The white-haired mother got just as near her son as she could, and every witness that went into the court and said anything against him seemed to hurt her more than her son. When the jury brought in a verdict of guilty a great shout went up, but the old mother nearly fainted away; and when the judge pronounced the sentence of death they thought she would faint away.
After it was over she threw her arms around him and kissed him, and there in the court they had to tear him from her embrace. She then went the length and breadth of the city trying to get men to sign a petition for his pardon. And when he was hanged, she begged the governor to let her have the body of her son, that she might bury it. They say that death has torn down everything in this world, everything but a mother's love. That is stronger than death itself. The governor refused to let her have the body, but she cherished the memory of that boy as long as she lived.
A few months later she followed her boy, and when she was dying she sent word to the governor, and begged that her body might be laid close to her son. That is a mother's love! She wasn't ashamed to have her grave pointed out for all time as the grave of the mother of the most noted criminal the State of Vermont ever had.
The prophet takes hold of that very idea. He says: "Can a mother forget her child?" But a mother's love is not to be compared to the love of God.
Restitution
I was preaching in British Columbia some years ago and a young man came to me, and wanted to become a Christian. He had been smuggling opium into the States.
"Well, my friend," I said, "I don't think there is any chance for you to become a Christian until you make restitution." He said, "If I attempt to do that, I will fall into the clutches of the law, and I will go to the penitentiary." "Well," I replied, "you had better do that than go to the judgment-seat of God with that sin upon your soul, and have eternal punishment. The Lord will be very merciful if you set your face to do right."
He went away sorrowful, but came back the next day, and said: "I have a young wife and child, and all the furniture in my house I have bought with money I have got in this dishonest way. If I become a Christian, that furniture will have to go, and my wife will know it."
"Better let your wife know it, and better let your home and furniture go."
"Would you come up and see my wife?" he asked; "I don't know what she will say."
I went up to see her, and when I told her, the tears trickled down her cheeks, and she said: "Mr. Moody, I will gladly give everything if my husband can become a true Christian."
She took out her pocketbook, and handed over her last penny. He had a piece of land in the United States, which he deeded over to the government. I do not know, in all my backward track, of any living man who has had a better testimony for Jesus Christ than that man. He had been dishonest, but when the truth came to him that he must make it right before God would help him, he made it right.
No amount of weeping over sin, and saying that you feel sorry, is going to help it unless you are willing to confess and make restitution.
Willie and the Bears
I said to my little family, one morning, a few weeks before the Chicago fire, "I am coming home this afternoon to give you a ride."
My little boy clapped his hands. "Oh, papa, will you take me to see the bears in Lincoln Park?"
"Yes."
I had not been gone long when my little boy said, "Mamma, I wish you would get me ready."
"Oh," she said, "it will be a long time before papa comes."
"But I want to get ready, mamma."
At last he was ready to have the ride, face washed, and clothes all nice and clean.
"Now, you must take good care, and not get yourself dirty again," said mamma.
Of course, he was going to take care; he wasn't going to get dirty! So off he ran to watch for me. However, it was a long time yet until the afternoon, and after a little he began to play. When I got home, I found him outside, with his face all covered with dirt.
"I can't take you to the park that way, Willie."
"Why papa? you said you would take me."
"Ah, but I can't; you're all over mud. I couldn't be seen with such a dirty little boy."
"Why, I'se clean, papa; mamma washed me."
"Well, you've got dirty again."
But he began to cry, and I could not convince him that he was dirty.
"I'se clean; mamma washed me!" he cried.
Do you think I argued with him? No. I just took him up in my arms, and carried him into the house, and showed him his face in the looking-glass. He had not a word to say. He would not take my word for it; but one look at the glass was enough; he saw it for himself. He didn't say he wasn't dirty after that!