The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1868-11-26
EWriiten for The Democratic PfessI
A SHORT PATENT SERMON
BY P. GIBBONS
DeerfeId Series, No

a.. - t'4.-- = .-5-T5 .t -~-ilii@-'' ~
These are the words of nv text:
Oh windl man. constant, faithful friend,
n Thou 'rt the same as in the days of yore.
My brethren, Idont khoW of any
thing that can cause more sudden
resurroctionof otdmemeries thanscer-
tain notes blown from the bugle ofHo-
leus, OF some peculiar antics cut by the
wind in its froliesome,,or petulent
moods. They takeus;back the scenes
-ofouEearlssd days with telegrap
where we hear repeated the same fa-
miliar sounds and become e.eye-wit-
nesses again to'its same, mysterious
manifestations. It has the same voice
as of yore, and its doings. are pretty
much the same now as when they
frstreanedf the, mighty deep and fan
ned the smiling face of the new form
edrearthanqY You may. call it tickle and
changeful, but it is no more SO than
man himself p ag and u pet tlgeE thalfas pqeh SO as
my dear sister, woman. But It is con-
stant nevertheless, always with you
and performing the kindest' of offices,
however much you may sometimes
imagine to the contrary; say, for in
stance, when it plays foot ball with
your best hat throws dust upon your
best-elothes.andT in 'youroeyes,l slams
the door in yot1r face, or. steals your
last shirt. from the clothes-line. -
i1Myq brethren, you remember the
time, long, long ago, when you heard
the wintry midnight wind moaning
amid the evergreen pines of the moun;l
tain, while hard by all was still as the
chamber of death, as if the moon was
spreading a silver shroud of silence
over meadow, orchard and field. Did
itnot seem as if the decrepid old storm
king had yonder laid himself down to
die. and all mature was listening to his
expfffiig gfoansl? sOf course iit{lid, or
you could have hadSnof appreciation OF
the sublime and melancholic.
Fi,so, my brethren, When the driving
storms; ;oflife are past, the same night
wind will motirnfufly Hur1aaf among
the green boughs that bend above your
graves but yoa shah Heed itpoeT i.
My lbrethren,a you have sat in the
warm kitchen, with the old folks at
home, on a cold December night and
heard the wind cry "wheugh wheugh-
e-eugh! !" without, or crawl up the
sink spout with dolefnl twoo-oo-oo !!
And what was this fort Why, that
you might the better appreciate the
luxuries of a warm, cheerful fire, few
apples,l a little cider, and the. family
newspaper; to remind you of the
homeless, the houseless, and all left ta
1.-THE frosty charities of the world: TO
| take the poor storm surprised travel
ler in, give him shelter for the night
nice breakfast in theS morning, and
send him on his way rejoicing. q Oh
the wind can play many different
tune upen the heart strings OF. man
But there is none (Which the angels
of heaven SO much love to bend and
listen toas 'that'which moves him to
generous deeds and acts of kindness to-
wards his Unfortunate fellow man.
My brethren, when the gentle ver-
nal wind glides noislessIy over, beds
of young violets, perfuming it's high
pinions with the first sweet oadors OF
the year nwh hen it kisses the little Ba.
Thy, i buds in their grass ffinged cradles
when it dallies with theigolden locks
! ofyouth and Innocence then it fond.
lytwhispers of hopes yet to BLOSSOM
and of joys ere long to expand in ali
their fulness of bloom. ,i,ji Ell eli . d,
NY brethren, when the summer
wind sings in the green groves, haunts