Preface

God is daily and hourly calling some of our little ones home to glory; and if, in the sad loneliness of such bereavement the soul can be brought nearer to Him by Scriptural views of the Saviour’s manifestations of love for children, and of their safety from all sin and danger in His heavenly kingdom, the pain of separation may prove most beneficent in its results.

In examining the books which have been published on this subject, there seemed to the compiler of this little volume room for one less doctrinal, more practically hopeful, comforting, and varied, than those which formerly found a circulation more or less extended. Hence it has been his purpose to avoid the discussion or inculcation of any doctrine in which Christians of different names are not generally in unity.

As a handbook for the bereaved, it is sent forth with earnest prayer to “the God of all comfort” that his blessing may attend its circulation, so that many a mourning parent may be led rejoicingly to say, “I bless God for a child in glory!” “I shall go to him!”

The selections from Whittier are by permission of his publishers, Messrs. Osgood & Co., Boston.

God’s Hidden Purposes

Why has God thus dealt with me? is often the sad inquiry of the parental heart when a darling child is removed by death.

At such an hour there is sometimes, even in the mind of the Christian, a feeling of distrust whether all things are wisely ordered, and a disposition to murmur at what he calls the dark and mysterious providence which has brought desolation to his fireside. There is a struggle between distrust and faith. In the day of calamity the spirit is overwhelmed, the soul refuses to be comforted, and in deep depression, with the Psalmist, the mourner asks, “Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies?” So Satan tempts us in seasons of affliction, in our hour of bereavement. Sharp is the conflict when God removes our idols. Painful is the struggle if our will is not brought into sweet conformity to God’s will. Such was the experience of the Psalmist, such has been the experience of multitudes, who, when the angel of death has severed the dearest ties or trouble in any of its varied forms has brought desolation to the family, have turned away from God as the only source of consolation, and in their sorrow forgotten his tender mercies and loving-kindnesses in all the way by which he has led them.

Why hast thou thus dealt with me? is a question which, in view of the fact the ways or plans of God are hidden from us, is one which cannot be fully answered now. And yet, though clouds and darkness hide his throne — though his path is in the mighty waters, and his footsteps are unknown, by the eye of faith we may learn enough from revelation and from history, from his dealings with Israel as his covenant people, and with the nations and people who cast him off, to know that he doth not willingly nor unnecessarily afflict or grieve the children of men; and that all his plans are designed, and will ultimately be seen to promote his own glory as a righteous and loving God, and the highest good of his people. We shall see, as we cannot now, why he chastens those he loves, and how death is made the minister of life.

Death has ever been the terror as it is the conqueror of the natural man. Come when and where it may, though in its least revolting aspect, to take back to God the spirit of unconscious infancy, or of opening childhood, parental and filial sympathies shrink from fellowship with the dreaded messenger. Even in the hope which nature dictates, and the assurance which revelation brings to us that God removes the bud or the blossom, to unfold, and to bring forth fruit in a better clime — that the infant mind will go on progressively in its redeemed likeness to its Saviour — still, in the hour of trial, faith is weak, sense prevails, and the plaintive, sometimes the agonizing cry goes forth, “O my Father, why hast thou thus dealt with me?”

If this little book shall be so blessed of God as to lead some among the tens of thousands of weeping fathers and mothers, of brothers and sisters, to look beyond the grave and to realize that the babe or the little child still lives, that the loving Saviour has taken it in his arms, carries it in his bosom, provides for all its wants as no earthly friend could do, that it is for ever safe from all danger, and from “the second death;” and that in its removal God is calling them to be ready to meet their children in glory; with thankfulness will the compiler give praise to Him for the conception and execution of the design.

The Mortality of Infants

We have spoken of God’s hidden purposes in the death of children. To reason, unenlightened, and unsanctified, the Divine goodness may sometimes be questioned in the removal by death, in infancy and childhood, of so large a proportion of all who are born into our world.

It appears, from the vital statistics of civilized nations, that of the whole number born in Christendom, nearly one-quarter die under the age of one year, about two-fifths under five years, and nearly one-half of all the deaths are under ten years. In cities, the average of deaths is larger than in the rural districts. Among the vicious poor, tenement-house corruption hastens physical, as well as moral death. Among semi-civilized and heathen nations, and barbarous tribes, where little children are sacrificed to appease the wrath of imaginary cruel gods, or perish through neglect, the death-rate is no doubt greater. The deaths in Boston, in 1874, of infants under one year, were over twenty-eight per cent. of all who died. In the same city, for the ten years ending with the year 1874, the average percentage of those dying under one year was twenty-five and one-half per cent.; and of all dying under five years, during the same period, forty-two and one-eighth per cent. That is, more than one-quarter of all the deaths in Boston, for a period of ten consecutive years, were of infants under one year, and more than two-fifths were under five years. In 1875 the whole number of deaths in Boston was eight thousand nine hundred fifty-eight; of these twenty-two hundred sixty-three were under one year, seventeen hundred and nine between one and five years, and four hundred and sixty-eight between five and ten years: or a total of four thousand four hundred and forty; showing almost fifty per cent. of all who died, not to have reached the first decade of years.

