Father.  I am.  And that is the reason I am so grieved when some such boys refuse to let me become their father.

Boy.  Refuse?  Oh, how can they?  Refuse to become your own dear sons?  Refuse to have such a dear, kind, patient father?  Refuse love?

Father.  My poor blind boy, don’t you now begin to see that I do not wait for these adopted sons of mine to wash and clothe themselves, to become good, and obedient, and affectionate, but loved them because they were such destitute, wicked, lost boys?  I did not go out into the streets to look for well-dressed, well-cared-for, faultless children, who would adorn my house and shine in it like jewels.  I sought for outcasts; I loved them as outcasts; I knew they would be ungrateful and disobedient, and never love me half as much as I did them; but that made me all the more sorry for them.  See what pains I am taking with them, and how beautifully some of them are learning their lessons.  And now tell me, my son, in seeing this picture gallery, do you not begin to see me?  Could anything less than love take in such a company of poor beggars?

Boy.  Yes, my father, I do begin to see it.  I do believe that I know you better now than I ever did before.  I believe you love even me.  And now I know that I love you!

Father.  Now, then, my dear son, let that vexing question drop forever, and begin to act as my son and heir should.  You have a great deal to learn, but I will myself be your teacher, and your mind is now free to attend to my instructions.  Do you find anything to love and admire in your brothers?

Boy.  Indeed I do.

Father.  You shall be taught the lessons that have made them what they are.  Meanwhile I want to see you look cheerful and happy, remembering that you are in your father’s heart.

Boy.  Dear father, I will!  But oh, help me to be a better son!

Father.  Dear boy, I will.

[1] In Union Theological Seminary, New York.

[2] The Baptism of the Holy Ghost, by Rev. Asa Mahau, D.D., p. 118.

[3] Dr. L. H. Hemenway.

[4] Some of the charades referred to will be found in appendix E, p. 556.

[5] Referring to the following hymn composed by Madame Guyon in prison: 

  A little bird I am,
    Shut out from fields of air,
  And in my cage I sit and sing
    To Him who placed me there. 
  Well-pleased a prisoner to be,
  Because, my God, it pleaseth Thee.

  Naught have I else to do;
    I sing the whole day long;
  And He, whom most I love to please,
    Doth listen to my song. 
  He caught and bound my wandering wing,
  But still He bends to hear me sing.