Ah, yes, in the day-time they might think they could get along very well without their mother, but when the night comes, and the lights are all out, and it's dark, then nobody on earth but mother will do. So it is with you, my friend. In your bravado of health and strength you may say that you are not afraid of death, but you wait until your feet come down to the brink of the river; then there will be a different story to tell. Some men haven't much use for God in life, but nobody else but God will do in the hour of death. =_The Valley Is Certain and Narrow_= Death is certain. It is appointed unto men once to die. While the Lord tarries, every child of Adam will have to pass through the experience of death. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! --_Henry W. Longfellow_ We cannot bribe death. We cannot avoid or evade passing through the valley of the shadow. We cannot dig under it, nor tunnel around it, nor fly over it. Face it we must. It behooves us, therefore, to make sure that we have the light and the life which alone will secure for us a happy exit from this valley and a glorious entrance into the unfading light of a new day. The valley of the shadow of death is narrow, very narrow--so narrow indeed that even a mother cannot take her one-hour-old babe with her. It is so narrow. She must go through the valley alone. Single file, if you please, is the order of march through this valley of the shadow. An aged woman lay dying. By her bedside, with his hand in hers, sat the man who for over fifty years had been her husband. The light was failing fast, and eternity drawing near to the aged woman. Grasping the hand of her husband tightly, she said, "John, it's getting dark. Take my hand. For over fifty years we have traveled together, and you have led me. Now it's getting dark, and I cannot see the way. John, come with me, won't you?" But John could not go, and with tear-filled eyes and trembling voice, he said, "Anna, I cannot, cannot go. Only Jesus can go with you." She was a little girl of ten years. The angel of death was hovering over her bed. The end was drawing near. She said to her father, who was standing by the mother's side at the bed, "Papa, it's getting dark and I cannot see. Will you please go with me?" With heart breaking, the father had to say, "Child, I cannot, I cannot go with you." The girl turned to her mother and said, "Mamma, then you will, won't you?" But the mother, in turn, amid her tears, replied, "Child, I would, but I cannot. Only Jesus can go with you." =_The Personal Pronouns Change_=