‘I’ll Hold by Your Hand, Mother.’
‘ Shouldst not thou like, my child, to be1
With Him in that blest land2
Where He is gone to make for us3
A home not formed by hand ?’4
‘ I do not know,’ she answered me,5
That little simple child,6
Whose lesson for the Sabbath school7
A half-hour had beguiled.8
‘ My pet,’ I said, ‘ suppose our Queen9
Had sent to bid you come10
Into her palace bright and rich11
To make for you a home—12
‘ Suppose that toys, and food, and dress,13
And all things rich and rare,14
Were there provided for your use,15
And joys beyond compare—16
‘ Wouldst not thou gladly leave this home,17
With all thou carest for here,18
To dwell in that far better one,19
That bright and joyous sphere ?20
‘ And heaven, my child, is brighter far !21
Nor could my words declare—22
Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,23
The joys that wait us there !24
‘ Wouldst not thou like, then, little one,25
To go to that sweet home26
Where all God’s own shall surely meet,27
All Christ’s redeemed shall come ?’28
A smile lit up her little face,29
As gently she replied :30
‘ Yes, mother ; by your hand I’ll hold,31
And enter at your side.’32