Put your finger on your wrist, and keep very still for a moment. Listen.
You feel something, do you not? Something alive, and it goes beat, beat;
one, two, three, like the ticking of a watch. As long as you live, that
tick, tick will go on; but for this little girl it had stopped, because her
heart had ceased to beat. When the doctor put his hand upon her wrist, he
could feel nothing moving there. "She is quite dead," he said, as he took
her body up from the grass that it might be carried back to her home, the
home which she had left that morning, so happy and gay.
At the Sunday-school these children had been taught about the "wondrous,
glorious Saviour," of whom you sometimes sing, and we may believe that the
spirit of this dear child, redeemed to God by the precious blood of Christ,
went straight from that wrecked train to spend its long for ever with the
One who had loved her and given Himself for her; and that God, who takes
care of the poor little body which was laid low in the grave with many a
sad tear, will raise it in glory, one day, when "death is swallowed up in
victory."
But there were not only very little children in that wrecked train. We are
told of a boy who was terribly hurt, but lived an hour after the crash
came. As he lay by the wayside, a young girl with a pitiful heart came and
knelt beside him.
"I will pray you up to heaven," she whispered.
"I am going there!" said the dying boy; "Lord Jesus take me, I am ready.
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