A lady had a little child that was dying. She thought it was resting sweetly in the arms of Jesus. She went into the room and the child asked her: “What are those clouds and mountains that I see so dark?” “Why, Eddy,” said his mother, “there are no clouds nor mountains, you must be mistaken.” “Why, yes, I see great mountains, and dark clouds, and I want you to take me in your arms and carry me over the mountains.” “Oh,” said the mother, “you must pray to Jesus, He will carry you safely.”
My friends the dear mother, the praying mother, may come to your bedside and wipe the damp sweat from your brow, but they cannot carry you over Jordan when the hour comes. This mother said to her little boy, “you must pray that the Lord will be with you in your dying moments.”
And the two prayed, but the boy turned to her and said: “Don’t you hear the angels, mother, over the mountains, calling for me, and I cannot go?” “My dear boy, pray to Jesus, and He will come; He alone can take you.” And the boy closed his eyes and prayed, and when he opened them a heavenly smile overspread his face as he said, “Jesus has come to carry me over the mountains.” What consolation for the mother, to know her little one was with Jesus.— MOODY.
