A Mother’s Sorrow

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 25, 1873

A Mother’s Sorrow.

A COMPANY of ladies, assembled in a parlor, were one day talking about their different troubles. Each one had something to say about her own trials. But there was one in the company, pale and sad-looking, who for a while said nothing. Suddenly rousing herself at last, she said:

“My friends, you don’t any of you know what trouble is.”

“Will you please, Mrs. Gray,” said the kind voice of one who knew her story, “tell the ladies what you call trouble?”

“I will, if you desire it; for in the words of the prophet, ‘I am the one who hath seen affliction.’

“My parents were very well off, and my girlhood was surrounded by all the comforts of life. Every wish of my heart was gratified, and I was cheerful and happy.

“At the age of nineteen I married one whom I loved more than all the world besides. Our home was retired, but the sun never shone upon a lovelier spot, or a happier household. Years rolled on peacefully. Five lovely children sat around our table, and a little curly head still nestled in my bosom. One night, about sundown, a fierce, black storm came on. For many hours the rain poured down incessantly. Morning dawned, but still the elements raged. The country around was overflowed. The little stream near our dwelling became a foaming torrent. Before we were aware of it, our house was surrounded by water. I managed, with my babe, to reach a little elevated spot, where the thick foliage of a few spreading trees afforded some protection, while my husband and sons strove to save what they could of our property. At last, a fearful surge swept away my husband, and he never rose again. Ladies, no one ever loved a husband more; but THAT was not trouble.

“Presently my sons saw their danger, and the struggle for life became the only consideration. They were as brave, loving boys as ever blessed a mother’s heart, and I watched their efforts to escape with such agony as only mothers can feel. They were so far off that I could not speak to them; but I could see them closing nearer and nearer to each other, as their little island grew smaller and smaller.

“The swollen river raged fearfully around the huge trees. Dead branches, upturned trunks, wrecks of houses, drowning cattle, and masses of rubbish, all went floating past us. My boys waved their hands to me, and then pointed upward. I knew it was their farewell signal, and you, mothers, can imagine my anguish. I saw them perish—all perish.

“I hugged my baby close to my heart; and when the water rose to my feet, I climbed into the low branches of the tree. I was saved.

“My baby was all that I had left on earth. I labored day and night to support him and myself, and sought to train him in the right way; but as he grew older, evil companions won him away from me. He ceased to care for his mother’s counsels. He became fond of drinking. And at last, one night, when heated with wine, he took the life of a fellow-creature, and ended his days on the gallows! That was trouble, my friends, such as I hope the Lord in mercy may spare you from ever knowing.”

Boys, can you bear to think that you might bring such sorrow on your father or mother? Be on your guard against the giant intemperance. Let wine and intoxicating liquors alone.—Sel.