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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
48
Then
I
heard
of
a
dreadful
dark
Somewhere,
the
horror
of
which
was
that
it
was
away
from
Him.
What
if
I
should
wake
some
morning,
and
find
myself
there?
Sometimes
I
did
not
dare
to
go
to
sleep
for
that
dread.
And
the
thought
was
too
awful
to
speak
of
to
anybody.
Baby
that
I
was,
I
shut
my
lips
in
a
sort
of
reckless
despair,
and
thought
that
if
I
could
not
be
good,
I
might
as
well
be
naughty,
and
enjoy
it.
But
somehow
I
could
not
enjoy
it.
I
felt
sorry
and
ashamed
and
degraded
whenever
I
knew
that
I
had
been
cross
or
selfish.
I
heard
them
talk
about
Jesus
as
if
He
were
a
dead
man,
one
who
died
a
great
while
ago,
whose
death
made
a
great
difference
to
us,
I
could
not
understand
how.
It
seemed
like
a
lovely
story,
the
loveliest
in
the
world,
but
it
sounded
as
if
it
were
only
a
story,
even
to
those
who
repeated
it
to
me;
something
that
had
happened
far
away
in
the
past.
But
one
day
a
strange
minister
came
into
the
Sabbath-school
in
our
little
chapel,
and
spoke
to
us
children
about
Him,
oh!
so
differently!
"Children,"
he
said,
"Jesus
is
not
dead.
He
is
alive:
He
loves
you,
and
wants
you
to
love
Him!
He
is
your
best
Friend,
and
He
will
show
you
how
to
be
good."
My
heart
beat
fast.
I
could
hardly
keep
back
the
tears.
The
New
Testament,
then,
did
really
mean
what
it
said!
Jesus
said
He
would
come
back
again,
and
would
always
be
with
those
who
loved
Him.
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