It Almost Makes Me Cry
by the American Sunday-School Union
"It almost makes me cry to think of the heathen,"
said Willie Dudley, as he was standing by his mother's
work-table, with his elbow leaning upon it,
and his head resting upon his hand. "I don't wonder
missionaries go to them." His face was thoughtful
and sad, and the tears stood in his eyes.
He had just been looking at two hideous idols,
which had been brought from Africa, and his mother
had been telling him that the heathen thought they
were gods, and prayed to them.
Little Eddie wondered that any people could
think these stone images were God. His large, blue
eyes looked larger and rounder than ever, they were
so filled with amazement at what he heard. He
could only say, "Oh, mother! oh, mother!" in
tones which indicated surprise, pity, and horror.
Mrs. Dudley told her children that the heathen
had not been taught, as we have, that God is a
spirit, and that they had never learned the commandment,
"Thou shalt not make unto thee any
graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is
in the heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath,
or that is in the water under the earth; thou shalt
not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them;
for I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting
the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto
the third and fourth generation of them that hate
me; and showing mercy unto thousands of them that
love me, and keep my commandments."
"I don't wonder that the missionaries go to
them," was the sentiment on the mind of Willie, as
he thought of the ignorance and degradation of the
heathen. He loved, himself, to hear about God,
and our blessed Saviour, and he knew that God
required a pure and spiritual worship. He knew
God was the Creator of the world, and that his
power and glory could not well be represented or
conceived by man. He had often heard of the
heathen, and had read about their idols, but to see
and handle a stone head which had been actually an
object of religious worship, made it seem much
more real to him than ever before, that there are
many people who have never learned to worship the
Willie has always had a great reverence for his
heavenly Father. Several years ago, he was reading
a description of one of the idols of the Hindoos.
The picture was disgustingly repulsive. He went
to Mrs. Dudley with his book, saying, "Mother, I
don't like to call g-o-d God here; I want to call it
d-o-g, for I don't think it is right to call such a thing
by that great name."
Perhaps Willie will some day be a missionary,
and preach the glad tidings of salvation to those
who are now sitting in darkness, and in the shadow
of death. But if he is not a missionary himself, I
trust he will never forget to do what he can for those
who, far from their homes and their friends, are
fulfilling Christ's last command, to "go into all the
world, and preach the gospel to every creature."
All Christians cannot be missionaries, but they
can all do something to spread a knowledge of true
religion throughout the world. They can contribute
of their property to this noble purpose. Our
heavenly Father accepts the smallest gift, offered in
love. We, surely, who live in comfortable homes,
and are surrounded by so much that is pleasant,
should never forget those who, in foreign lands, are
preaching the "unsearchable riches of Christ."
If our Saviour were now upon the earth, I suppose
dear children, you think it would be a great
pleasure to minister to his wants, and provide him
with food or clothing, or any thing he might need.
It is delightful to know that what we do for those who
love him, he accepts as done to himself. In his
Holy Word he says, "Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye
have done it unto me."