We give these statistics, carefully gathered, for a practical purpose. Boston is not an unhealthy city. Its death-rate is indeed a small percentage larger than the average of our American cities; but from our figures we have a basis on which to rest our argument for the love of God to the race, in leading so many, through tribulation, to his heavenly home. Leading, first, the great multitude of little ones, which no man can number — half our race — to educate them for a better existence than is possible where sin abounds; and then, by his grace, leading many parents bereaved, with longing desires for a reunion with their children, to follow after.

For in the faith that God has provided in the atonement made by Jesus Christ for the sins of the whole world, for the salvation of infants, we discern wonderful evidence of his wisdom and his love in the early removal from a state of trial in a world of darkness, to a sinless existence in paths of light, so many, who, were they left to encounter the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, might fall so far from God as never to rise again. But God has lovingly taken them from these dangers. He has placed them, as we believe, under holy influences. More literally, and in a higher and more spiritual sense than the human mind has apprehended, it may be true that the good Shepherd has taken the lambs in his arms, and that they are saved for ever. But suppose these myriads of ransomed ones had been left to all the sorrows, and to be tried by all the temptations experienced by those who live to fight in manhood life’s battles, how many of them would be found among the saved? Every one of them would have needed to be reclaimed from a course of transgression, as well as renewed unto holiness. But in the light of experience, would they have consecrated themselves to God and to his service, or would the world in some of its multiform temptations have had dominion over them? Oh, how many parents have suffered severer pangs in the misconduct and vices of children, than they could have suffered in their early death! Time and again in the sad experience even of Christian parents, has the mournful wail of David been in substance reiterated, “Would God I had died for thee; oh, my son, my son!” And so, even in the records of time, the wisdom and love of God to our fallen race is seen in the early removal from temptation of so many who have not been left to endure its dangers. Let this comforting thought call forth from the depths of a sorrowing heart the joyful accompaniment, “It is well with the child!” And in view of the many who daily mourn the death of little children, let it, in the hour of desolation, be remembered by the mother who refuses to be comforted, that she is but one among the thousands who are called to weep for one as lovely, and as dear to each of them, as was her babe to her.

But the broken ties shall be reunited! The promise is sure to the believing parent, “Thy children shall come again from the land of the enemy!”

But the death of children is also designed for the salvation of parents. God would have us seek supremely his kingdom, and lay up our treasure there. Now, what is there so valuable to parents as their offspring? What so dear to the mother as her helpless infant, or her lisping child? What so precious to the father as the children God has given him? But if these children have their home on earth, the parental desires may not rise higher than earth. Where the treasure is the heart is. But if the treasure is removed to heaven, there must be strong resistance if the affections are not drawn thither.

And how often has experience shown that the death of children has been the means of awakening thought in the minds of parents about a better world. The desire of reunion with a darling child has sometimes, by God’s blessing, awakened the impenitent from the sleep of spiritual death, and roused the believer to renewed effort in the divine life. The parent believes that the child is removed from a state of suffering and of sin; and in thought, if not in vocal utterance, the desire goes forth, “Oh that, when God shall call, I may be prepared to go where my child has gone!” Thus God has purposes of mercy in all his ways. Although his plans are hidden, and when the waves and billows of affliction toss and roar we cannot trace his footsteps, yet in the light of revelation and of experience we may be sure that if in the day of trouble we seek the Lord, calling upon him trustingly and with all the heart, he will turn our mourning into joy.

But let none forget that the reunion of parent and child in glory depends upon the likeness of both the parent and the child to Christ. Though the infant had not personally transgressed, it needed redemption. We who are parents know that we are sinners; and that only through faith in Him who saved them, and who says to us, “Except ye be converted and become as little children ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven,” we may be changed and fitted for the purity of the Divine presence.

“Of Such Is the Kingdom of Heaven”

Little children were brought to Jesus, during his earthly ministry, by some who had faith in the efficacy of his blessing, and who desired that these little ones should be partakers of it. But his disciples reproved those who brought them. For some reason, they did not think it proper for these parents or friends to trouble the Master to perform the ceremony common among the Jews, of laying hands upon the child, or the person for whom a blessing was sought. Mark (10:14) says, that in view of the conduct of his disciples, “Jesus was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” Luke, (18:15, 17,) in relating the transaction, adds, with Mark, “Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall in nowise enter therein. And then, Matthew says, “He laid his hands on them.” Mark says, “He took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.”

