THE SAVIOUR.
A mother with three children was once returning home, at a late hour of the night, through one of those dark and lonely passes which abound in the Alps mountains.
The night was so very cold that she drew two of her children close to her side, and clasped the youngest to her breast, in order to keep them from freezing.
They thus journeyed on, drawn rapidly over the smoothly beaten road by their faithful horse, dreaming only of the warm fire and affectionate welcome which awaited them at their mountain home, little thinking of the danger which lurked so short a distance behind them.
Presently she heard in the far-off distance the faint howl of a wolf.
In a few seconds that of another, and another, fell upon her ear.
The sound grew louder and louder, and the number seemed to increase every moment.
The thought at once flashed across her mind, that a pack of half-starved wolves was in hot pursuit of herself and darling little ones.
The noble horse knew too well the danger that awaited himself and his precious burden, and with renewed speed hastened rapidly onward.
But his strength was not sufficient to rescue his mistress and her little ones from the jaws of twenty hungry wolves; for their fearful yell rang louder and louder on the midnight air, till, on looking behind her, the affrighted mother beheld them within a hundred yards of the precious laden sleigh.
Their blood-shot eyes glared fiercely, and their tongues hung far out of their mouths.
There was no escape—destruction was certain. Yes, there was one means of escape, and only one; that was, to throw one of her children to the wolves, and while they were satisfying their hunger on its body, she and the other two might safely reach their home. Awful thought! She looked into their cherub faces, kissed by the soft rays of the silver moon, with that tenderness which a mother only can feel, and her loving heart shrank back with horror from such a fiendish deed.
Not a moment was to be lost. The yelling wolves were within a few steps of the sleigh—she felt their heated breath warming her cheek. One minute more, and herself and children would be devoured by the bloodthirsty beasts. Love for her children prevails, she throws herself a sacrifice to the hungry pack, and soon breathes her last, surrounded by the growls of devouring wolves, and the mournful dirge of the mountain winds.
Children, was not that loving mother the Saviour of her tender offspring?
And now I ask you,—Will you, can you, reject that dear Saviour who suffered, and bled, and died on Calvary, to save you from a never-ending destruction?