TAKE HOLD OF MY HAND

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Sep 25, 1860

"TAKE HOLD OF MY HAND."

"Take hold of my hand," says the little one, when she reaches a slippery place, or when something frightens her. With the fingers clasped tightly around the parent's hand, she steps cheerfully and bravely along, clinging a little closer when the way is crowded or difficult, and happy in the beautiful strength of childish faith.

"Take hold of my hand," says the young convert, trembling with the eagerness of his love. Full well he knows that if he rely on any strength of his own, he will stumble and fall; but if the Master reach forth his hand, he may walk with unwearied feet, even on the crested wave. The waters of strife or of sorrow shall not overwhelm him, if he keep fast hold of the Saviour.

"Take hold of my hand," falters the mother, feeling that she is all too weak for the great responsibilities that throng in her path. Where shall she learn the greatness of the mission—the importance of the field that has been assigned to her? and, learning it, how shall she fulfill it, if she have not the sustaining, constant presence of one who loves his people?

"Take hold of my hand," whispers the aged one, tottering on through the shadows and snows of many years. As the lights of earth grow dimmer in the distance, and the darkening eye looks forward, to see if it can discern the first glimmer of the heavenly home, the weary pilgrim cries out, even as the child beside its mother, for the Saviour's hand.

O Jesus! Friend and Elder Brother, when the night cometh, when the feet are weary, when the eyes are dim, "take hold of our hand."—Chris. Intell.