The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-03-21
Jesus, lover of my soul.
Let me to Thy bosom fly.
While the pillows near me roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, oh. my Saviour. hide
Till the storm OF life Is past,

For the sick, who have no one to turn the hot
pillow, no one to put the taper on the stanu,
no one to put ice on the temple, or pour OUT
the soothing anodyne. or utter one cheertul
word-yet songs in the night! For the poor,
who freeze in the winters cold, and sWelteT
in the summers heat, and MUNICH the hard
cr,lsts that bleed the sore gums, and shlver
under blankets that cannot any longer be
patched, and tremble because rent day IS
come and they may be set out on the SIDE
walk, and looking into the starved face OF the
child and seeing famine there and death
there, coming home from the bakery, and
saving. In the presence Of the little famished
ones: "Oh, my God, flour has gone up!'
Yet songs in the night Songs in the
night For the widow who goes to get the
back pay Of her husband, slain By the sharp
she will have, moving out Of comfortable
home in desolation, death turning back from
the exhausting cough, and the pale cheek,
and the lusterless eye, and refusing oil re-
lief Yet songs in the night! Songs in the
night For the soldier in the field hospital,
no surgeon to bind up the gun shot fracture,
no water for the hot lips, no kind hand to
brush away the flies from the fresh wound,
no one to take the loving farewell, the groan-
ing of Others poured into his own groan, the
blasphemy Of others blowing up his own
spirit, the condensed bitterness OF dying
away from home among strangers fet
songs in the night Songs in the night!
"Ah ~ said one dying soldier, "teli my
mother that last night there was not one
cloud between my soul and Jesus. Songs IN
the night! Songs in the night! -.
The Sabbath day has come. From the
altars of ten thousand churches has smoked
nm the sayor of sacrifice. Ministers Of the
Gospel are now preaching in plain English,
in broad Scotch, in flowing Italian, in harsh
Choctaw. Gods people have assembled IN
Hindoo temple, and Moravian church. and
Quaker meeting house, and sailors bethel,
and kings chapel and high lowered cathe.
dral. They sang, and the song toated on
amidst the spice groves, or struck tne Ice
bergs, or foated off into tho western pines, or
was drowned in the clamor Of the great cities.
and the children in the Sabbath class,
and the trained choirs in great as
semblages. Trappers, with the same voice
with which they shouted yesterday IN
the stag hunt, and mariners with throats
that only few days ago sounded in the
hoarse blast Of the sea hurricane, they sang
it. One theme for the sermons. One burden
for the song. Jesus for the invocation.
Jesus for-the Scripture lesson. Jesus for the
baptismal font. Jesus for the sacramental
cup Jesus for the benediction. But the day
of light and love- Again the churches Will
be lighted. Tides of people again setting
down the streets. Whole families coming up
the church aisle. We must have one more
sermon, two prayers, three songs, and one
What shall we preach tonight!
What shall we read! What shall it be, chill
drenl Aged men and women, what shall it
be2 Young men and maidens, what snail IL
he? If you dared to break the silence OF this
auditory there would come up thousands of
quick and jubilant voices crying out, Let IL
be Jesus! Jesus.
We sing His birth-the barn that sheltered
Him, the mother that nursed HIM, the cattle
that fed beside Him, the angels that woke up
the shepherds shaking light over the md
night hills. We sing His ministry-the tears
He wiped away from the eye OF the orphans;
damsel who from the bier bounded out into
the sunlight, her locks shaking. down over
the flushed cheek; the hungry thousand who
broke the bread as it blossomed into larger
loaves-the miracle by which boy with
five loaves and two fishes became the sutler
for whole army We sing His sorrow-His
stone bruised feet, His aching heart, HIS
loneliness, His desert hunger, His
storm pelted body, the eternity OF anguish
that shot through His last moments, and the
ocean Of torment that heaved
up against His cross in one foamlng, wrath
full, omnipotent surge, the sun dashed out,
and the dead, shroud wrapped, breaking open
their sepulchreS, and rushing out to see what
was the matter. We sing His resurrection
the guard that could not keep Him; the sor-
row of His disciples; the clouds piling up on
either side in pillared splendor as He went
through, treading the painless air, higher
and higher, until He came to the foot OF the
throne, and all heaven kept jubilee at the
rat,,rn Of the COnOuerOr.
l say once more, Christ is the everlasting
song. The very best singers sometimes get
weary, and many who sang very Sweetly DO
not sing now, but hope by the grace of God
we will. after while, go up and sing the
praises of Christ where we will never DC
weary. You know there are some songs that
are especially appropriate for the home circle,
They stir the soul, they start the tears, tney
turn the heart in on itself, and keep sounding
after the tune has stopped, like some cathe-
dfai bell which, long after the tap Of the
brazen tongue has ceased, keeps throbbing on
the air. Well, it will be home song in
heaven: all the sweeter because those VINO
sang with us in the domestic circle on earth
shall join that great harmony.
Jerusalem, my happy home
Name ever dear to m,
When shall my labors have an end
In Joy and pesce in thee.
On earth we sang harvest songs as the
wheat came into the barn, and the barracks
on farm as when they get the crops in; and
so in heaven it will be a harvest song on the
part of those who on earth sowed in tears
and reaped in joy. Lift up your heads, ye
everlasting gates, and let the sheaves come
in! Angels shout all through the heavens.
and multitudes come down the hills crying:
"Harvest home. harvest home"
There is nothing more bewitching to ones
ear than the song Of sailors far out at sea,
whether in day or night, as they pull away
at the ropes: the music is weird and thrilling.
So the song in heaven will be sailors song.
They were voyagers once, and thought they
could never get to shore, and before they
could get things snug and trim the cyclone
struck them. But now they are safe. Once
they went with damaged rigging, guns OF
distress booming through the storm; but the
pilot came aboard, and he brought them into
the harbor. Now they sing Of the breakers
past, the lighthouses that showed them where
to sail, the rilot that took them through the
straits, the eternal shore on which they
landed.
Ay, it will be the children's song. You
know very we'll that the vast majority OF
our race die in infancy, and it is estimated
that eighteen thousand millions Of the little
ones are standing before God. When they
Snall rlSe up doOuC tile tnIoie ~ sing, ono
millions and the millions of the little ones
ah! that will be music for you! These played
in the streets of Babylon and Thebes; these
plucked lilies from the foot of Olivet while
Christ was preaching about them these waded
in Sloan; these were victims of Herods
massacre; these were thrown to crocodiles or
into the fire; these came up from Christian
homes, and these were foundlings on the city
commons-children everywhere in all that
land; children in the towers, children on the
seas Of glass, children on the battlements
Ah, if you do not like children, do not go
there. They are in vast majority, and what