But in what sense may this coming of infants to Jesus be interpreted? In what respect is “the kingdom of heaven,” or “the kingdom of God,” fitted for them, or they for it? These terms have the same meaning. “Kingdom of heaven” is used by Matthew, not by Mark and Luke. And Matthew himself uses the two phrases indiscriminately when he says, “Verily, I say unto you, that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven. And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” Matt. 19:23, 24. There are three principal applications given to the words in the New Testament: first, to the church visible; second, to the church invisible, or spiritual; third, to the church in glory.

The visible Christian church in its beginnings may be dated from the day of Pentecost. Jesus, entering upon his ministry, began to preach and to say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Matt. 4:17. And when he sent the twelve “to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” his commission to them was, “Preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Matt. 10:7.

This visible Christian church is composed of those who professing to believe in Jesus Christ as their Saviour and Lord, have by water, as the sign of the new life, been baptized “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Matt. 28:19.

But the church is compared by our Saviour to a field of wheat and tares. Matt. 13:24-30. And to a fisherman’s net, gathering of every kind, bad and good. Matt. 13:47. It is not a winnowed society. Many enter it who do not give good evidence, by holy lives, of true conversion from the guilt and power of sin. When therefore our Saviour in blessing the children, said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven,” he meant something higher than the visible church.

If we look at the second meaning of “kingdom of heaven,” as referring to grace in the heart, or to those who are members of Christ’s mystical body, which is his true church — and which by our Saviour is compared to hidden treasure, and to a pearl of great price, earnestly sought, and when found, filling the soul with joy, (Matt. 13:44-46,) we do not perceive the applicability of the term to infants. They are not capable of seeking, or of prizing the blessings of salvation. Nor is this capability necessary on their part, if God has otherwise provided, as we doubt not he has, that dying in infancy they will be saved. “When God determines the salvation of a soul, he also determines the means of its preparation for heaven; and we know nothing of his particular purposes but by their results in personal character. The dying infant has the character to which heaven is promised.”¹

We come then, thus briefly, to the conviction that the phrase “kingdom of heaven,” as applied to infants, means, that in the future life they will constitute a large proportion of the saved; implying that “not one of these little ones will perish,” Matt. 18:14; that there is a sense in which, literally, the little child may be greatest in Christ’s glorious and eternal kingdom; teaching not only that adults must cultivate the character of little children, in humility and love and unselfish obedience, in order to enter Christ’s kingdom of glory, (1 Cor. 6:9,) but also that if little children are a type of what Christians ought to be, then surely they will not fail of salvation.

Jesus has gone to receive this kingdom. Luke 19:12. “There are many mansions in our Heavenly Father’s house, and ample and delightful accommodations are provided for the countless hosts of little children who will be gathered there.”²

The Rev. John Newton says, “I think it at least highly probable, that where our Lord says, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven,’ He does not only intimate the necessity of our becoming like little children in simplicity, as a qualification without which, as he expressly declares in other places, we cannot enter into his kingdom, but informs us of a fact, that the number of infants who are effectually redeemed unto God by his blood so greatly exceeds the aggregate of adult believers, that, comparatively speaking, his kingdom may be said to consist of little children.”

Dr. Scott, in unison with Dr. Newton, says in his commentary, that “the expression may intimate that the kingdom of heavenly glory is greatly constituted of such as die in their infancy.” “The expression,” says Dr. Russell, who has treated this subject with great ability, “means that of such it is in a great measure made up, because they will form a very great proportion of the redeemed family of heaven.” It is the comment of Calvin, “When Christ says, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me,’ nothing can be plainer than that he intends those who are in a state of real infancy. And to prevent this from being thought unreasonable he adds, ‘Of such is the kingdom of heaven.’”³

In this aspect how comforting to the bereaved Christian parent is the assuring hope of a reunion where there is no more death. Oh, blessed promise of our risen and ascended Lord, “Because I live, ye shall live also.” John 14:19. Oh! wonderful prayer, “Father, I will that they whom thou hast given me be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory which thou hast given me.” John 17:24. And can we believe that the life of Jesus and the prayer of Jesus will be less efficacious for the unsinning infant than for the sinning parent? Can we doubt that Paradise is as well fitted for the spiritual education of the little child, as of the believing thief? Is it not the doorway or vestibule to the greater glories of a perfected redemption, of both small and great, in “the resurrection of the just,” Luke 14:14, “the resurrection of life,” John 5:29, at our Lord’s second coming?

