“As one whom a mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.” You know there is no cradle song like a mother’s. After the excitement of the evening it is almost impossible to get the child to sleep.
If the rocking-chair stop a moment, the eyes are wide open; but the mother’s patience and the mother’s soothing manner keep on until, after a while, the angel of slumber puts his wing over the pillow. Well, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, the time will come when we will be waiting to be put to sleep.
The day of our life will be done, and the shadows of the night of death will be gathering round us. Then we want God to soothe us, to hush us to sleep. Let the music at our going not be the dirge of the organ, or the knell of the church-tower, or the drumming of a “dead march,” but let it be the consoling hush of a mother’s lullaby.
Oh, the cradle of the grave will be soft with the pillow of all the promises. When we are being rocked into our last slumber, I want this to be the cradlesong: “As one whom a mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.”—TALMAGE.
