MOTHER'S MAGAZINE. AUGUST, 1844. Original. PARENTAL SOLICITUDE. BY REV. CHARLES B. BOYINGTON. THE inquiry, "What manner of child shall this be?" was made by the friends and acquaintances of Zacharias and Elizabeth in reference to their infant. The strange circumstances connected with his birth had given rise to the expectation that his future career would be distinguished by remarkable events. The report of what had happened to his parents had travelled round Judea; and, as men treasured these things in their minds, and pondered upon their import, they inquired, one of another," What manner of child shall this be?"— What goal will he reach who has commenced the race under such unwonted circumstances? Although the unusual character of the events, linked with the infancy of John, elicited this inquiry, yet, would we seriously consider, we should discover abundant reason, in looking upon the face of any child, for the anxious question, "What manner of child shall this be?" We are not to regard this interrogatory as confined to the period of childhood. The idea is this: What manner of person shall this What will be the character of his own iny and what his influence upon the world? child be? We propose to offer some reasons why we should feel such deep anxiety in reference to the infant child. We may well feel solicitude concerning the future character of a child, because it is next to infinite in its capacities. We look upon it in its weakness and helplessness, in its utter dependence for life here upon the kindness and watchfulness of those around; we feel touched by its plaintive tones, and interested in the expression of its beseeching eye; and the heart of the parent leaps up when that eye gathers intelligence, and the soul comes out on the laughing lip, and the tongue attempts the formation of articulate sounds. But it is regarded more as an object of affectionate interest, than as a creature of incalculable importance, even in the eye of God himself. The infant, insignificant though it may appear to all but the parent's heart, is still a germ, within whose undeveloped leaves are hidden the secrets both of time and of eternity. We may pluck from our garden the simple, unattractive bud, unlovely in form and hue; yet folded within by the hand of God are the graceful petals of the gorgeous flower, and shower and sunbeam shall yet develope and color them with matchless dyes. So may we observe an acorn or the fruit of the pine, and find it difficult to interest ourselves in the unlovely germ, yet it conceals within the rudiments of the giant tree, whose branches shall be tossed perhaps by the storms of a hundred winters. After this reflection, it is not uninteresting to inquire, what manner of tree shall this become? What field shall it shelter with its branches-or, round what mountain crest shall its strong roots be thrown? To what purpose shall the huge trunk be finally devoted? Ages hence, shall it form a part of the poor man's home, or the noble's palace, or shall it float in earth's future navies? So the infant, though a simple bud, is invested with unutterable importance, when we meditate upon its future expandings. 'Tis a creature, whose being and developments are co-extensive with eternity; too near the infinite even in capacity to be measured. When an infant is born, a new actor appears in the great drama of being, who in all eternity shall never disappear from the stage. It sinks, to be sure, from human view for a short period at death, but still it exists behind the scenes to re-appear at the appointed time, to gather to itself new powers, which shall be exerted upon a sphere of action for ever enlarging, to suit the expanding soul. awe. We might, then, properly regard an infant with feelings of We stand hushed and solemn before many objects of the natural world, which possess far less of real sublimity than the helpless child. We regard with fear the rising of the black summer cloud, for we know that it bears within the voice of the thunder and the bolt of the lightning, and perhaps, the hurricane's breath; and we are awed on the sea shore, where, for many a league, the earth trembles beneath the giant strokes of the surge. Men find it a fearful thing to mark the array of opposing armies just at the point when the pause and the dead silence precedes the shock, when the batteries, silent and motionless, are frowning on each other, and the swords are out and the bayonets are levelled for the charge. In such a moment man is awed, for he knows the terrific power which that enginery can wield; but, in gazing upon the weakest infant, we ought to be stirred with an intenser emotion: for, beneath that gentle brow, and that peaceful bosom, and those tiny hands, are hidden energies far more terrible than the lightning's bolt, or the voice of the storm, or the thunder of waves, or the shock of battle. The storm may desolate, but it passes away-the waves strive in vain to overleap the bounds that God hath set-the roar and the shriek will die away on the battle-field, and blood will disappear-even the bones will moulder at last, and a verdure deeper than before will hide the pollution-but every thought of that young infant's soul shall endure for ever. A single suggestion of that mind may have power to affect the fate of millions for ever, and change all the present relations of society. The passage of a generation will wipe away the remembrance of a Waterloo, and time rear new cities over the ruins of the old, but the thoughts which may blaze forth from the mind dwelling in the infant form we gaze on, may scorch and desolate age after age, down to the last generation of men, may even stretch its influences beyond the grave so far away into eternity, that no intelligence but that of God can trace the ultimate result. The infidel suggestions of Porphyry, and Celsus, and Julian, have helped to lead down to destruction a portion of every generation, which has arisen since the period in which they lived, and such men as Voltaire and Paine breathe even from their graves a moral pestilence which cannot be stayed except by the hand of God. An infant, then, is an object of deepest interest, because its existence is co-extensive with eternity, and because it will for ever exert an accumulating influence upon the universe of God. Mother, the little creature that nestles and slumbers in your bosom, shall outlive the period when the hand of the Almighty shall fold these heavens together. What manner of creature shall it be through all the unimaginable changes of time and of eternity? Where will it be? What will be its character-and what its condition amid the terrible events of earth's closing scenes? With a soul capable of perpetual improvement, and with boundless duration before it in which its power and knowledge may increase, how near to the infinite will that infant approach in the measureless cycles of eternal years? Mother, what will the station and dignity of that infant be, when associated with the pure and the mighty in heaven, under the instruction of Jesus Christ himself, it shall have been for unnumbered ages in a course of rapid development passing from "strength to strength, and from glory to glory." You may well look then, upon your now helpless charge with feelings of awe, for within that little bosom is the mysterious germ of an eternal life with all its unknown events and interests and relations. |