Lord of the heaven and earth and seas;
I fear his wrath, I ask his love,
And with my lips I sing his praise."
Her excitement was somewhat checked, however, on finding her mother engaged with company in the parlor; and stealing gently and timidly to her mother's side' she rested her head on her lap.
"What does my little daughter want?" asked her mother
Blushing and almost breathless from the conscious importance of her communication, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, there is a God! Mary Lewis told me so. And oh, he is so great-greater than this house-greater than the tall trees-greater than every thing! And I thought you would be glad to know it. I was so glad, and yet it made me afraid. Oh, how great he must be!" And with a shudder of terror the little girl hid her face in her mother's lap.
"And so Mary Lewis has been filling your mind with such thoughts," said Mrs. Tappan. "I think I must not let you play with her so much. She is a strange little Methodist, Mrs. Willis" continued Mrs. Tappan' turning to her guest; "and you see the effect of her Methodism upon little Emily here. Yes, my dear , she added, addressing Emily, "there is a God; and you must be a good girl, and do what will please him, and you will be happy. And now, my daughter, you may go into the nursery and play with Jane and the baby."
Emily yielded to her mother's suggestion; and in the crowing of the little one, as she played bo-peep with her apron, she soon forgot the thoughts of God and his greatness that had so agitated and alarmed her.
Mr. and Mrs. Tappan, the parents of Emily, were people of respectable standing in society in one of our southern cities. They were strictly moral, as the term is commonly employed, and they did not fail to inculcate their own notions of morality upon their children as soon as, in their estimation, they could understand them. Emily they did not consider as yet old enough to receive formal instruction; and yet they would no doubt have been greatly surprised to know how really ignorant she was of the existence and perfections of God, at the time when our story begins. Had there been a family altar, the little one could not have failed to know that there is indeed a God; but God was not acknowledged as the God of families in the home of Mr. Tappan. And though Emily kneeled every night at her mother's lap, and repeated the little prayer:
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
-yet her mother sought not to guide her thoughts up to the Being to whom that prayer should have been addressed.
Emily was peculiarly unfortunate in having no brother or sister a little older than herself, to whom she could express all the strange questionings that filled her little mind. . From the time when she first began to think, she had listened to stories of wonderful things till every thing about her seemed wonderful. Her nurse told her stories of giants and fairies, and such things that children almost always hear, either from other silly children, or from grown people quite as silly-till Emily trembled at every strange face, and was afraid of every unusual sound. Sometimes in the night she would awake in great terror, and fancy the beating of her own heart the sound of heavy blows with a hammer. Poor little Emily, and poor little child, whoever that child may be, that has been so cruelly treated! Emily had been told these foolish and untrue stories, but she had not been told about God. No one had assured her that his arms of love are thrown around those children that put their trust in Him. At home, with the exception of Jane, the nurse, she had no companions, as her brother was seven or eight years older than herself, and the little sister whose gambols delighted her so much was yet a chirping thing in the nurse's arms. But Emily loved to sit by Jane and listen to tales that made her blood chill, till she was afraid of the darkness, and dreaded the return of the night as she might have done the greatest of evils.
But though Emily has thus far lived without God in the world, God had designs of mercy in relation to this little one. About this time the family of Mr. Lewis moved into a house adjoining Mr. Tappan's; and though scarcely time had elapsed for the accustomed interchange of civilities between the families, Mary and Emily were intimate friends.
On the morning after the removal of Mr. Lewis's family, as Emily was amusing herself in the garden, she heard a soft voice calling out' "Little girl! little girl! only look here! Isn't this pretty?"
Emily turned in the direction of the sound, and saw Mary Lewis in her father's garden, which was separated from that of Mr. Tappan by a picket-fence. Mary was pointing to a beautiful humming-bird that dipped his long bill now into this flower, and now into that;,while the fanning of his wings made a low humming sound, and their constant motion caused him to seem like a bit of a rainbow.
Mary was a year or two older than Emily, with a bright, sunny face that won a way for her at once to the heart; and Emily drew near the fence and watched the little bird with great delight. This was the beginning of the intimacy of the little girls. Now scarcely a day passed without bringing them together. On the afternoon on which our story commences, Mary had come over to play with Emily in Mr. Tappan's garden. It was a pleasant and retired spot, and Mrs. Tappan was gratified that her daughter had at length found a companion so kind and pleasant as Mary appeared.
"Come, Emily, what shall we play?" was the first question of Mary, as they entered the beautiful arbor covered with vines of the grape and balsam-apple-the bright red fruit of the latter contrasting tastefully with the rich green of the leaves. "What shall we play?"
"Ohl we'll play Mrs. Tappan,'" replied Emily. "I'll be mother, and you shall come and see me; won't that be nice?" "Yes," replied Mary, "if you want to. But wouldn't it be pleasant to play meeting? We've kept house so much. Oh, no-we can play keep house-and pray, too, just as father does."
"That will be nice," said Emily. "You know you can be my little girl, and kneel down by my lap and say your prayers to me, just as I do to mother."
