The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-06-12
The Cradle-SOng.

What our mothers sang, when they
put us to sleep, is singing yet. We
may have forgotten the words, but they
went into the fibre of our soul, and will
forever be part of it. 1t is not so
much what you formally teach your
children as what you sing to them. A
hymn has wings, and can fly every
whittier. One hundred and fifty years
after you are dead, and "Old Mortality"
has worn out his chisel in recruiting
your name on the tomb stone, your
great. grandchildren will be singing the
song which this afternoon you sang to
your little ones gathered about your
knee. There is place in Switzerland
where, if you distinctly utter your
voice, there come back to you ten or
fifteen distinct echoes; and every Chris.
tian song, sung by mother in the ear
of her chill 4, shall have ten thousand
echoes coming back from all the gates
of heaven. o, if mothers only knew
the power of this sacred spell, how
much oftener the little ones would be
gathered, and all our homes would
chime with the songs of Jesusl
We want some counteracting infu
ence upon our children. The very
moment your child steps into the
streets, he steps into the path of
temptation. There are foul-mouthed
children who would like to besoil your
little ones. 1t will not do to keep your
boys and girls in the house and make
them house plants. They must have
fresh air and recreation. God save your
children from the scathing, blasting,
damning influence of the streetsl l
know of no counteracting influence but
the power of Christian culture and ex-
ample. Hold before your little ones
the pure life of Jesus; let that name
be the word that shall exercise evil
from their hearts. Give to your in.
struction all the fascination of music,
morning, noon, and night; let it be
Jesus, the cradlesong. This is impor-
tant if your children grow up. But
perhaps they may not. Their pathway
may be short Jesus may be wanting
that child. Then there will be a
soundless step in the dwelling, and the
youthful pulse will begin 10 futter, and
the little hands will be lifted for help.
You cannot help. And great agony
will pinch at your heart, and the cradle
will be empty, and the nursery will be
cmply, anu lue WOIlu Will NC eupty
and your soul will be empty. No little
feet standing on the stairs; no toys
scattered on the carpet; no quick fol-
lowing from room TO room; no strange
and wondering questions; no upturned
face, with laughing blue eyes, comes for
kiss; but only grave and wreath
of white blossoms on the top of it, and
the bitter desolation, and signing at
nightfall with no one to put to bed, and
wet pillow-and grave, and wreath
of white blossoms on top of it. The
heavenly Shepherd will take that lamb
safely anyhow, whether you have been
faithful or unfaithful. But would it
not have been pleasanter if you could
have heard from those lips the praises
of Christ? ! never read anything more
beautiful than this about child's de-
parture. The account said: "She
folded her hands, kissed her mother
goodbye, sang her hymn, turned hel
face to the wall, said her little prayer
and then died"
o, if / could gather up in one para
graph the last words of the little onel
who have gone out from all these Chris
tian circles, and l could picture thu
calm looks, and the folded hands, an(
sweet departure, methinks it would b.
grand and beautiful as one of heaven
great doxologies! In my parish il
Philadelphia little child was depart
ing. She had been sick all her days
and cripple. 1t was MONDAY whel
she went; and as the shadow of dealt
gathered on her eyelids, she thought
was evening and time to go to bed, an
so she said: Good night, papal Good
night, mamma!' And then she wa
gonel 1t was "good-night to pair
and goodnight " to tears, and "good
night" to death, and goodnight" t
earth; but it was A" good morning" t
Jesus - it was "good.morning"
more beautiful than Jesus.-T. De VII
Talmage, ID.