Dry then your tears, ye parents, from whom God has taken your infant children. It is not the will of your Father that one of them should perish. Matt. 18:14. They are not lost for ever! They die to live! Are you so living as to meet them in the better land?

“I Shall Go to Him”

This is the utterance of a submissive heart. David had greatly sinned against God, and God had chastised him in not granting his request that the child whom he so dearly loved might live. His prolonged fastings and earnest prayers were unavailing. Under the searching reproof of Nathan, the king of Israel had said, “The man that hath done this shall surely die.” But in view of his penitence God forgave his sin, though he commanded his prophet to proclaim as a punishment of his guilt, that although he was spared, the child should surely die. And the child did die. It went to a better world.

So David thought. He did not believe that the child though dead was for ever lost to him. He submitted to God’s just chastisement in taking away the child, but he derived great consolation from the persuasion that he should meet him again. Hence his tranquillity and expression of resignation to his servants: “Now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” “The elders,” says Dr. Chalmers, “had quite miscalculated the influence of the death of the child upon the mind of the afflicted king; but the real history is in perfect keeping with all experience of the workings of the human heart. The object was no longer to be prayed about, and far less to be felt about than before. So much more tolerable is a state of decision, even when adverse, than a state of uncertainty and suspense.” The words, “I shall go to him,” are expressive of his full conviction of a future meeting and recognition of the child for whom he had prayed, and for whom he mourned. David believed that the purpose and promise of God of a future life of blessedness to all who trust in him, was applicable to his child as to himself. This belief, moreover, did not rest upon a mere fancy or impression, for David was among the holy men of God who spake as moved by the Holy Ghost, who was in covenant with God, and whose words come down to us with a divine authority and sanction. The faith therefore of David ought to comfort the mourner: that in the wise arrangement of Him who doeth all things well, the little child who is released from suffering has gone to a better world.

An interesting question, which I presume not positively to answer, but which has doubtless exercised many a thoughtful mind, as it has contemplated the possibilities of the unseen world, is the physical — if I may use the term in speaking of a spirit which has left the natural body — and mental condition of infants in paradise. Are they infants there, as here? Will they be children in Christ’s coming kingdom, as they were when on earth? Will David again meet and embrace his child as a child, or will that child have grown to manhood?

The question is thus presented in verse:

There are two opinions upon this point. One is expressed by Longfellow in his verses on “Resignation,” when he says,

The other view, and that which seems to be more generally received is, that infants and children who are transplanted from this world of sin to a world of bliss, may remain children, that they will not lose their identity: the mother shall again clasp to her bosom the babe she lost, and families reunited shall find their home in one of the many mansions of our Father’s house. Nor does this militate against the idea of mental and moral progress in the child. For, released from sin and suffering, and weakness and deformity, the child will be perfected in beauty and purity. We think the hope is warranted that “infant voices,” in unison with the great multitude which none can number,

who redeemed them with his blood, and who said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

The Rev. E. H. Bickersteth in his celebrated poem, “Yesterday, To-day, and For ever,” thus manifests his belief of the continuous identity of infants in glory:

In unison with this thought is the following extract from an address by Rev. Dr. Schauffler,

“It seems to me we need infant choirs in heaven to make up ‘full concert to the angelic symphony.’ Who will sing like unto them, of the manger, and the swaddling clothes, and of the Lord of all drawing nourishment from the bosom of a mortal mother! True, these are themes of infinite interest, and the delight and wonder of angels. But ah! they are too tender for the archangel’s powerful trump, too tender for the thundering notes of seraphim and cherubim.

“We must have infant choirs in heaven! And is it no privilege to know one of our dear ones among them? What an interest does not a father feel in listening to the sweet voices of the children in a choir, when he knows his beloved child is among the happy songsters. And is it not incomparably more precious to know them among the songsters of heaven? And oh! with what additional interest, with what quickened anticipations do I now look beyond the grave! I think of the moment when I shall fold my little ones to a father’s bosom again, and that for ever, and tears of joy and gratitude flow down my cheeks involuntarily. Even now, while I am writing, the voices of two of my children — is it possible? — yes, of my children, are singing praises unto Him who became a poor babe and a man of sorrows for them and for all men. Oh, let them sing then! I can only wish to join them soon.”

Our children with the Saviour will learn in one minute more of God and Christ and heaven, than we could ever teach them in all our lives. Oh! let us leave them there, all of them, and become daily more ready to join the

and the

redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and called close around his throne to sing the song, not of creation and providence only, but of redeeming love and sovereign grace.

“Thy Children Shall Come Again”

This language need not be limited to the past. It is a promise applicable to us and to our children, as well as to God’s ancient covenant people. The things written by the prophets of old were written for our learning, that we, believing God’s promises, might have hope.

