Читать книгу The Young Pilgrim: A Tale Illustrative of "The Pilgrim's Progress" онлайн

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“But it may not be far,” exclaimed Mark. “Thousands of children die younger than we, there are many, many small graves in the churchyard; death may be near to us, it may be close at hand, and where will our souls be then?”

“I don’t know,” said Madge; “I don’t want to think,” subjoined her elder brother; their mother only heaved a deep sigh.

“Is it not something,” continued Mark, “to hear of the way to a place where our souls may be happy when our bodies are dust? Is it not something to look forward to a glorious heaven, where millions and millions of years may be spent amongst joys far greater than we can think, and yet never bring us nearer to the end of our happiness and glory?”

“Oh, these are all dreams,” laughed Jack, “that come from reading in that book.”

“They are not dreams!” exclaimed Mark, with earnestness, “they are more real than anything on earth. Everything is changing here, nothing is sure; flowers bloom one day and are withered the next; now there is sunshine, and now there is gloom; you see a man strong and healthy, and the next thing you hear of him perhaps is his death! All things are changing and passing away, just like a dream when we awake; but heaven and its delights are sure, quite sure; the rocks may be moved—but it never can be changed; the sun may be darkened—it is all bright for ever!”