Title: Faith
Author: J. S. Adams
"Children," said a faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters, "I have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks, from you; and as we have no power over conditions,--such as storms, sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life,--I may be detained long beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you will each have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or others detain me, that you will all trust and wait."
"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his ears.
With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down the winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his soul to heaven for blessings on his household.
With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days went down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold and scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their strong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly the tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows like snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill. Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restless at his long delay.
"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might delay him?"
"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest."
"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as yet was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for miles around us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, let us trust our father," he added, with a depth of feeling which touched them all; and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would come and be again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust of the human heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passing clouds, nor stretch forth its hand in darkness.
Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness,--again in the shadows of distrust.
"He will never return," said one of the group, in sad and sorrowing tones.
"My father will come," lisped the youngest of them all,--the one on whom the others looked as but a babe in thought and feeling.
"I am weary with watching," said another, as she went from the window where she had been looking, for so many days, for the loved form. "Our father has forgotten us all," she moaned, and bowed her head and wept.
There was no one to comfort; for all were sad, knowing that naught but a few crusts remained for their morrow's food--and who would provide for the coming days? Lights and fuel too were wanting, and winter but half gone. Even the faith of the eldest had long since departed, and he too had yielded to distrust.
"My father will come," still whispered the little one, strong in her child-trust, while the others doubted.
"It's because she's so young, and cannot reason like us," they said among themselves.
"Perhaps God can speak to her because she is so simple," said one of the household with whom words were few.
They looked at each other as though a ray of sunlight had flashed through their dwelling. Something akin to hope began to spring in their hearts, but died away as the chilling blasts came moaning around them.
Three days passed, while the storm raged and threatened to bury their home beneath the heavy snows. There was no food now to share between them. The last crumb had been given the child to soften her cries of hunger.
"I can stand this no longer," said the eldest, wrapping his garments around him, and preparing to go forth to find labor and bread for his brothers and sisters. "Ah, that I should ever have lived to see this day!"--he murmured--"the day in which we are deserted and forgotten by our father."
The sound of murmuring within now mingled with the sighing of the winds without. He stepped to the door; but for an instant the fierce blasts drove him back--yet but for an instant. "I will not add cowardice to sorrow," he said to them, in reply to their entreaties not to go in the storm. With one strong effort he faced the chilling sleet, which so blinded him that he could not find the path which led to the highway; yet he went bravely on, till hunger and chill overcame him, and he could no longer see or even feel. He grew strangely dizzy, and would have fallen to the ground, but for a pair of strong arms which at that instant held him fast. He was too much overcome to know who it was that thus enfolded him; but soon a well-known voice rose above the wind and the storm,--he knew that his father's arms were about him, and he feared no more. In the hour of greatest need the father had come. There, in that hour of brave effort, he was spared a long exposure to the wintry blast. A carriage laden with food, fuel, and timely gifts, for each, was already on the road, and would soon deposit its bounties at the door of those whose faith had deserted them.
What a happy household gathered around the father that night! There was no need of lamps to reveal the joy on their faces, and the darkness could not hide the tears which coursed down their cheeks. The little one awoke shouting, in her child-trust, "My father has come! me knew him would!"
And they called her Faith from that hour.
The only alloy in the joy of the others was, as the kind father explained to them the causes of his delay, that they had not trusted him with the faith of the little child; and when he told them of the strange people he had been among, who needed counsel and instruction, and their great need of his ministrations, they sorrowed much that doubt had shadowed for a moment their trust in their father.
Author: J. S. Adams
"Children," said a faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters, "I have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks, from you; and as we have no power over conditions,--such as storms, sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life,--I may be detained long beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you will each have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or others detain me, that you will all trust and wait."
"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his ears.
With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down the winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his soul to heaven for blessings on his household.
With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days went down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold and scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their strong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly the tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows like snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill. Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restless at his long delay.
"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might delay him?"
"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest."
"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as yet was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for miles around us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, let us trust our father," he added, with a depth of feeling which touched them all; and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would come and be again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust of the human heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passing clouds, nor stretch forth its hand in darkness.
Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness,--again in the shadows of distrust.
"He will never return," said one of the group, in sad and sorrowing tones.
"My father will come," lisped the youngest of them all,--the one on whom the others looked as but a babe in thought and feeling.
"I am weary with watching," said another, as she went from the window where she had been looking, for so many days, for the loved form. "Our father has forgotten us all," she moaned, and bowed her head and wept.
There was no one to comfort; for all were sad, knowing that naught but a few crusts remained for their morrow's food--and who would provide for the coming days? Lights and fuel too were wanting, and winter but half gone. Even the faith of the eldest had long since departed, and he too had yielded to distrust.
"My father will come," still whispered the little one, strong in her child-trust, while the others doubted.
"It's because she's so young, and cannot reason like us," they said among themselves.
"Perhaps God can speak to her because she is so simple," said one of the household with whom words were few.
They looked at each other as though a ray of sunlight had flashed through their dwelling. Something akin to hope began to spring in their hearts, but died away as the chilling blasts came moaning around them.
Three days passed, while the storm raged and threatened to bury their home beneath the heavy snows. There was no food now to share between them. The last crumb had been given the child to soften her cries of hunger.
"I can stand this no longer," said the eldest, wrapping his garments around him, and preparing to go forth to find labor and bread for his brothers and sisters. "Ah, that I should ever have lived to see this day!"--he murmured--"the day in which we are deserted and forgotten by our father."
The sound of murmuring within now mingled with the sighing of the winds without. He stepped to the door; but for an instant the fierce blasts drove him back--yet but for an instant. "I will not add cowardice to sorrow," he said to them, in reply to their entreaties not to go in the storm. With one strong effort he faced the chilling sleet, which so blinded him that he could not find the path which led to the highway; yet he went bravely on, till hunger and chill overcame him, and he could no longer see or even feel. He grew strangely dizzy, and would have fallen to the ground, but for a pair of strong arms which at that instant held him fast. He was too much overcome to know who it was that thus enfolded him; but soon a well-known voice rose above the wind and the storm,--he knew that his father's arms were about him, and he feared no more. In the hour of greatest need the father had come. There, in that hour of brave effort, he was spared a long exposure to the wintry blast. A carriage laden with food, fuel, and timely gifts, for each, was already on the road, and would soon deposit its bounties at the door of those whose faith had deserted them.
What a happy household gathered around the father that night! There was no need of lamps to reveal the joy on their faces, and the darkness could not hide the tears which coursed down their cheeks. The little one awoke shouting, in her child-trust, "My father has come! me knew him would!"
And they called her Faith from that hour.
The only alloy in the joy of the others was, as the kind father explained to them the causes of his delay, that they had not trusted him with the faith of the little child; and when he told them of the strange people he had been among, who needed counsel and instruction, and their great need of his ministrations, they sorrowed much that doubt had shadowed for a moment their trust in their father.
Thus do we distrust our Heavenly Parent; and when our needs rise like mountains before us, and all seems dark, we cry, "Alas! he has forgotten us!" And yet in our deepest night a light appears, his strong arm uplifts us, and we are taught how holy a thing is Faith.
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J. S. Adams's short story: Faith
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J. S. Adams's short story: Faith