"
And she replied, "It is not I, aunt, who makes them laugh."
This was the falsehood she uttered. And though her aunt did not know
that it was false, the little girl did, and God in heaven did. And
when she came to die, though it was a year or two after, her soul was
troubled, and the consciousness of her sin destroyed her peace. A lie
is, in the sight of God, a dreadful sin, be it ever so trifling in our
estimation. When we are just ready to leave the world, and to appear
before God in judgment, the convictions of a guilty conscience will
press upon the heart like lead.
There are many ways of being guilty of falsehood without uttering
the lie direct in words. Whenever you try to deceive your parents, in
doing that which you know they disapprove, you do, in reality, tell
a lie. Conscience reproves you for falsehood. Once, when I was in
company, as the plate of cake was passed round, a little boy, who sat
by the side of his mother, took a much larger piece than he knew she
would allow him to have. She happened, for the moment, to be looking
away, and he broke a small piece off and covered the rest in his lap
with his handkerchief. When his mother looked, she saw the small
piece, and supposed he had taken no more. He intended to deceive her.
His mother has never found out what he did. But God saw him, and
frowned upon him, as he committed this sin. And do you not think that
the boy has already suffered for it? Must he not feel mean and
contemptible whenever he thinks that, merely to get a little bit of
cake, he would deceive his kind mother? If that little boy had one
particle of honorable or generous feeling remaining in his bosom, he
would feel reproached and unhappy whenever he thought of his
meanness.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47