Many of you I never saw, and probably never shall in this world, though I hope I shall in that better world, to which all good people and good children go, when they die. And so, because I never expect to see you and talk to you face to face, I thought I would write to you, and tell you about a sweet little girl that used to go to the Sabbath school, but who died a few months ago, and, as I hope, has gone home to heaven. This little girl's name was Sarah, and I was once her minister, she used to love me very much, and when I called to see her father and mother, as I used to do sometimes, she always seemed glad to see me; and as she came up to me to shake hands with me, that bright and sparkling eye of hers, and that sweet smile, told me how much she loved, and how glad she was to see, her dear minister. Well, little Sarah was about nine years old; and, like other little children who love their minister, she used to love to go to the Sabbath school. I do not know that she ever teased her mother to let her stay at home, as some children do. So far from this, I believe she used to feel very bad when anything happened so that she could not go. Indeed, somebody told me once, that a wicked man, who knew how little Sarah loved to go to the Sabbath school, tried to hire her to stay away. They said he offered her, I think it was twenty-five or fifty cents, if she would only stay away. But she would not do it; and when she came to die, no doubt she was very glad she did not stay away, as that wicked man wanted her to. And her dear father and mother too, when they looked on and saw how sweetly and happily she died, no doubt they too were very glad to think that she did not. Little Sarah and her dear parents, I think, were never sorry, and never will be sorry, that she went to the Sabbath school. When in the school, she never used to be looking about the room, nor turning over the leaves of her book, nor playing with her bonnet strings or her clothes, nor fixing her hair, nor whispering or playing with the little girl that sat next to her. Oh no, she never did so; but when her teacher used to talk to her, and to the other little girls in her class, about their souls, and about God, and heaven, and hell, and that dear Saviour that died for them so that their sins might all be forgiven, if they would only love him, and be so sorry for their sins as not to do so again— I say, when her dear teacher used to talk to her, and the little girls in her class, about these things, she always used to listen to what was said. She did not move about in her seat, as if she disliked what was said, and wanted to have the school stop, so that she might get away, but she used to sit still, and look at her teacher, and hear all that she said; and, sometimes, when her dear teacher told her about the Saviour, a tear stood in little Sarah's eye, and it seemed as if she loved him. But, dear children, although little Sarah was so sweet and so young a child, she was not too sweet, nor too young to die. I had been away from the place where Sarah lived for some months; and when I went away, I left little Sarah alive and well, and, for any thing I knew, as likely to live as any little child—but when I went back there to stay a few weeks, as I went to meeting on the Sabbath, to hear the minister preach, (for I had been dismissed, and was no longer Sarah's minister,) what do you think I heard? I will tell you. When the minister rose to pray, he had a little paper in his hands, and he read it, and it told the people that little Sarah was very sick, and that her parents were afraid she would die, and, therefore, they wanted the people to pray for her, so that she might live if God saw fit. And so the people did pray for her. The next day but one, although I was no longer Sarah's minister, I went to her father's house to see her. I found her asleep. So I went into another room, and there her parents told me something about her sickness. She was very sick. Her disease was in her head, and sometimes, as the pains darted through her head, she would all at once put her hand up to it as if in great distress, but she never complained. When she awoke, which she did soon, I went into the room where she was. As I went up to the bed on which she lay, I said to her, as near as I can recollect, “Well, Sarah, how do you do? I am sorry to find you sick; you are very sick, are you not?”
Genre: EDUCATION / Home Schooling| Language | Status |
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Ariane Kurdulija
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Laura Alegre
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