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Unforgotten Classics
He's Coming To-Morrow by Harriet Beecher Stowe
He's Coming To-Morrow by Harriet Beecher Stowe
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EXCERPT:
Again the scene was changed. We stood together in a little low attic, lighted by one small lamp—how poor it was!—a broken chair, a rickety table, a bed in the corner where the little ones were cuddling close to one another for warmth. Poor things! the air was so frosty that their breath congealed upon the bedclothes, as they talked in soft, baby voices. "When mother comes, she will bring us some supper," said they. "But I'm so cold!" said the little outsider. "Get in the middle, then," said the other two, "and we'll warm you. Mother promised she would make a fire when she came in, if that man would pay her." "What a bad man he is!" said[17] the oldest boy; "he never pays mother if he can help it."
Just then the door opened, and a pale, thin woman came in, laden with packages.
She laid all down, and came to her children's bed, clasping her hands in rapture.
"Joy, joy, children! Oh, joy, joy! Christ is coming! He will be here to-morrow."
Every little bird in the nest was up, and the little arms around the mother's neck; the children believed at once. They had heard of the good Jesus. He had been their mother's only friend through many a cold and hungry day, and they doubted not He was coming.
"Oh, mother! will He take us? He will, won't He?"
"Yes, my little ones," she[18] said softly, smiling to herself; "He shall gather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in His bosom."
Suddenly again, as by the slide of a magic lantern, another scene was present.
We stood in a lonely room, where a woman was sitting with her head bowed forward upon her hands. Alone, forsaken, slandered, she was in bitterness of spirit. Hard, cruel tongues had spoken her name with vile assertions, and a thoughtless world had believed. There had been a babble of accusations, a crowd to rejoice in iniquity, and few to pity. She thought herself alone, and she spoke: "Judge me, O Lord! for I have walked in my integrity. I am as a monster unto many; but thou art my strong refuge."
Again the scene was changed. We stood together in a little low attic, lighted by one small lamp—how poor it was!—a broken chair, a rickety table, a bed in the corner where the little ones were cuddling close to one another for warmth. Poor things! the air was so frosty that their breath congealed upon the bedclothes, as they talked in soft, baby voices. "When mother comes, she will bring us some supper," said they. "But I'm so cold!" said the little outsider. "Get in the middle, then," said the other two, "and we'll warm you. Mother promised she would make a fire when she came in, if that man would pay her." "What a bad man he is!" said[17] the oldest boy; "he never pays mother if he can help it."
Just then the door opened, and a pale, thin woman came in, laden with packages.
She laid all down, and came to her children's bed, clasping her hands in rapture.
"Joy, joy, children! Oh, joy, joy! Christ is coming! He will be here to-morrow."
Every little bird in the nest was up, and the little arms around the mother's neck; the children believed at once. They had heard of the good Jesus. He had been their mother's only friend through many a cold and hungry day, and they doubted not He was coming.
"Oh, mother! will He take us? He will, won't He?"
"Yes, my little ones," she[18] said softly, smiling to herself; "He shall gather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in His bosom."
Suddenly again, as by the slide of a magic lantern, another scene was present.
We stood in a lonely room, where a woman was sitting with her head bowed forward upon her hands. Alone, forsaken, slandered, she was in bitterness of spirit. Hard, cruel tongues had spoken her name with vile assertions, and a thoughtless world had believed. There had been a babble of accusations, a crowd to rejoice in iniquity, and few to pity. She thought herself alone, and she spoke: "Judge me, O Lord! for I have walked in my integrity. I am as a monster unto many; but thou art my strong refuge."
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