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"JESUS SAYS SO."


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BOSTON:

MASS. SABBATH SCHOOL SOCIETY,
Depository, No. 13 Cornhill.

1851.



[Illustration: Frontispiece.]




"JESUS SAYS SO."

OR,

A MEMORIAL OF LITTLE
SARAH G----

FROM THE LONDON EDITION.

_Approved by the Committee of Publication_.

BOSTON:

MASS. SABBATH SCHOOL SOCIETY,
Depository, No. 13 Cornhill.
1851.




"JESUS SAYS SO."


Sarah G---- was one of several children, living with their parents in a
narrow lane in London. Early in the year 1847, Sarah's father had met
with a serious accident, and was then in the hospital, where he remained
for many weeks a severe sufferer. Sarah and her brothers, deprived of
the usual means of support, and their mother being in constant
attendance on her husband, were consequently often left in great
necessity. More than once have these little ones been known to reach the
hour of four or five in the afternoon, before taking any food; but
amidst all their privations, no complaint was heard from the lips of
Sarah. It was not known until after her death, how silently, yet how
powerfully, the Spirit of God was, even at this time, working in her
heart.

There was nothing particularly attractive in her appearance; quiet and
unobtrusive, she seemed to the outward observer like most other
children; but "the Lord seeth not as man seeth." The Great Shepherd of
the sheep had his eye on this little lamb of the fold, and marked her
for his own. At home she was gentle and affectionate, obedient to her
parents, and during their absence she watched kindly over her little
brothers.

Her poor family tasted largely of the cup of sorrow, but poverty and
distress, instead of producing impatience and unkindness, seemed to bind
each one more closely to the other. They experienced the truth of those
words: "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith," Prov. 15:17. "Better is a dry morsel, and quietness
therewith, than a house full of sacrifices with strife," Prov. 17:1.

The death of her youngest brother appeared to make a strong impression
on Sarah's mind; she said she liked to think she had a brother in
heaven. Soon after that event, she was admitted into a Sabbath school,
and it was her delight in the week to prepare her lessons. "Sunday is
such a happy day," she would say; and on that morning she would rise
earlier than usual to get ready for school.

A little circumstance, which occurred at this time, marked her
tenderness of conscience. A new bonnet had been promised to her, but not
arriving at the time she had hoped, her disappointment was so great that
she shed many tears. This was mentioned to a friend, who talked to her
about it. Sarah made no remark at the time, but afterwards she said to
her mother, "I did not know before that it was wrong to cry when we were
disappointed; I will try not to do so again:" and in the evening her
father overheard her begging God to forgive her pride and fretting about
the bonnet.

Another feature in Sarah's character may be here noticed: this was her
love of truth. "She has never deceived me," was her mother's frequent
remark. "I cannot remember a single instance of untruth, _even in
play_," and perhaps this truthfulness of spirit enabled her the more
readily to trust the word of another. "She promised me," Sarah would
say, and on the promise she would ever rest, in all the sweet dependence
of a child. Surely this may speak a word to those professing to be the
followers of Him who keepeth his promise for ever--the covenant-keeping
God. How lightly are promises often made! how carelessly and
thoughtlessly broken!

Sarah was only permitted to attend the Sabbath school for a few weeks.
Her health and strength failed, and soon she was confined to her room,
then to her bed, which she scarcely left for several months. But now the
work of God within her became more evident. It was a pleasant service to
sit by the bed of this young disciple, and read and talk with her of a
Saviour's love. She said but little, except in answer to questions, but
her bright and happy countenance showed how welcome was the subject. Who
that witnessed her simple, child-like faith, would not acknowledge the
fruit of the Spirit's teaching? It was the more apparent, as she had but
little help from man, and few outward advantages, not even being able to
read; but she treasured up in her mind all she heard, and it was as food
to her soul, the joy and rejoicing of her heart.

