and receives this reply, “All these have I kept from my youth up.” Was not that enough to insure him the kingdom of Heaven? Read the reply. “One thing thou lackest yet.” Ah, thus it was. He had kept the law in the letter, but not in the spirit. It might seem a little thing to many, but the one thing, small as it might appear, was enough to deprive him of a seat in the kingdom. And thus it might have been with my children. I might have added line upon line, precept upon precept; enforced it by the most rigorous example; talked the Bible to them at home and by the wayside; when they lay down and when they rose up; required its most rigid observance at all times; if the one thing was lacking, if they had obeyed in the letter only, and failed to ask for the Spirit also; it would all have been as a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal; at the last, one thing would have been lacking, and themselves lost. What needs then to repine? God knew best, and if he took them away before they learned to sin, we may console ourselves with the thought that they are so much surer of Heaven. The one thing needful will not be found lacking in them; let us have an earnest care that it may not be in us.

A bad influence is abroad in the land. Every evil, clothed in all the attractive habiliments which the arch-demon can devise, is filling the ears and charming the hearts of the young. The very atmosphere is tainted with it. They learn it at school; they breathe it in by the wayside. And do I suppose my puny, unworthy efforts would have availed to counteract this hateful influence? Alas, I fear not. I often thought with trembling of the future of my children. I have no fears now. They are all done away, and I wait with joyful anticipation the coming of Him who holds the keys of death. God grant that I may be found clothed with my wedding garment.

C. M. WILLIS. Charlotte, Mich.