anxiously repeated, lets us into the depths of David's heart! Anxious he no doubt was respecting the battle; but his first, his chief concern, was for the safety of his rebellious

son.

Instances of parental anxiety somewhat analogous to this are not unfrequently witnessed. No tender parent can know that his son has been placed in circumstances of peril, whether by his own folly, or by any other means, without being deeply solicitous on his account. Is that son at sea? and does a storm occur, dashing many vessels on the rocks, and sweeping away their crews on the swelling wave? the father, on hearing the intelligence, asks in a moment, "Is my boy safe?" Or perhaps that son is a soldier, and has gone into the field of battle, and some fearful engagement takes place, (such as occurred but recently on the plains of Inkermann,) that father hears of it, and he asks instinctively, "Has my child fallen?"

In this instance the father's worst apprehensions were true. Absalom had fallen. "The enemies of my lord the King," said Cushi,

"and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is." Very gently is the truth unfolded; but it is too much for David, and, in a state of anguish indescribable, he retires to his chamber above the gate to weep, exclaiming as he goes, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!" (2 Sam. xviii. 33.)

Was it

a

What induced this burst of sorrow? merely a display of natural feeling? or was it that David was concerned for the eternal welfare of his child? If it was the former, manifestation of mere passion, such as David appears to have been subject to,-it was, doubtless, wrong; for Absalom deserved to die, and Providence had ordered that he should meet with his deserts. But some have thought that David's grief was occasioned by the bitter thought that Absalom had been ushered into eternity in an unprepared state. This is possible, and we could almost wish that we had certain evidence of the fact. Be this as it may, however, it is unquestionably so with every Christian parent who loses a rebellious child.

The agony of such a parent is as intense as that of David; but he mourns with eternity in view, and dwells upon the thought-that his child has been cut off in the midst of his transgressions, and summoned to the bar of God with all his iniquities on his head. A child of Christian parents lost! It were not surprising if those parents should weep tears of blood. Some years ago there resided in a distant colony of the British crown a man and his wife, who had one little child whom they very greatly loved. Their residence was on a lonely farm, in the neighbourhood of which wild beasts very often prowled, and sometimes wilder men. One day the child, who was of tender years, wandered from its home, and was soon missed by its fond parents, whose minds were naturally in the most anxious state. They sought the little wanderer in every direction; every bush, every rock, every valley in the neighbourhood was carefully examined, but no trace of the child could be seen. What had become of her? Had she been devoured by wolves? or had she been carried off by barbarous men? The parents knew not. They were distracted. "My child

is lost," cried the agonized mother. "My child is lost," repeated the distressed father; and they sat down together to lament her fate.

But what was their loss in comparison with the loss of parents whose child, or one of whose children, dies in sin,—dies in an unconverted state, dies without an interest in the blood of Christ? Such parents may well weep. And yet even their loss is not so great as the loss of that child himself. He loses all,-the world, heaven, his soul, and even hope, and sinks into irremediable woe.

Youthful reader, take the warning which the history of Absalom presents before you. Beware of sin,-of the sin of dishonouring your parents, -of the sin of rebellion against God. Remember David's sorrow, and never let your fond father have to say, My son, my son ! would God I had died for thee, my son, my son!"

London: R. Needham, Printer, Paternoster-Row.

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