Audubon County Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Audubon Co., Iowa) 1885-1894, 1886-09-23

goes IOTtu IruuglDg III the ueseTt. WudJ
great change 1t was for this Hagarl There
was the tent and all the surroundings Of Abra-
hams house, beautiful and luxuriant no
doubt. Now she is going out into the hot
sands OF the desert. 0, what change 1t was
And In our day we often see the wheel Of for
tune turn. Here Is some one who lived In the
very bright home Of her father She had ev-
erything possible to administer to her happi-
ness--plenty at the table, music In the draw
ing room welcome at the door. She is led
forth into life by some one who can not APP
preciate her. A dissipated soul comes and
takes her out in the desert Cruelties blot
out all the lights Of that home circle. Harsh
words wear out her spirits. The high hopes
that shone out over the marriage altar while
the ring was being set and the vows given and
the benediction pronounced have all faded
with the orange blossoms, and there she is to-
day broken hearted, thinking Of past joys
and present desolation and coming anguish.
Hagar In the wilderness
Here is a beautiful home You can not think
OF anything that can be added to 1t. For years
there has not been the suggestion OF single
trouble. Bright and happy children fill the
house with laughter and song. Books to read,
pictures to look at lounges to rest on, cup of
domestic JOY fun and running over. Dark
night drops, pillow hot; pulses futter; eyes
close, and the foot whose well known steps on
the door-sill brought the whole household out
at eventide crying fathers coming,n will
deep grief ploughed through all that bright
ness Of domestic life. Paradise lost; widow
hood; Hagar in the wilderness
WOMEN WITH HARD LIVES.
How often is it we see the weak arm of wo-
man conscripted for this battle with the rough
world Who is she, going down the street in
the early light OF the morning, pale with ex-
hausting work, not half slept out with the
slumbers of last night tragedies of suffering
written all over her face, her lustreless eyes
looking far ahead as though for the coming of
some other troubled Her parents called her
Mary, or Bertha, or Agnes, on the day when
they held her up to the font and the Christian
minister sprinkled on the infants face the
washings Of a holy baptism. Her name is
changed now. | hear 1t in the shuttle Of the
worn out shoes. see 1t In the figure Of the
faded calico. find it in the lineaments Of the
woe begone countenance. Not Mary, nor Ber
tina, nor Agnes, but Hagar in the wilderness.
May God have mercy upon woman in her tolls,
her struggles, her hardships, her desoation,
and may the great heart Of divine sympathy
enclose her forever.
Third-Again / find in this oriental scene
the fact that every mother leads forth ire
niendous destinies You say: THAT isn't an
unusual scene mother leading her child by
the hand" Who is it that she is leadinga
Ishmael, you say. Who is Ishmaeli A great
nation Is to be founded, a nation so strong
that it is to stand for thousands of years
against all the armies Of the world Egypt
and Assyria thunder against It, but In vain.
Gaulus brings up his army, and his army Is
smitten. Alexander decides upon campaign,
brings up his hosts and dies. For a long
while that nation monopolzes the learning of
the world, 1t is the nation of the Arabs Who
founded it! Ishmael, the lad that Hagar led
into the wilderness. She had no idea she was
leading forth such, destines. Neither does
any mother. You pass along the street and
see pass boys and girls who will yet make the
earth quake with their influence.
GREAT DEsTINIEs FOR CHILDREN.
Who is that boy at Sutton Pool, Plymouth,
England, bare footed, wading down into the
slush and slime until his bare foot comes upon
a piece Of glass and he lifts it, bleeding and
pain struckl That wound in the foot decides
that he be sedentary in his life, decides that
he be student That wound by the glass in
the foot decides that he shall be John Kitto,
who shall provide the best religious encyclo-
pedia the world has ever had provided, and,
with his other writings as well, throwing
light upon the word of God such as has come
from no other man in this century. 0 mother,
mother, that little hand that wanders over
your face may yet be lifted to hurl thunder
polts of war or drop benedictions! That little
voice may blaspheme God in the grogshop or
cry "CowardP' to the Lords hosts as they 60
out for their last victory.
My mind this morning leaps thirty years
ahead and | see merchant prince of New
York. One stroke of his pen brings ship out
Of Canton. Another stroke of his pen brings
ship into Madras. He is mighty in all the
money markets of the world. Who is hes He
sits this morning beside you in the tabernacle.
My mind leaps thirty years forward from this
time and find myself in a relief association.
A great multitude of Christian women have
met together for generous purpose. There
is one woman in that crowd who seems to
have the confidence of all the others and they
all look up to her for her counsel and for her
prayers. Who is she! This afternoon you
will find her in the Sabbath school while the
teacher tells her of that Christ who clothed
the naked and fed the hungry and healed the
sick. Ny mind leaps forward thirty years
from now and | find myself in an African
jungle, and there is a missionary of the cross
addressing the natives and their dusky coun-
tenances are irradiated with the glad tidings of
great JOY and salvation. Who is he! Did you
not hear his voice this morning in the first
song of the servicel
RESPONSIBILITIES OF MOTHERS.
My mind leaps forward thirty years from
now and l find myself looking through the
wickets Of prison. / see face Scared with
every crime. His chin on his open palm, his
elbow on his knee-a picture of despair. As
l open the wicket he starts and l hear bis
chain clank. The Jail keeper tells me that he
has been there now three times-first for
theft, then for arson, now for murder. He
steps upon the trap door, the rope is fastened
to his neck, the plank falls, his body swings
into the air, his soul swings off into eternity.
Who is he, and where is hes This afternoon
hosting kite on the city commons. Mother,
you are this morning hosting throne or
forging chain; you are kindling star or
digging dungeon.
A good many years ago Christian mother
sat teaching lessons OF religion to her child;
and he drank in, those lessons. She never
knew that Lamphier would come forth and
establish the Fulton street prayer meeting and
by one meeting revolutionize the devotions OF
the whole earth, and thrill the eternties
with his Christian influence Lamphier said
that it was his mother who brought him to Je-
sus Christ. She never had an idea that she
was leading forth such destinies But oh,
when ! see mother reckless of her influence,
rafting on toward destruction, garlanded for
the sacrifice with unseemly mirth and goddess
ness, dancing on down to perdition, taking
her children in the same direction, preparing
them for life of frlvolity, death OF shame,
and eternity Of disaster. / can not help but
say: ''There they go; there they go, Hagar
and Ishmael" I tell you, there are wilder
deserts than Beersheba in many of the
fashionable circles of this day Dlssipated
parents leading dssipated children. Avara-
cious parents leading avaracious children
They go through every street, UP every dark
alley, in every cellar, along every highway.
Hagar and lshmael and while | pronounce
their names, it seems like the moaning Of the
death wind: "Hagar and Ishmael"
FOUNTAINS FOR ALL THIRSTY ONES.
FOURTH learn one more lesson from this
oriental scene, and that is that every wilder
ness has well in it. Hagar and Ishmael gave
up to die. Hagar's heart sank within her as
she heard her child crying: Water water !!
waterw "Ah,n she says, my darling, there
is no water. This is a desert" And then
Gods angel said from the cloud: ''What
aileth thee, Hagarw And she looked up and
saw him pointing to well of water, where
she filed the bottle for the lad. Blessed be
God that there is in every wilderness well, If
you only know how to find it-fountains for
all these thirsty souls this morning. On that
last day. on that great day of the feast Jesus
stood and cried: 'tIf any man thirst let him
come to Me and drink" All these other
fountains you find are mere mirages of the
desert. Paracelsus, you know, spent his time