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C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Child (Death of)

Think of your child, then, not as dead, but as living; not as a flower that has withered, but as one that is transplanted, and touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colors and sweeter shades than those of earth.


Better that the light cloud should fade away into heaven with the morning breath, than travail through the weary day to gather in darkness, and in storm.


Ye have lost a child—nay, she is not lost to you, who is found to Christ; she is not sent away, but only sent before; like unto a star, which going out of our sight, doth not die and vanish, but shineth in another hemisphere.


When our children die, we drop them into the unknown, shuddering with fear. We know that they go out from us, and we stand, and pity, and wonder. If we receive news that a hundred thousand dollars had been left them by some one dying, we should be thrown into an ecstasy of rejoicing; but when they have gone home to God, we stand, and mourn, and pine, and wonder at the mystery of Providence.

H. W. Beecher.

The dying boy said: “Father, don’t you weep for me; when I get to heaven I will go straight to Jesus and tell Him that ever since I can remember you have tried to lead me to Him.” I would rather have my children say that of me after I am gone; or if they die before me, I would rather they should take that message to the Master than to have a monument over me reaching to the skies.

D. L. Moody.

  • How can a mother’s heart feel cold or weary
  • Knowing her dearer self safe, sheltered, warm?
  • How can she feel her road too dark or dreary,
  • Who knows her treasure sheltered from the storm?
  • How can she sin? Our hearts may be unheeding,
  • Our God forgot, our holy saints defied;
  • But can a mother hear her dead child pleading,
  • And thrust those little angel hands aside?
  • A. A. Proctor.

    It will be hard for you not to ask why this must be. God knows why, and that may be as good to us as though we knew a thousand reasons. I pray God to hold you quiet and patient and uncomplaining, and help you bear the weight of this seemingly unintelligible sorrow. I hope you will remember that this is the only world in which a Christian can suffer, and suffer patiently and meekly. We cannot suffer by and by. God helps us to glorify Him mow, when we can.

    Maltbie Babcock.

    My heart goes out to you—twice over—for the sorrow that has come to you, and for the thought that I could perhaps be a help to you. That shows that you see already one reason why sorrow comes—you turn to me, because I have tasted the same cup. Some day someone will come to you, and you will “comfort with the comfort wherewith you yourself have been comforted.” Perfect sympathy cannot spring from the imagination. Only they who have suffered can really sympathize. I am sure you are saying, like the little child in the dark, “Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.” The worst of all losses is a lost sorrow, for then all is lost. Your little child is safe, and I believe your sorrow is safe, too, for you are your Father’s child, and you want to please Him. I would not ask “why” if I were you. “How” is a better word—how can I glorify Thee, how well can I show those who know me how the Father can help His child. God’s will is not to be borne, but ever to be done. Now you are to do His will under new, hard, distressing and depressing circumstances. If we were pagans, we might hide ourselves and our despair, but we are Christians who say “Our Father” and hear our Saviour’s words, “Because I live ye shall live also.”

    Maltbie Babcock.