Thou And I

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Title:     Thou And I
Author: Elizabeth Rundle Charles [More Titles by Charles]

Thou and I[1]

In a room in a stately mansion, a little babe lay in its mother's arms. All kinds of beautiful things were around, and many people passed in and out. Pictures by the first masters were on the walls; the rarest exotics filled the air with choice perfumes. The chair in which the mother sat was gilded and tapestried; the carpet her feet rested on was soft as mossy turf, and delicate as embroidery. Jewels sparkled on her dress. The windows opened on a magnificent landscape of park and lake, woodland and distant hills. But the little babe saw nothing but its mother's smile--understood nothing but that it was on its mother's knee. Its only consciousness was, "Thou and I!" and love.

* * * * *

The railway train was entering a long tunnel. The babe was still on its mother's knee. The darkness grew deeper. The heavy train thundered through the hollow earth. Another met it, and rushed past with a deafening din. An older child in the carriage screamed with terror. Many of the passengers felt uneasy, and were impatient to see the light again. But the babe cared nothing for the noise or the darkness. It looked in the dim lamp-light into its mother's face, and saw her smile, and smiled again. It knew nothing of the world but "Thou and I!" and love.

* * * * *

The ship was tossing fearfully on the stormy sea. Every timber strained, every wave seemed as if it must engulf the vessel. The weak and timid cried out in an agony of fear. The brave and loving moved about with white, compressed lips, and contracted brows, striving now and then to say some brief re-assuring words to those for whose safety they feared. But the babe lay tranquil and happy in its mother's arms. Her breast was to it a shelter against the world. It knew nothing of danger or fear. Its world was, "Thou and I!" and love.

* * * * *

Years passed away, and the babe grew into a child, and the child into a man. His life was one of many vicissitudes, of passionate hopes, and bitter sorrows, and wild ambition. He worshipped the world in many forms, and wandered further and further from the Father's house, until the world which first had beguiled him with its choicest things came to feed him on its husks; and a long way off he thought of the Father and the home, and rose to return. His steps were doubtful and slow, but the heart which met him had no hesitation and no upbraidings. Then the wanderer understood the love with which he had been watched and pitied all those desolate years, the love with which he was welcomed now. The earth, and sky, and human life grew sacred and beautiful to him as they had never been, because through them all a living Presence was around him, a living heart met him; and, as of old on his mother's knee, once more, as he looked up to God his Father, his world became only "Thou and I!" and love.

His life moved rapidly on to its dark goal. He had to leave the sunshine of earth, its pleasant fields and cherished homes, and all familiar things, for ever. The light grew dimmer, and the darkness deepened. But he had no fear. In the darkness, and the bewildering rush of new experience, he was again as the babe on the mother's knee. To him there was no darkness, no confusion. He looked into his Father's face, and smiled. Life and death and earth, all he left, and all he went to, were as nothing to him then. He had nothing but that one living, loving Presence; but it was enough. Again it was "Thou and I!" and love.

And death found that childlike and angelic smile upon his lips, and left it there.

* * * * *

A day will come of storm, and fire, and tempest, and convulsion, when earth and heaven shall mingle and be rolled up as a scroll and pass away. But in that day what will such have to fear? Amidst all the convulsed worlds the redeemed will rest tranquil as the infant in the storm on its mother's breast. For amidst it all their eyes will rest on the Face which was bowed in death to save them, and will know no fear. It will be, "Thou and I, and Thou art love!" for ever.

Autumn was on the earth
When Summer came to me,
The Summer in the soul,
And set the life-springs free.

Darkness was on my life,
A heavy weight of night,
When the Sun arose within,
And filled my heart with light.

Ice lay upon my heart,
Ice-fetters still and strong,
When the living spring gushed forth
And filled my soul with song.

That Summer shall not fade,
That Sun it setteth never;
The Fountain in my heart
Springs full and fresh for ever.

Since I have learned Thy love,
My Summer, Lord, Thou art;
Summer to me, and Day,
And life springs in my heart.

Since I have learned THOU ART,
THOU LIVEST, and art Love,
Art Love, and lovest me--
Fearless I look above!

Thy blood can cleanse from sin,
Thy love casts out my fear;
Heaven is no longer far,
Since Thou, its Sun, art near.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der heiligen Liebe," contrasting the world, "Ich und Nicht Ich," with the Christian's world, "Ich und Du."

[The end]
Elizabeth Rundle Charles's short story: Thou And I

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