"I should say my prayers to God," said Mary solemnly.
"To whom?"
"To God."
"Who is he?
"Why, don't you know who God is?" said Mary. "Why, I thought everybody in this country knew about God. Father says that there are people in other countries that don't know about God, and that Helen and I must save our money to send them Bibles; but I didn't know that there was anybody else that didn't know about God."
"No-but I don't; do tell me. Who is he? where does he live? will he come and see us? Do tell me all about him."
"I can't tell you much; but it's all in the Bible about him. You can read it all there."
"No, I can't read yet."
"What, you going on to five years old, and can't read the Bible! Why, I can't remember when I didn't know how to read some; but I can't call all the hard names yet. And I am reading it all through-all about Abraham, and Isaac, and Joseph-dear little Joseph. How his wicked brothers sold him to go away from his poor old father. Ohl how I cried to think they could be so wicked. And then, too, about Samuel-little Samuel, that God loved, and came one night and talked to him!"
"Did he?" interrupted Emily. "Did he come in the night? What made him come in the night? Why didn't he come in the daytime? Oh, I should be so afraid to see God in the night. I'm always afraid when it is dark."
"I never feel afraid"' said Mary' "except when I've been naughty; and then I know that God sees me, and I'm afraid he will punish me."
"But where is God? You were going to tell me all about him."
"Why God is up in heaven."
"Where is heaven?"
"Up in the sky-up there," said Mary, pointing to the clear blue sky, that seemed almost to smile on the lovely prattlers.
"I can't see him"' said Emily. "How can he live up there?"
"Oh, he doesn't stay up there. He is everywhere. He is in this arbor with us."
"But why can't we see him, if he is here?" asked Emily. And with a feeling of fear she added, almost in a whisper' "Are you sure he is here?"
"Yes," replied Mary, "he is here, and up in the sky, and everywhere. Oh, he is a great God-greater than every thing else in the whole world."
At this moment Mary's maid came into the garden for her; and Emily ran in to communicate the tidings she had just heard to her mother. Of her reception we have already spoken; and, leaving her with the baby in the nursery, we will close the present chapter.
While thus musing, Emily sunk into an uneasy slumber, from which she soon awoke unrefreshed. Before noon her symptoms had assumed so unfavorable an appearance, that her anxious parents again sent for the physician.
Dr. Holbrook seemed quite unprepared for any thing of so violent a nature. He had hoped, in the morning, that the illness would prove slight; but now he saw, at a glance, that Emily's situation was a critical one. Dr. Holbrook was a pious man; and as such, he felt, that though it would necessarily be a painful task, yet duty required him to state his fears faithfully to the family of Mr. Tappan. Accordingly, taking Mrs. Tappan aside, he told her that Emily's illness was a brainfever, and that it would terminate speedily, and perhaps fatally. "But, my dear madam," continued he, "I trust you have learned that there is an Almighty arm that can sustain you, whatever be the event. Place your confidence there, and rejoice even in the midst of affliction."
Mrs. Tappan could answer only by her tears; but as she returned to the bedside of her daughter, how ardently did she wish that her soul could repose on God, and feel, in every thing, that "the will of heaven is best."
As she took her station by the bed, Emily opened her eyes, and repeated, apparently unconscious of things about her, "There is a God-a great God-greater than every thing. Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth. When he speaks I'll say, as Samuel did, Speak--speak--speak." And again she sank into an unquiet slumber.
"Oh, can it be," thought Mrs. Tappan' "that God is leading my child to himself and forsaking the mother!" and her tears flowed forth afresh.
Anxiously did the mother watch by her child that day and the succeeding night; anxiously did she scrutinize every look of the kind and sympathizing doctor, to catch the faintest gleam of hope. It was not till about noon the next day that Dr. Holbrook ventured to pronounce the crisis past. He enjoined strict quiet, "And with the blessing of God I hope," said he, "we shall soon see our little one restored to health."
With the announcement of a favorable change, the seriousness of Mrs. Tappan's feelings' to a great extent, subsided. Anxiety for her child was its chief foundation; and in proportion as this was taken away, she recovered her cheerfulness, and lived still, as she had so long lived, without hope and without God in the world.
WILL GOD SPEAK TO US
"Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him; on the left hand where he doth work, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand that I cannot see him." Job 23:8, 9.
As Emily grew better, her anxiety to see Mary returned; and as soon as Dr. Holbrook gave permission, Mary was sent for. Every day she would find some time to spend with her little friend, to amuse her with stories or playthings, or give her pleasant accounts of the incidents that took place, from time to time, at school. Sometimes she would bring in little story-books, and read a few pages at a time, as Emily was able to listen. There was one little book that she read two or three times over. It was the Two Lambs, a beautiful story of Mrs. Sherwood. It has a deep meaning, and I would advise my little readers to get it if they can and read it for themselves. It can teach them some important lessons, if they are disposed to learn. Thus day after day passed, till at length Emily was able to be carried out into the garden. How fresh seemed the air-how bright the flowers; how happy the birds! Every thing seemed to say' "I'm very glad to see you out again!" Even the little leaves, as they moved in the wind, seemed to dance with joy.
