THERE come seasons of darkness in all our lives—times when there is neither sun, nor moon, nor stars in the sky, and we stand still in fear, or grope, trembling.
A few years ago there fell upon my life one of these seasons, in which I could see neither to the right nor to the left. A terror of darkness was upon me.
One night I lay awake thinking, thinking, until my brain grew wild with uncertainty. I could not see a step in advance, and feared to move onward, lest, with the next footfall, I should plunge into hopeless ruin. Very strongly was I tempted to turn aside from the way in which I was going—a way reason and conscience approved as right—but something held me back. Again and again I took up and considered the difficulties of my situation, looking to the right hand and the left for ways of extrication; inclining now to go in this direction, and now in that; yet always held away from resolve by inner convictions of right and duty, that grew clear at the moment when I was ready to give up my hold on integrity. So the hours went, heavy-footed, until past midnight. My little daughter was sleeping in the crib beside the bed. But now she began to move uneasily, and presently her timid voice broke faintly:—
“Papa!” she called.
“What is it, darling?” I asked.
“O papa, it is dark! Take Nellie’s hand!” I reached out and took her tiny one in my own, clasping it firmly. A sigh of relief came up from her little heart. All her loneliness and fear were gone, and in a few moments she was sound asleep again.
“O my Father in heaven!” I cried, in a sudden, almost wild, outburst of feeling. “It is dark, very dark. Take my hand!”
A great peace fell upon me. The terror of darkness was gone. “Keep hold of my hand, O my Father!” I prayed fervently; “and tho I should be called to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Let not my feet wander to the right nor to the left.”—Wesleyan Herald.