Endicott, how profoundly
thankful to God I am, that He spares my life, and yet gives me
strength to do for my children. I bless His name for this tender
mercy towards me when I lie down at night, and when I rise up in the
morning, I bear every burden, I endure every pain cheerfully,
hopefully, even thankfully. It is because I can understand the heart
of this dying mother, and feel for her in her mortal extremity, that
I undertake her cause. You have only one child, my friend, and she
is partly grown. 'A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure.'
Is it not so? Take one, or even both of these children, if the
mother dies. They are the little ones who are born upon the earth,
in order that they may become angels in Heaven. They are of God's
kingdom, and precious in His eyes. Nurture and raise them up for
Him. Come! oh, come with me to the bedside of this dying mother, and
say to her, 'Give me your babes, and I will shelter them in my
heart.' So doing, you will open for yourself a perennial fountain of
delight. The picture of that poor mother's joyful face, painted
instantly by love's bright sunbeams on your memory, will be a source
of pleasure lasting as eternity.
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