Article June 8, 1907 Issue

"OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES"

WM. BRADFORD TURNER

One was a little fellow, the other a thoughtful man. It was past mid-day and the bright sun of midsummer was flooding the "homey" room, but across the strong, sweet features of the man lay the shadow of pain. He had been making his way, not so rapidly as many, out of dark years of suffering into the light again. The boy stood watching him. "Won't Love stop the pain, papa?" The man shook his head wearily. He was pondering in himself wherein he might have failed to realize the good. "I think Love will," added the boy; then—after a moment's silence, very quietly—"I'm going to help you, papa."

The wee, tousled head of gold sank close to the shaggy gray one; one little arm stole about the father's neck; the baby knees bent in attitude of prayer beside the low couch, and all was still. Somewhere in the room a tiny clock ticked out the quarter seconds; but the man and the boy were oblivious to the world of time. There is a consciousness which touches heaven, wherein time is lost in a glimpse of the eternal.

Presently the boy rose softly, but no word was spoken; a pair of little feet tripped noiselessly across the floor, a door was opened and shut—and the child was gone. But the angel of his ministration remained behind. Over the sufferer there came a feeling of uplift. Somewhere, deep down in his heart, thought had changed. Imperceptibly at first, then more and more swiftly, a sense of security, of childlikeness and trust superseded that of doubt and weariness. The harbingers of Spirit came to lead thought and instinct upward. And the pain and misery? They had fled away before the touch of Love as shadows when comes the day. In their stead was peace; peace, which is Love's largess to all who are of simple heart.

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