By referring to the promise of Jeremiah, “Thy children shall come again,” it will be seen that events pertaining to Christ’s kingdom are evidently shadowed forth in the restoration of Israel. Whether we interpret the language literally or spiritually, there is yet to be a great gathering of the saved, who shall “sing in the height of Zion,” and “the people of God shall be satisfied with his goodness.”

The prophecy in which is found the promise, “Thy children shall come again,” and which I have often used at the burial of children as appropriate and consolatory, is as follows:

“Thus saith the Lord; A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not. Thus saith the Lord; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again to their own border.” Jer. 31:15-17.

We are told by Matthew that this prophecy was partially fulfilled in the slaughter of the children under two years old in Bethlehem and its neighborhood, when Herod, angry and disappointed that the infant Saviour had escaped the death he planned, cruelly resolved that they should die. Matt. 2:16-18.

What was the import of this prophecy and promise to those heart-broken mothers? As the descendants of Rachel through the tribes of Joseph and Benjamin, she, in them, is represented as weeping over her murdered offspring. But their sorrow, however deep, was not hopeless. For although refusing comfort, in view of the horrible cruelty which had made them childless, there was, in the very cause of their grief — as though their babes had died for Christ, early martyrs for his kingdom — an assurance, in some way not perhaps clearly discernible to them, of a blessed reunion in the life beyond. For they had the testimony of God, “Thy work shall be rewarded.” “Thy children,” slain by Herod’s executioners, “shall come again from the land of the enemy.” In view of all God’s promises to Israel, and the additional light of a thousand years since David said at the death of his child, “I shall go to him,” some of these Bethlehem mothers were no doubt comforted with the hope of again clasping their babes, never more to be separated. If indeed they belonged to the spiritual Israel, they believed in the resurrection from the dead, and that God’s promises to them belonged also to their little children through faith. And on this basis would there not be deep meaning to them in the promise, “Thy children shall come again from the land of the enemy” — death! “They shall come again,” in the resurrection, “to their own border” — the promised land?

If these Judean mothers, in the twilight of the Christian dispensation, could apply the prophecy and the promise to themselves, may not Christian parents, under the clearer light of the Saviour’s mission, of his teachings, his example, his death and resurrection, his ascension into heaven, and the promise of his second coming in glory to gather his elect, also find great consolation in the assured hope of the safety of their babes? Have they not gone to be with Jesus? Did he not, when on earth, as he took them in his arms and blessed them, say, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven”? Mourning mother, if you are trusting in Jesus as your Saviour, and are living in obedience to his laws, your child shall come again to you! You will go where he has gone, to be with Jesus! But it is not for us to know the glories of that meeting. Enough to know we must be like little children in humility and obedience and love, that we with them may sing together, and sing for ever, the enrapturing song, “Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.”

“Are They Not Ministering Spirits?”

The apostle is speaking of angels. But the term ministering spirits may apply to other than angelic messengers. We understand that a ministering spirit for good is one sent of God to aid and bless the person ministered unto. And many a mother mourning the removal of her child by death, loves to think of it, though without scriptural warrant, as a celestial being whom God may commission to watch over and to comfort her. God’s angels are spirits; may not her absent one, introduced, perhaps, into their fellowship, and sharing their employments, be very near to her?

The service of angels is a truth often and clearly revealed in the Bible. It is indeed a principle in the divine government in this life, that the strong shall minister to the weak. Parents are to provide for their children; the rich to care for the poor; the learned to instruct the ignorant; the pure to raise the fallen. In fine, one great lesson which revelation teaches us is, do good to all, minister according to the ability God has given you.

But God takes the child from these earthly ministries. So far as from revelation he has given us any glimpses of the unseen world, and any innate ideas of the condition of the infant-dead, it is not improbable that the unformed mind when separated from the body is, in the benevolence of God’s plans, transplanted for its development and training to a better school and better influences than it were possible to have in this world of sin. And so, in faith, the Christian parent says, “I shall go to him.” We have a conviction indeed that the infant of a day, or the little child, is not lost; that death does not end all with him. Sure we are that the spirit — God’s breath — is not buried in the churchyard. The little grave which love has planted with flowers, and which affection waters with tears, contains only the casket; the jewel is in a brighter, better land.

Hence we venture the suggestion, that the young child, in its spiritual nature, may be developing its powers under the Divine tutelage, and waiting with the saved the redemption of the glorified resurrection body at the coming of its Lord and Saviour. For the consummation of the believer’s hope is reserved until that hour, although, with the Psalmist, even now, he can anticipate its blessedness, and say, “I shall be satisfied when I awake in thy likeness.”

