He hesitated a moment, glanced half
fearfully around him,--no one was there, no one but himself, and Johnny,
lying low at his feet, and God looking down upon him. Presently he knelt
down before the little grave, and began,--
"Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom
come"--Then he stopped. Tip was in earnest now; he did not understand
that prayer: he felt as though he was not saying what he meant. He
commenced again,--
"Oh, Jesus, I want"--Then he waited a minute. What did he want? "I want
to be different; I'm a wicked boy. I want to go where Johnny is when I
die. Do show me how!"
Did Jesus ever fail to hear such a prayer as that,--simple, earnest,
every word of it _felt? Never_--and He never will.
Tip rose up from that spot feeling that something was different. Ay, and
always would be different; the Saviour had reached down and taken hold of
the young seeker's hand, and would for ever after lead him up toward God.
CHAPTER V.
"Thy word is a lamp to my feet."
The Sabbath morning sun awoke Tip from a heavy sleep.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43