A Live Wire by G. L. Morrill

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Sep 20, 1906

“A Live Wire”

By G. L. Morrill

LITTLE Arthur lay with his eyes closed in dreamless slumber, and his busy hands folded in rest. His pet dog stood near the coffin, and wondered why his master did not speak. Eight playmates sat still, with faces as white as the flowers in their hands. Sad friends and neighbours filled the house where laughter had held sway. The broken-hearted family were alone in their grief, which none but He of Gethsemane could comfort. Only a few hours before, while playing, the little fellow had picked up a wire which was in his way. It looked harmless, but it was a live wire, and a live wire had made a dead boy.

Sadder than this picture was the one I saw on the street that night—a picture of young men and women stricken with a living death. They were born of a mother's pain and baptized with a father's tears; yet it seemed it had been better had they never lived, or had died in infancy. City life is full of wires of dissipation. The strange companion, the glass of wine, or the game of cards look innocent enough, but they are in contact with a heavily charged wire connected with the devil's dynamo.

“There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”—G. L. Morrill.