Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-12-15
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advertisements.
dred millions Of the race not one instance.
Go home to-day, open your desk, take out
| letter paper, stamp. and envelope, and then
write letter something like this:
"My old companions: I start this day for
heaven. Until am persuaded you will
join me in this, farewell"
Then sign your name and send the letter
with the first post. Give up your bad COM
panions, or give up heaven. 1t is not ten
bad companions that destroy man, nor
five bad companions, nor three bad COM
panions, but one. What chance is there
for that young man l saw along the street,
four or five young men with him, hating
in front Of a grogshop, urging him to 60 in,
he resisting, violently resisting, until after
a while they forced him to 60 in? 1t wss q
summer night, and the door was left open,
and saw the process. They held him fast,
and they put the cup to his lips, and they
forced down the strongdrink. What chance
is there for such young man?
L counsel you also, seek Christian advice.
Every Christian man is bound to help you.
If you find no other human ear willing to
listep to your story of struggle, come to
me, and will by every sympathy of my
heart, and every prayer, and every toll of
my hands, stand beside you in the struggle
for reformation; and as l hope to have my
own sins forgiven and hope to be acquitted
at the judgment seat of Christ, will not
bstray you. First Of all seek God; then
seek Christian counsel. Gather up all tho
energies of body, mind and soul, and, ap-
pealing to God for success, declare this day
everlasting war against all drinking habits,
oil Ill 81 osx
Half-and-half work will amount to nothing;
it must be Waterloo. Shrink back now,
and you are lost. Push on, and you are
saved. A Spartan general fell at the very
moment of victory, but he dipped his fin
ger in his own blood and wrote ON a rock
near which he was dying: "Sparta has con-
quered." Though your struggle to get rid
of sin may seem to be almost death-strug-
gle, you can dip your finger in your own
blood and write on the Rock of Ages: "Vic-
tory through our Lord Jesus Christ"
o, what glorious news it would be for
some of these young men to send home to
their parents in the country these holidays
which are coming. They go to the postof
fice every day or two to see whether there
are any letters from you. How anxious
they are to hear! You might send them for
holiday present this season, book from
one of our best publishing houses, or COM
plete wardrobe from the importers palace,
it would not please them half so much az
the news you might send home tomorrow
that you had given your heart to God. I
know how it is in the country. The night
comes on. The cattle stand under the rack
through which burst the trusses of hay.
The horses just having frisked up from the
meadow at the nightfal, stand knee-deep
in the bright straw that invites them to lie
down and rest. The perch of the hovel is
full of fowl, their feet warm under the
feathers. In the old farmhouse at night
no candle is lighted for the flames clap
their hands about the great backlog and
shake the shadow of the group up and
down the wall. Father and mother sit
there for half an hour saying nothing. l
wonder what they are thinking of. After
awhile the father breaks the silence and
says: "Well, I wonder where our boy is in
town to-night?" and the mother answers:
'1n no bad place, warrant you; we always
could trust him when he was home, and
since he has been away there have been SO
him STILL" Then at o'clock-for they re-
tire early in the country-they kneel down
and commend you to that God who watch
on the sea.
Some enc said to a Grecian general:
'What was the proudest moment in your
life?" He thought moment and said:
"The proudest moment in my life was when
sent word home to my parents that had
gained the victory" And the proudest and
most brilliant moment in your life will be
the moment when you can send word to
your parents that you have conquered your
evil habits by the grace of God ard become
eternal victor. Oh, despise not parental
anxiety!
The time will come when you will have
neither father nor mother, and you will go
around the place where they used to watch
you, and find them gone from the house,
and gone from the field, and gone from the
Cry as loud for forgiveness
as you may over the mound in the church
yard, they will not answer. Dead! Dead!
And then you will take out the white lock
of hair that was cut from your mothers
brow just before they buried her, and you
will take the cane with which your father
used to walk, and you will think and think
and wish that you had done just as they
wanted you to, and would give the world if
you had never thrust pang through their
dear old hearts. God pity the young man
who has brought disgrace on his fathers
name! God pity the young man who has
broken his mothers heart! Better if he
had never been born-better if in the first
hour of his life, instead of being laid against
the warm bosom of maternal tenderness,
he had been coffined and sepulchred. There
is no balm powerful enough TO heal the
heart of one who has brought parents to
sorrowful grave, and who wanders about
through the dismal cemetery, rending the
hair, and wringing the hands, and crying,
Mother! mother! Oh, that to-day by all
the memories of the past, and by all the
hopes Of the future, you would yield your
heart to God! May your fathers God and
your mother's God be your God forever!