And so, the child in paradise may wait. It may even make great progress in its spiritual growth. Unincumbered by its corporeity, it may learn more of God and of heaven in one of our years, than in a lifetime on earth. The consideration that infants have no actual transgressions for which to answer, and that the death of Christ has opened the kingdom of heaven to them, as to believers, is, we think, a valid reason for the early development of the spiritual nature, and for growth in wisdom and knowledge unattainable here. And so, while we cherish the blessed hope of recognition in the world of spirits, we can conceive that God, through angelic ministries, may be educating the little child in paradise for a higher service than he could have filled on earth, though he had lived his fourscore years; and that myriads of mourning parents may have cause to praise him, through eternity, for his love in removing to the better land, ere sin had marred its life, the beautiful child which might have proved a hindrance in their way to heaven.

Recognition in Heaven

A recognition in the future life, of those we have known and loved in this world, is the prevailing sentiment of believers in the Christian revelation. “Life and immortality are brought to light in the gospel.”

The following selections, from the writings of distinguished theologians, will give their views, and serve to illustrate the probabilities of the doctrine of a heavenly recognition and reunion of parent and child.

Doddridge wrote: “Let me be thankful for the pleasing hope that, though God loves my child too well to permit it to return to me, he will ere long bring me to it. And then that endeared paternal affection, which would have been a cord to tie me to earth and have added new pangs to my removal from it, will be as a golden chain to draw me upwards, and add one further charm and joy to paradise itself.”

Edwards said: “The father shall know that such a one was his child; the husband shall remember that such a one was his wife; . . . and so all other relations of persons shall be renewed and known in heaven.”

The Rev. William Jay wrote to his daughter on the death of an interesting little girl under five years of age, who had been a patient sufferer: “This is an event of congratulation rather than of condolence. At the grave of infants we always feel a peculiar satisfaction, arising from the persuasion that they are disposed of infinitely to their advantage. Under the protracted illness of this little martyr, the Saviour said to the parents, ‘Suffer this little child to come unto me, and forbid her not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ The Shepherd has gathered this lamb with his arms, and now carries it in his bosom.”

To a parishioner and friend, on the death of two of his children, Mr. Jay also wrote: “Intervening objects are often removed that God may be seen, and even death commands silence that He may be heard. And the blessed sufferer, the sanctified sufferer, is the humble suppliant, who wipes his eyes and says, ‘Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.’ ‘Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?’ . . . If my prayers for you are answered, . . . you will be enabled to say, ‘Well, my darlings are not lost, but provided for. . . . I shall find them again in yonder happy world. I shall embrace them all perfect and immortal.’”

Dr. Emmons wrote: “All pious brothers and sisters, all pious parents and children, all pious husbands and wives, and all pious friends, . . . will be for ever known to each other and intimately connected in heaven, and mutually promote each other’s felicity.”

Matthew Henry in his Commentary says: “This may comfort us when our children are removed from us by death: they are better provided for, both in work and wealth, than they could be in this world. We shall be with them shortly, to part no more.”

Rutherford, September 7, 1647, writes to Lady Gaitgirth: “Let the Lord pluck his own fruit at any season he pleaseth. Your children are not lost to you; they are laid up so well, as that they are coffered in heaven, where our Lord’s best jewels lie.”

Similar encouraging thoughts relating to the heavenly reunion and recognition of parents and children might be multiplied. These, however, may suffice to reconcile some sorrowing mother, perhaps some murmuring father, to God’s righteous ways; to get a glimpse of his loving-kindness in what is, for the present, a most grievous trial; to realize, as never before, the nearness to the world of spirits; and to draw the affections heavenward. In the light of revelation, what more consolatory and hopeful than the death of a little child! God loaned the treasure for a little while. As he has seen fit to send for it, let it be cheerfully, or at least submissively returned. For he will keep it and train it, as no earthly parent can, for the highest good of the child, and for the ultimate blessedness of the Christian parent in the heavenly reunion of parent and child,

Children in the Resurrection

The Christian doctrine of a resurrection of the body comes to our comfort in the death of little children. It might be asked, Shall we see the same tiny form and the features of infancy and childhood? or will they be raised perfect in stature as in spirit? We naturally desire to see them again just as they were; and yet we associate with a form like theirs the idea of weakness and imperfection. This, however, may be a prejudice of earth. The little form may be retained, and yet be a vessel large enough to contain the fulness of God’s blessing, for even here his gifts and grace are not measured by size and stature. . . . . We may carry our little ones in our memories, and imagine how they will look when we again behold them — not to find, as when we have long been separated on earth, that they have changed out of all recollection, but that they are still the same, though beautiful and perfected in cherubic glory. The child shall appear, we may hope, as when cradled in our arms: only those eyes which then looked up and gladdened us shall shine with a heavenly lustre, that voice which then was music to us shall have more of the tone of the world of sacred song; but we shall know at the first glance that this is the little form which once sported about our homes, which has often, after separation, visited us in our dreams, and now in living reality is to be clasped in our arms, no more to be rent from us. We will await that meeting, thankful for the comforting recollections of the past and the cheering anticipations of the future, which alleviate our present bereavement, and with full hearts blessing God that so much mercy is mingled with the trial.

