The rocky island, and other similitudesWilberforce, Samuel
Religion
The rocky island, and other similitudes
Wilberforce, Samuel
Allegories; Children's stories, English; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Short stories
Sometimes, indeed, when it shone out redder and fiercer than usual, or
when the thunder seemed close over their heads, the children would be
startled for a little while, and run together, and cry, and scream; but
very soon it was all forgotten, and they were as full of their sports as
ever.
While I was musing upon this, I saw a man appear suddenly amongst the
children. He was of a noble and kingly countenance, and yet so gentle
withal that there was not a child of them all who seemed afraid to look
in his face, or to listen to his kind voice when he opened his mouth, for
soon I found that he was speaking to them. "My dear children," I heard
him say, "you will all be certainly killed, if you stay upon this rocky
island. Here no one ever grows up happily. Here all play turns into
death--the burning mountain, and the forked lightning, and the dreadful
breath of the hill-storm,--these sweep down over all that stay here, and
slay them all; and if you stay here, for these childish pleasures of
yours, you will all perish."
Then the children grew very grave, and they gazed one upon another, and
all looked up into the face of the man, to see if he spoke in earnest.
They saw directly that he did, for that kind face looked full of care as
well as of love: so from him they looked out upon the waves of the sea,
and one whispered to another, "Where shall we go? how shall we ever get
over that sea? we can never swim across it: had we not better go back,
and play and be happy, until the time comes for us to die?"
"No," said the man, looking round kindly upon them all; "you cannot swim
over; you never could get over of yourselves: but you need not stay here
and die; for I have found a way of escape for you. Follow me, and you
shall see it."
So I saw that he led them round a high rough rock, to where the calm
waves of the sea ran up into a little bay, upon the white sand of which
only a gentle ripple broke with a very pleasant sound. This bay was full
of boats, small painted boats, with just room in each for one person,
with a small rudder to guide them at the stern, and a little sail as
white as snow, and over all a flag, on which a bright red cross was
flapping in the gentle sea-breeze.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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