There was a child born in your house. All your friends congratulated you. The other children of the family and of the neighborhood stood amazed looking at the new-comer, and asked a great many questions, genealogical and chronological.
You said—and you said truthfully—that a white angel flew through the room and left the little one there. That little one stood with its two feet in the very center of your sanctuary of affection, and with its two hands it took hold of the altar of your soul. But one day there came one of the three scourges of children—scarlet fever, or croup, or diphtheria—and all that bright scene vanished.
The great Friend of children stooped down and leaned toward that cradle and took the little one in His arms, and walked away with it into the bower of eternal summer. Death came into your household, but are you not more pure and tender-hearted than you used to be, do you not more patiently waiting for the daybreak, on account of that heavenly visitor?—TALMAGE.