That moment of reunion will repay all our sorrows. “Should any parent,” says Dr. Chalmers, “feel softened by the touching remembrance of a light that twinkled a few short months under his roof, and at the end of its little period expired, we cannot think that we venture too far when we say that he has only to persevere in the faith and in the following of the gospel, and that very light will again shine upon him in heaven. The blossom which withered here upon its stalk has been transplanted there to a place of endurance; and it will there gladden that eye which now weeps out the agony of an affection that has been sorely wounded; and in the name of Him, who if on earth would have wept along with them, do we bid all believers to sorrow not even as others who have no hope, but to take comfort in the thought of that country where there is no sorrow and no separation.”

Children with Jesus

We cannot pretend to determine in what manner the spirits of little children will be employed in the mansions of glory. But surely those purest and loveliest, where all are pure and lovely, will not be without their appropriate employment. They may be, perhaps, the choristers of heaven. How inexpressibly sweet these melodious voices of the innumerable multitude of redeemed children, as they celebrate the praises of him who has washed them from their sins in his own blood, “till not a spot remains.” Oh how sublime, how magnificently glorious that burst of praise, as it swells through the aisles of heaven’s great sanctuary. Heart-stricken parent, who art mourning with such bitterness of soul over the death of thy beloved child, and almost refusing to be comforted because he is not, what if God removed thy child, to supply the room of one promoted to a higher place in the children’s choir? Dost thou grudge him to God for such a purpose? Wouldst thou be so selfish as to detain him from such glory, that he might please thee for a while on earth? No, surely, if a wish could bring him back, thou wouldst not breathe it. It is a happiness and a glory far beyond what it has entered the heart of man to conceive; and this will reconcile thee to the thought of separation, assured as thou art, that thy loss is his unspeakable gain.

The Shepherd and the Lambs

When the good Shepherd would draw his wandering sheep away from danger and gather them safely into his fold, he has no more effective mode than to take the little lambs up in his arms. Then the sheep will follow him. So he wins our worthless hearts. He takes our lambs away. He allures to brighter worlds by removing our brightest objects of affection here. Where our treasure is, there will our hearts be also. He cuts the ties which bind us down, that our affections may be free to aspire upward to things above. How near the gate of heaven seems when we know that our children have just passed through it! And how precious the Saviour seems when we feel that our lambs are in his bosom! The ties which bound our hearts to earth will henceforth bind them to heaven. Who would not follow the good Shepherd to that house of many mansions, where he has been gathering these children of our love? Where is the Christian parent who has the precious and the unspeakable honor of a child ascended to God, who has not thereby been made to drink in more of the beauty and power of the gospel? And when the image of that sainted one has been obliterated here by lapse of time from all other hearts, how will it still linger, like the fragrance of crushed flowers, around his own! And though years may pass, and distance intervene, he will still love to breathe forth the tenderest sympathies of the soul in memory of the infant’s dying couch and lowly tomb.

The Better Land

He who is infinite in love as well as wisdom has revealed to us the fact of a future life, and the fearfully important relation in which the present stands to it. The actual nature and conditions of that life he has hidden from us; no chart of the ocean of eternity is given us, no celestial guide-book or geography defines, localizes, and prepares us for the wonders of the spiritual world. Hence imagination has a wide field for its speculations, which, so long as they do not positively contradict the revelation of the Scriptures, cannot be disproved.

The brief hints afforded us by the sacred writings concerning the better land are inspiring and beautiful. Heaven is described as a quiet habitation, a rest remaining for the people of God. Tears shall be wiped away from all eyes; there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. To how many death-beds have these words spoken peace! How many failing hearts have gathered strength from them to pass through the dark valley of shadows!

Yet we should not forget that “the kingdom of heaven is within;” that it is the state and affections of the soul, the answer of a good conscience, the sense of harmony with God, a condition of time as well as of eternity. What is really momentous and all-important with us is the present, by which the future is shaped and colored. A mere change of locality cannot alter the actual and intrinsic qualities of the soul. Guilt and remorse would make the golden streets of paradise intolerable as the burning marl of the infernal abodes; while purity and innocence would transform hell itself into heaven.

