The Child at Home | Page 8

he is going to
appear before God in judgment, and yet feels conscious that he has been unkind to his
parents! Oh, such a child must fear to go into the presence of his Maker. He must know
that God will never receive into heaven children who have been so wicked. I have seen
many children die. And I have seen some, who had been very amiable and pleasant all
their lives, when they came to die, feel grieved that they had not been more careful to
make their parents happy. I knew one affectionate little girl, who was loved by all who
knew her. She hardly ever did any thing which was displeasing to her parents. But one
day she was taken sick. The doctor was called: but she grew worse and worse. Her
parents watched over her with anxiety and tears, but still her fever raged, and death drew
nearer. At last all hopes of her recovery were over, and it was known that she must die.
Then did this little girl, when she felt that she must leave her parents for ever, mourn that
she had ever done any thing to give them pain. The most trifling act of disobedience, and
the least unkindness of which she had ever been guilty, then came fresh into her mind,
and she could not die in peace, till she had called her father and her mother to her bedside,

and implored their forgiveness. If so obliging and affectionate a little girl as this felt so
deeply in view of the past, when called upon to die, how agonizing must be the feelings
which will crowd upon the heart of the wicked and disobedient child who has filled her
parents' heart with sorrow!
But you must also remember, that there is a day of judgment to come. You must appear
before God to answer for every thing you have done or thought while in this world. Oh,
how will the ungrateful child then feel! Heaven will be before him, in all its beauty and
bliss, but he cannot enter.
"Those holy gates for ever bar Pollution, sin and shame."
He has, by his ingratitude, made a home on earth unhappy, and God will not permit him
to destroy the happiness of the homes in heaven.
He will see all the angels in their holiness and their joy, but he cannot be permitted to join
that blessed throng. With his ungrateful heart he would but destroy their enjoyment. The
frown of God must be upon him, and he must depart to that wretched world where all the
wicked are assembled. There he must live in sorrows which have no end. Oh, children,
how great are your responsibilities! The happiness of your parents depends upon your
conduct. And your ingratitude may fill your lives with sorrow, and your eternity with wo.
Will you not, then, read this book with care, and pray that God will aid you to obey its
directions, that your homes on earth may be joyful, and that you may be prepared for
happier homes beyond the stars?
CHAPTER II.

DECEPTION.

Probably nearly all who read this book have heard the story of George Washington and
his hatchet.
George, when a little boy, had received from his father a hatchet, and he, much pleased
with his present, walked around the house trying its keen edge upon every thing which
came within his reach. At last he came to a favorite pear-tree of his father's, and began,
with great dexterity, to try his skill in felling trees. After hacking upon the bark until he
had completely ruined the tree, he became tired, and went into the house. Before long, his
father, passing by, beheld his beautiful tree entirely ruined; and, entering the house, he
earnestly asked who had been guilty of the destruction. For a moment George trembled
and hesitated. He was strongly tempted to deny that he knew any thing about it. But
summoning all his courage, he replied, "Father, I cannot tell a lie. I cut it with my
hatchet." His father clasped him to his arms, and said, "My dear boy, I would rather lose
a thousand trees than have my son a liar."

This little anecdote shows that George Washington, when a boy, was too brave and noble
to tell a lie. He had rather be punished than be so mean and degraded as to utter a
falsehood. He did wrong to cut the pear-tree, though, perhaps, he did not know the extent
of the injury he was doing. But had he denied that he did it, he would have been a
cowardly and disgraceful liar. His father would have been ashamed of him, and would
never have known when to believe him. If little George Washington