And then too, when a few days after, Mrs. Tappan had the tea-table spread in the arbor; and invited Mr. Tappan' and Mary and Emily' to be her guests, what a happy group was there! How delighted were the parents to receive their daughter back again to life! How glad was Emily to look upon this beautiful world with those so dearly loved! How joyful was Mary, from the fullness of a loving heart that delighted to see every thing happy!
The table was spread early, that Emily might not be exposed to the night air: and Mr. Tappan filled the time very pleasantly with long accounts of the strange things he had seen. He had been a great traveler, and he told the little girls this evening of his voyage round the world, and of the many strange adventures he had met with. It is not necessary to inform my young readers of all that he said; but there is one thing I cannot pass over, because of its intimate connection with our story.
"We stopped at the Sandwich Islands," said he, "for a supply of water and provisions; and we found that the people, having destroyed their idols, were waiting with earnest expectation for Christian teachers. One man came to me, and, as I learned through the mate, who could understand the language, inquired if we were the teachers that were to come to tell them about the true God."
"What did you tell him?" asked Mary.
"Of course that we were not," replied Mr. Tappan; "but that soon teachers would come, who would show them how to worship the great and only God aright." And turning to his wife, he continued: "I never so felt the need of personal religion as I did with that untutored pagan by my side, asking after the way of life. I would have given worlds to have been able to proclaim to him the glad news of salvation. But I trust he has, ere this, learned it of the faithful missionaries now laboring with so much patience on the Islands."
"But," suggested Mrs. Tappan, "you might have declared to him the truths of the Bible' even if you.did not yourself feel their saving influence."
"No, my dear," replied her husband; "I could not have borne the question from a heathen, 'Do you listen to the voice of that God?' It would indeed have been a powerful sermon to me. But our little girls are not much interested in all this. Will you sing us a song? and then we will return to the house."
Mrs. Tappan then sang a little song, such as she thought would please the children, and then rose to go in, when Emily, who had for some time been seated near her father, with her hand in his, asked in a hurried manner, "Father' did you really ever hear the great God speak?"
Mr. Tappan paused a moment before replying, and she continued:
"You know you said the men asked you if you listened to God."
"Not exactly so, my dear," replied her father; "I said I should not like to have had him ask me if I had listened to the voice of God."
"O, then I'm sorry I asked you, father."
"Father is willing to have his little daughter ask him," said Mr. Tappan, deeply moved, "and he will tell her that God has spoken to him a great many times. Once, when he was a little boy, he fell into a river, and was taken out apparently lifeless. God spoke to him then. And many and many a time since has he spoken. When he took away your two little sisters that you have heard your mother and myself speak of,--God spoke to us then. But I have given little heed to his voice. I hope Emily will not do as her father has done-refuse to listen to the calls of God. But, my dear, we are staying out of doors too long; let us go in."
All that her father had said made a powerful impression on the mind of Emily. By a child that had received suitable instruction all this would have been readily understood; but occupied as Emily's thoughts still were with the idea of God's calling Samuel, she did not for a moment, doubt that God had spoken in the same way to her father.
In the stillness of the night, she would listen for the voice of God. In the noise and excitement of the day, she would steal away to hear God speak. Again and again would she repeat the words of Samuel, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth, and wait in trembling expectation to hear his voice.
Lost in her own thoughts, she took little interest in the things around her. She played but little with Ada, and seldom sought to see Mary. When, therefore, Mary came in, one Saturday afternoon, saying she had come to spend the whole afternoon, Emily was scarcely pleased. But Mary, as usual, soon aroused her interest; and the doll and the doll's tea set were brought out and arranged in due order. And now for a swing; and then to trundle the hoop through the garden-walks; or to play hide-and-seek; and in the sports of childhood the hours flew rapidly away. And now the playmates have thrown themselves on the green turf of the arbor, with their bonnets at their feet, and the warm breeze gently stirring the long ringlets that fall over their shoulders.
"Mary," said Emily, "I don't come into the arbor without thinking about God, since you told me about him. I have been hoping he would speak to me ever since-no, not ever since, but a good deal of the time since then. I wonder why he doesn't speak to me, as well as to father."
"I suppose he does speak to everybody in the Bible," said Mary.
"Oh, yes; and he speaks to those who pray to him, always."
"Why, when people pray, they kneel down and tell God what they want. He knows every thing, and he hears us always. But hark! Helen is calling me. Good-bye." And off she ran.
Emily sat, almost unconscious of her departure, repeating to herself' "I must kneel down and ask God for what I want. I want him to speak to me: will he?" And she rose and knelt, and thus breathed out the earnest desire of her heart after God: "Will the great God please to speak to me, as he spoke to little Samuel? Oh, do-please do." But there came no sound; and she burst into tears.