“A father took his little child out into the field one Sunday, and he lay down under a beautiful shady tree, it being a hot day. The little child ran about gathering wild flowers and little blades of grass, and coming to his father and saying: ‘Pretty! pretty!’ At last the father fell asleep and while he was sleeping the child wandered away. When he awoke, his first thought was ‘where is my child?’ He looked all around, but he could not see him. He shouted at the top of his voice, and all he heard was the echo of his own voice. No response! Running to a little hill, he looked around but all he heard was his own voice. Then going to a precipice at some distance, he looked down, and there upon the rocks and briers, he saw the mangled form of his loved child. He rushed to the spot, and took up the lifeless corpse, and hugged it to his bosom, and accused himself of being the murderer of his own child.
While he was sleeping his child had wandered over the precipice. I thought as I heard that, what a picture of the Church of God! How many fathers and mothers, how many Christian men are sleeping now while their children wander over the terrible precipice a thousand times worse than that precipice, right into the bottomless pit of hell? Father, where is your boy tonight?” – D.L.Moody