Letter from Bishop Leighton

My Bereaved Brother: I am glad of your health, and the recovery of your little ones; but, indeed, it was a sharp stroke of a pen that told me your pretty Johnny was dead; and I felt it truly more than, to my remembrance, I did the death of any child in my lifetime. Sweet thing! and is he so quickly laid to sleep? Happy he! Though we shall have no more the pleasure of his lisping and laughing, he shall have no more the pain of crying, nor of being sick, nor of dying; and hath wholly escaped the trouble of schooling, and other sufferings of boys, and the riper and deeper griefs of riper years — this poor life being all along nothing but a linked chain of many sorrows and many deaths. Tell my dear sister she is now much more akin to the other world; and this will quickly be passed to us all. Johnny is but gone an hour or two sooner to bed, as children used to do, and we are undressing to follow. And the more we put off the love of this present world and all things superfluous, beforehand, we shall have the less to do when we lie down. It shall refresh me to hear from you at your leisure.

Among the Graves

Thanks to our Heavenly Father, the valley of the shadow of death is no longer “a land of darkness, and where the light is as darkness.” The presence of a serene and holy life pervades it. Above its pale tombs and crowded burial-places, above the wail of despairing humanity, the voice of him who awakened life and beauty beneath the grave-clothes of the tomb at Bethany is heard proclaiming, “I am the Resurrection and the Life!” We know not, it is true, the conditions of our future life; we know not what it is to pass from this state of being to another; but before us in that dark passage has gone the Man of Nazareth, and the light of his footsteps lingers in the path. Where he, our Brother in his humanity, our Redeemer in his divine nature, has gone, let us not fear to follow. He who ordereth all aright will uphold with his own great arm the frail spirit when its incarnation is ended; and it may be that,

Triumphs of the Cross

The most precious belief of the church of God is the salvation of the infant dead. Perhaps the greatest of all the triumphs of the cross of Christ will be found at last to be this, that it has saved half our race in a body, by calling them away from the world in infancy.

Perhaps the greatest joy that is now felt in heaven, in view of all things done on earth, is caused by this one event, which creates the deepest, widest wave of sorrow here, the infant’s death. For if there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth, can we doubt that there is joy there at the happy release of each little sufferer, as they pass from death’s iron gates, one by one, into the heavens, to be for ever blessed on the bosom of their God? “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” How beautiful and glorious must be the infant’s death!

Christ’s Sinless School

A thousand times over have I pitied more the mother of a living sorrow, than the mother of a departed joy. Parents, spare your tears for those whom you have laid down to sleep in their narrow beds of earth, with the now withered rosebud mingling with their dust. They are safe. Christ is their teacher now, and has them in his sinless school, where lessons of celestial wisdom are learned by eyes that never weep. Save your tears for your living children if they are yet living in their sins, unrepentant and unconverted.

The Saviour’s Love for Children

I am deeply impressed with the Saviour’s love for little children. What is more precious and what more loved in the household than the babe, the precious life towards which all lives are looking and all hearts are beating; the centre of all interest and endeavor in the household? In my early manhood, I am ashamed to say, I used to have a dislike to children, and I thought that if ever I should be thus encumbered, I should prefer boys, who, I thought, were worth five times as much as girls. And behold, the first two births in my family were girls! Ah, but they were precious gifts! They have grown up to be Christian women, blessings to their father and invalid mother.

Well, the Lord gave us a boy, and what a blessing he was to my heart! When I used to come home from church, wearied with my labors, he, although only four years old, would come to the lounge on which I lay, and run his fingers through my hair, and say in his baby voice, “Are you tired, papa?” God took him to himself, and as he lay on the bed of death, his mother, lifting up her hand, said through her tears, “I thank thee, O God, that thou hast taken my boy, and given me a child in heaven.” In neither mother’s or father’s heart was there the least rebellion, and we felt indeed that Christ was in our house. Thank God for the little children! Sometimes, when called to minister to bereaved parents, I have thought, what would heaven be without children? There is a beautiful picture by Murillo, the Spanish painter, of the Virgin Mary, with a circle of children, like a wreath of roses round her head. I wish he had represented Christ instead, surrounded by the children he had called to himself.

I do not know the author of the verses which I add. They represent the scene in which little children were brought to the Saviour by “The dark-eyed mothers of Judah.”

“Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me”

Oh forbid them not by one repining thought, one vain regret, one unbelieving fear. Weep, for Jesus wept; but sorrow not without hope. They sleep in Jesus; they shall be raised from dust incorruptible, made like to Christ’s most glorious body, and enter the fulness of redemption. Weep, for nature must have relief; but weep in faith on the bosom of Him who from the cross comforted his only parent; yet a little while and he will take you up where you shall weep no more.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

“‘Oh!’ said the gardener, as he passed down the garden-walk, ‘who plucked that flower? who gathered that plant?’ His fellow-servant answered, ‘The Master!’ and the gardener held his peace.”