'It is from my mother; shall you keep it?' 'Yes,' I answered,
'I value it very much, and also the quilt.' He put his hands over his
eyes. I thought he wished to be alone, and left him. As I stood by his
bed the next day, I was wondering if he had not seen his mother's
texts, as well as the bit of her gown. He had, and pointed one out to
me. It was, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight,
and am no more worthy to be called thy son.' 'I am no more worthy,' he
whispered. I put my finger on the next white block, and read aloud,
'When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had
compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him.' As I looked
up, I saw there were tears upon his cheeks, and his lips were
tremulous. He covered his eyes, and I left him. A few days after, when
he had grown much stronger, he held up to me the text I had shown him.
'I was a great way off,' he said, 'but He has met me and had
compassion on me.' 'You feel the Saviour's love?' 'It fills me with
peace. What love! What a Saviour!' 'Shall I not write to your mother
and tell her that her son, who was dead, is alive again; was lost, and
is found?' 'Will it not be too much trouble?' 'Oh, no, a pleasure
instead.
Pages:
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417