The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891, 1888-12-20
TALMAGE'S SERMON.
sour Departed Still Live" Illus,
trated by the Story of Joseph.
'eour saviour, who Died that We Might
Live, Arose and Lives to Interceds
for Us In n Home where No
Famine Can Come.

Rev. T, Dewitt Talmage took for the
subject OF q recent sermon: "0ur De-
parted Still Live" His text was;
And when nc saw the wagons which Joseph
had sent TO carry him, the spirit OF Jacob,
their father, revived. And Israel said; II 10
enough; Joseph my son is yet ive,--Genesis,
xiv, 27-2S
The Egyptian capital was the focus Of
the worlds wealth. In ships and barges,
there had been brought to &c from India
frankincense, and cinnamon, and ivory,
and diamonds; from the North, marble
and iron; from Syria, purple and silk;
from Greece, some of the finest horses OF
the world, and some of the most brilliant
chariots; and from all the earth that
which co3ld best please the eye, and
charm tho ear, and crafty the taste.
There were temples ahame with red sand
stone, entered by gateways that were
guarded by pillars bewildering with
hieroglyphics, and wound with braEen
serpentG, and adorned with winged
creatures, their eyes and beaks and
pinions glittering with precious stones.
There were marble columns blooming
into white flower buds; there were stone
pillars, at the top bursting into the shape
of the lotus when in full bloom. Along
the avenues, 'incd with sphinx
and fame and obelisk, there were
Princes, who came In gorgeously
upholstered palaaquins, carried by
servants in scarlet, or elsewhere drawn
by vehicles, the snow-white horses, gold
en-bitted, and six abreast, dashing at full
run. There were fountains from stone
wreathed vases climbing the ladders of
light. You would hear bolt shove, and
door of brass would open like flash of
the sun. The surrounding gardens were
saturated with odors that mounted the
terrace, and dripped from the arbors, and
burned their incense in the Egyptian
noon. On floors of mosaic the gl0ries Of
Pharaoh were spelled out in letters of
porphyry, and beryl, and flame. There
were ornaments twisted from the wood OF
the tamarisk, embossed with silver break
ing into foam. There We're footstools
made out of a single precious stone.
There were beds fashioned out of a
crouched lion in bronze. There were
chairs spotted with the sleek hide Of Loop
ards. There were sofas footed with the
claws of wild beasts and armed with the
beaks of birds. AS you stand on the level
beach of the sea on a summer day and
look either way, and there are miles of
breakers, white with the ocean foam, dash
ing shoreward, so it seemed as if the sea
of the worlds pomp and wealth in the
Egyptian capital for miles flung itself up
into white breakers of marble, mausoleum
and ohelisk.
This was the place where Joseph, the
shepherd boy, was called to stand next to
Pnaroah in honor. What a contrast be-
tween this scene and his humble starting,
and the pit into which his brothers threw
him! Yet he was not forgetful of his
early home, he was not ashamed of where
he came from. The Bishop of Mentz, de-
scenfed from a wheelwright, covered his
house with spokes, and hammers and
wheels; and the King of Sicily, in honor
Of his father, who was potter, refused TO
drink out of any thing but an earthen YES
sci. So Joseph was not ashamed of his
early surroundings, or of his old-time
father, or Of his brothers. When they
came up from the famine stricken land to
get corn from the Kings corn-crib,
Joseph, instead of Gliding them for the
way they had maltreated and abused
him, sent them back with wagons, which
Pharaoh furnished, laden with corn; and
old Jacob, the father, in the very same
wagons, was brought back, that Joseph,
the son, might see him and give him
comfortable home all the rest of his days.
Well, l hear the wagons, the Kings
wagons, rumbling down in front of the
palace. On the outside of the palace, to
see the wagons go off, stands Pharaoh in
royal robes, and beside him Prime Min
lister Joseph, with chain Of gold around
his neck, and on his hand ring given by
Pharaoh to him, so that any time he
wanted to stamp the royal seal upon
document he could do so. Wagon after
wagon rolls on down from the palace,
laden with corn, and meat, and changes
of raiment, and every thing that could
help famine-struck people. One day
see aged Jacob seated in front of the
house. He is possibly thinking of his alb
sent boys (sons, however old they get, are
never to a father any more than bOys);
and while he was seated there he sees dust
arising and he hears wagons rumbling,
and he wonders what is coming now, for
the whole land has been smitten with
the famine and was in silence. But after
awhile the wagons have come near enough
and he sees his sons on the wagons, and
before they come quite up they shout:
"Joseph is yet alivew The old man faints
Head away. do not wonder at it. The
boys tell the story how the boy, the long
absent Joseph, has got to be the first man
in the Egyptian palace. While they IN
load the wagons the wan and wasted
creatures in the neighborhood come up
and ask for handful of corn, and they
are satisfied.
One day the wagons are brought up, for
Jacob, the old father is about to go to see
Joseph in the Egyptian palace. You know
it is not very easy thing to transplant
an old tree, and Jacob has hard work to
get away from the place where he has
lived so long. He bids good bye to the
old place, and leaves his blessing with the
neighbors, and then his sons steady him,
while he, determined to help himself, gets
into the wagon, stiff, old, decrepit.
Yonder they go, Jacob and his sons, and
their wives, and their children, eighty two
In all, followed by herds and focks,
which the herdsmen drive along. They
are going out from famine to luxuriance;
they are going from plain country home
to the finest palace under the sun. Jo-
seph, tho Prime Minister, gets IN his
chariot and drives down to meet the old
man. Joseph's charioteer holds up the
horses on the one side-the dust covered
wagons of the emigrants stop on the other.
Joseph, instead of waiting for his father to
come, leaps out of the chariot and Jumps
into the emigrants' wagon, throws his
arlas around the old man and weeps aloud
for past memories and present joy. The
father, Jacob, can hardly. think it is his
hoy. Why, the smooth brow of childhood
has become a wrinkled brow, wrinkled