At an early period of her illness, a violent attack of pain and
palpitation of the heart made her think she was dying, and she told her
mother so, adding, "But I am not afraid, I am so happy." "What makes you
so happy?" was asked. "Because I am going to heaven, and when I pray to
Jesus, my heart seems lifted up." "But, Sarah, do you think your sins
forgiven?" "Yes, mother, I am sure so." "What makes you so sure?"
"Because _Jesus says so_."

"Jesus says,"--this was ever the ground of her confidence, and proved to
all around her the Saviour's oft-repeated lesson,--"Whosoever shall not
receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall in no wise enter
therein."

Sarah lingered many weeks after this. Her mind was full of peace; as she
lay on her sick bed, no shade of fear passed over her, all was sunshine
within. This one happy thought filled her mind,--"Jesus loves me, I am
going to heaven."

A friend wishing to find out on what her hopes of happiness rested, and
if she had a real sense of sin, said to her, "You talk much of going to
heaven, tell me, do you deserve to go there?" "Oh, no," was her reply,
"I do not deserve it." "Why not?" In a solemn tone, she answered,
"Because I have sinned." It was remarked, "How then can you go there?
Heaven is such a holy place, no sin can enter there." With the brightest
smile she quietly replied, "Ah! but Jesus says he will wash away all my
sin, and make my soul quite white, and he will carry me there."

Oh that all would learn of her thus to take Jesus at his word! What an
enemy to peace is an unbelieving heart!

None spoke ill of this little girl, even those who knew her least
remarked, "she was a good pleasant child," but her grateful affection
beamed strongly towards all who showed her any kindness, and one who
watched her with interest throughout her illness, will not soon forget
the earnest smile of welcome with which she was always greeted, when too
ill to speak. Thus she told her thanks.

Once, the 103d Psalm was read to her, with some remarks on David's
causes of thankfulness. It was remarked, "You, too, Sarah, have many
things to bless God for; for what do you thank him most?" She answered,
"Oh, I thank him most for sending Jesus from heaven to save me."

Many were the words of comfort she spoke to her poor sorrowing mother,
whose heart at times seemed almost broken at the prospect of losing her.
She said, "You will not cry, when I am in heaven, dear mother. I am only
going a little while first, and you will soon follow;" and once, on an
occasion of deep family distress, she pointed to the surest way for
relief, saying, "Mother, why do you cry so? Does not the Bible say God
cares for the sparrows, and are not you better than a sparrow? O mother,
pray, do pray, and then you will be so happy."

So calmly, so peacefully, did this young disciple enter the dark valley,
that truly she might have said,

  "There's nothing terrible in death
   To those who go to heaven."

Resting in her Saviour's love she feared no evil, his rod and his staff
they comforted her; sin was her only dread. Her only fear was that of
offending her heavenly Father, and on this point she often did express
much anxiety, saying, "Do tell me if I have done wrong. I do not want to
sin; I am so afraid of making God angry. Sometimes my sins look so
black, and seem to come between me and God." Then, as if she still felt
secure in the only hiding-place for sinners, she added, "But Jesus says
he will take them all away, and wash me whiter than snow."

She delighted much in some little books suited to her age and
circumstances that were read to her; one entitled, "The Infant's
Prayer," and another, "The White Robes," were her greatest favorites. In
allusion to the last of these, she often prayed, "O Lord Jesus, hear a
poor little girl, do give me that beautiful white dress, without one
spot or one stain;" and once when her mother noticed a little hurt on
her arm occasioned by her putting on a change of dress, she sweetly
said, "Never mind that, dear mother; my next dress will not hurt me."

It was very pleasant to see the affection manifested by her brothers
towards their little sick sister, and she repaid their kindness by
anxiously entreating them to care for their souls. To her father she
said, "I want you to promise me one thing--to meet me in heaven. O
father! do love Jesus. I love him, indeed I do; but I want you to love
him too. There is only one Jesus, one Saviour; and, father, he is so
holy." Then turning to her mother, who was standing by her bed, she
added, "You do love Jesus, but, O mother, pray do love him more, and
more, and more;" she spoke with such energy, as if to impress her
parents with her own feeling, as almost startled them.

