|Mother, you have forgotten my soul,| so said a little girl, three years old as her kind and careful mother was about to lay her in bed. She had just risen from repeating the Lord's prayer. |But, Mother,| she said, |you have forgotten my soul.|
|What do you mean, Anna?|
'Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep!
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.'
|We have not said that.|
The child meant nothing more, yet her words were startling. And, oh! from how many rosy lips might they come with mournful significance!
You, fond mother, so busy hour after hour preparing and adorning garments for their pretty little form, have you forgotten the soul? Do you commend it earnestly to the care of its God and Savior? Are you leading it to commit itself, in faith and love to his keeping? -- Selected.