The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1888-03-08


pers, with the same voices with
which they shouted yesterday in
the slug 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 les
son. Jesus for the baptismal font. Jesus
for the sacramental cup. Jesus for the
benediction. But the day will go by. 1t
will roll away on swift wheels of light
and love. Again the churches will be
lighted. Tides of people again setting
down the streets. Whole families COM
ing up the church aisle. We must have
one more sermon, two prayers, three
songs, and one benediction. What shall
we preach tonight? What shall we
read? What shall it be, children? Aged
men and women, what shall it be? Young
men and maidens, what shall it be? II
you dared to break the silence of this
auditory, there would come up thousands
of quick and jubilant voices CRYING out:
s'Let it 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, shak-
ing light over the midnight hills. We
sing his ministry-the tears he wiped
away from the eyes of the orphans; the
lame men that forgot their crutches; the
damsel who from the bier bounded out
into the sunlight, her locks shaking down
over the flushed cheek; the hungry thou
sand who broke the bread as it blossomed
into larger loaves-that miracle by which
boy with five loaves and two fishes be-
came the sutler for a whole army. We
sing his sorrows-his stone bruised feet,
his aching heart. his mountain loneli-
ness, his desert hunger, his storm
pelted body, the eternity of anguish that
shot through his last moments, and the
immeasurable ocean of torment that
heaved up against his cross in one foam
ing, wrathful, omnipotent surge, the sun
dashed out, aud the dead, shroud
wrapped, breaking open their sepulchers,
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 splendors as he
went through, treading the pathless air,
higher and higher, until he came to the
foot of the throne, and all heaven kept
jubilee at the return of the conqueror.
I say once more, Christ is the eyerlast-
ing song, The very hest singers some=
times get tired; the strongest throats
| sometimes get weary, and many who
sang very sweetly do not sing now; but
| I hope by the grace of God we will, after
while, go up and sing the praises of
! Christ where we will never be weary.
You know there are some songs that are
especially appropriate for the home
circle. They stir the soul, they start the
tears, they turn the heart in on itself,
and keep sounding after the tune has
stopped, like some cathedral bell which,
long after the tap of the brazen tongue
has ceased, keeps throbbing on the air.
| Well, it will be a home song in heaven;
all the sweeter because those who sang
with us in the domestic circle ON earth
shall join that great harmony.
| Jerusalem, my happy homo.
| Name ever dear to me;
When shall my labors have an end
In joy and peace in thee?
| On earth we sang harvest songs as the
wheat came into the barn, and the bar
racks were filled. You know there Is no
such time on a farm as when they get
| the crops I'M 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, We everlasting
| gates, and let the sheaves come in !
| Angels shout all through the heavens,
and multitudes come down the hills cry
ing: Harvest home! harvest homel''
| There Is nothing more bewitching to
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 pilot 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 esti-
mated that eighteen thousand millions of
the little ones are standing before God.
When they shall rise up about the throne
to sing, the millions and the millions of
the little ones-ah! that will be music for
you. These played in the streets of Baby
Ion and Thebes; these plucked lilies from
the foot of Olivet while Christ was
preaching about them; these waded in
Siloam; these were victims of Herod' s
massacre; these were thrown to croco-
diles or into the fire; these came up from
Christian homes, and these We're found
lings on the city commons-childrep
everywhere In all that land; children in
the towers, children ON the seas of glass,
children on the battlements. All, if you
do not like children do not go there.
They are in vast majority, and what a
song when they lift it around about the
thronei
The Christian singers and composers ol
all ages will be there to join in that song.
Thomas Hastings will be there. Lowell
Mason will be there. Bradbury will be
there. Beethoven and Mozart will be
there. They who sounded the cymbals
and the trumpets in the ancient temples
will be there. The forty thousand harp
ers that stood at the ancient dedication
will be there. The two hundred singers
that assisted on that day will be there
Patriarchs who lived amidst threshine
floors, shepherds who watched amids
Chaldean hills, prophets who walked
with long boards and coarse apparel, pro
!, nouncing wee against ancient abomina
tions, will meet the more recent martyr
who went up with leaping cohorts of fire
and some will speak Of the Jesus O
} whom they prophesied, and others of th'
Jesus for whom they died. Oh, what ,
I song! 1t came to John upon Patmos; i
J came to Calvin in the prison; it dropped
| to John Knox in the fire; and sometime
that song has come to your ear, perhaps
for really do think it sometimes break
! | over the battlements of heaven.
A Christian woman, the wife of min
lister of the Gospel, was dying in the par