In this state of mind Sarah drew near the end of her pilgrimage, and it
was not until about three days before her death that even the shadow of
a cloud seemed to darken her path. Then, for the first time, her mind
was agitated with doubts as to her Saviour's love for her, and very
distressing to those around her were her anxious cries for pardon.
"Father, forgive me, for Jesus Christ's sake," was her constant
petition. She was visited by a minister and by several Christian
friends, who used every effort to give her relief, but for some time all
in vain; she seemed unable to lay hold on any promise for her comfort.
One of these friends especially felt a deep interest in the dear child,
though she had not known her until now. Of her little Sarah asked most
earnestly, "Do you think that Jesus loves me?" She was assured that he
did. "Do you know he loves me?" she asked; and then followed the solemn
inquiry, "How do you know it?" After reading and talking with her for
some time, she begged her friend would "pray with her to make her a
little happy?" and afterwards in her own words, she would again plead
with God, "Father, forgive me, for Jesus Christ's sake, and wash me in
his blood, and make me a good girl, and take me to heaven." On one
occasion she said, "I wish I could be a little happy,--I want something,
I do not know what I want." She was answered, "I think I can tell you
what you want, it is peace, it is to feel that God has pardoned all your
sins." "Yes," she replied, "I think that is it."

At another time, when talking of the joys of heaven, "Yes," she said,
"they are singing, Glory, glory, glory," referring to her favorite hymn,
beginning,

  "Around the throne of God in heaven,
   Thousands of children stand."


But, as her friend says, it is not possible to convey her manner, her
sweet tone and look. She said, "I wish I could go to heaven now, up
through this ceiling, now while I feel a little happy." "But, my dear
child, you cannot go to heaven in this way. You must die first; Jesus
died; we must all die; it is God's appointed way for us to get to
heaven." "Oh! I do not mind my sufferings, but I wish I was there now."

Once she spoke rather impatiently, "I wish I could die, I wish I could
die." She was reminded, "Jesus says, 'If you love me, keep my
commandments;' and though you cannot obey God's will now in the same way
as if in health, you can still suffer all he appoints." She quickly
asked, "Will Jesus be angry if I am not patient? I will try, then, and
pray to him to make me patient."

Satan for a short season seemed permitted to make trial of her faith and
love, and she struggled hard against his attacks. But the dear little
one was safe in the arms of her Good Shepherd, and none could pluck her
out of his hand. Her anxious prayers were heard and answered, and peace
was restored to her soul. Her brightened countenance required not the
addition of words to assure her friends of this, and yet they rejoiced
to hear her say, "I am quite happy; I know Jesus loves me, and I shall
soon see him."

On the Sabbath, her last day on earth, she was very feeble, only able to
utter a single word at a time, but her heart was full of thankfulness
towards all who had cared for her, and especially to those who had
sought to comfort her in her last distress, begging her mother would
"always love them."

At night, as her parents were watching beside her, she suddenly raised
herself, and, throwing her arms alternately round the neck of each,
seemed to take a last farewell. She was unable to speak, but to her
mother's inquiry, "Tell me once again, my child, are you quite happy?"
she replied by lifting up her hand, and pointing to heaven, while the
brightest smile lighted up her countenance. This was her last act of
consciousness. She lingered a few hours without any apparent suffering,
and then her happy spirit took its flight, and joined the blissful
company, that, having washed their robes and made them white in the
blood of the Lamb, are ever before the throne of God, rejoicing in their
Saviour's love.

Sarah died at the age of eleven years, in August, 1848.

Dear reader, before you close this book, ask, "Am I like Sarah G----?
Have I ever prayed to Jesus to wash away all my sins, and make my soul
quite white in his precious blood?" And then have you begged him to take
you to heaven when you die, that you may be happy with him for ever? If
not, do not wait another day, but entreat him now to give you his Holy
Spirit to teach you to love him. Remember, it is this kind Saviour who
calls you, who says, "Suffer the little children to come to me, and
forbid them not;" and who promises to gather the lambs with his arm, and
to carry them in his bosom.

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