Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1888-01-04

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and the night dew, and the brambles havi
made rough work with their apparel. bd
none have better right to come in. The,
were the first to hear tho music of tha
Christmas night. The first announcement
of a Savionr's birth was made to those mel
Ia the fields. There were wiseacres tha
| night in Bethlehem and jerusalem snoring
in deep sleep. and there were salarisd Off
GERS of government who hearing of it after
ward may have thought that they ought tt
have had the first news of such grea
event, some one dismounting from swif
comeJ at their door and knocking till ai
aome aentinels question, "Who comei
therep" the great ones of the palace might
have been told of the celestial arrival. No
the shepherds beard the frst two bars oi
the music. tho first in the major key ano
the last in the subdued minor: "Glory tC
God in the highest, and on earth peace
good will to men" Ah, yes; the fields
were honored. The old shepherds with
plaid and crook have for the most part van.
ished, but we have grszing-our United
s ates pasture fields and prairie about forty.
five million sheep-and all their keeperi
ought to follow the shepherds of my text,
and all those who toll in fields, all vine
dressefs, all orcbardists, all husbandmen
Not only that Christmas night bnt all up
and down the worlds history God has been
houoring the fields. Nearly all the messiaha
of reform, and literature, and eloqueuce,
and law, and hepavoleDce, have come from
the fields. Washington from the fields
Jefferson from the fields. The presidential
martyrs, Garfield and Lincoln, from the
fields. Henry Clay from the fields. Daniel
Webster from the fields Martin Luther
from the fields, and before this world ID
right the overaowing populations Of our
crowded cities will have to take to the fields.
Instead of ten merchants in rivalry as to
who shall sell that one apple, We want at
least eight of them to 60 out and raise ap-
Piles. Instead of ten merchants desiring to
sell that one bushel of wheat We want at
least eight Of them to go out and raise
wheat. The world wants now more hard
hands, more bronzed cheeks, more muscular
arms. To the fields! God honored them
when he woke up the shepherds by the mid.
night anthem, and he will, while the world
lasts, continue to honor the fields. When
the shepherds crook was that famous night
stood against the wall Of the Bethlehem
kahn it was a prophecy of the time when
thresher's fail, and farmers plough, and
woodman's axe, ana ox's yoke, and sheaf
binders rake shall surrender to the God
who made the country as man mada the
town.
Behold also that on that Christmas night
God touored motherhood. Two angels en-
their wings might have brought an infant
Saviour to Bethlehem without Mary's being
there at all. When the villagers, on the
morning of December 26th. awoke, by d.
vine arrangement and iu some uuex planned
way, the ch Id Jesus might have besn found
in some comfortable cradle of the village.
But no, no! Motherhood for all time was to
be- coDsecrated. and ons of the tenderest re-
latiOns was to be the material relation, aud
one of the sweetest words, ''mother." In
all ages God has honored good motherhood.
John Wesley had a good mother, St. Ber-
nard had good mother, Samuel Budget a
good mother, Doddridge a. good mother,
Walter Scntt a good mother, Benjamin
West good mother. In great audience.
most of whom were Christians. asked
that all those who had been blessed of
Christian mothers arise, and almost the en-
tire assembly stood up. Dnn't you see
how important it is that all motherhood be
cnnsecrated2 Why did Titan. the Italian
artist, when he sketched the Madnnns make
il az Italian face -.'.~-
German artist, in his Madonna make 1t a
he English artist. in his Madonna, make it
an English face2 Why did Murilo, the
Spanish artist, in his Madonna, make it a
Spanish face? l never heard, but I think
they took their own mothers as the type of
Mary, the mother of Christ When you
hear some one in sermon on Grafton speak
10 the abstract of good, faithful, honest
mother your eyes fill up with rears while
you say to yourself, that was my mother.
The first word a cnild utters is apt to be
"Mother," and the old man in HIS dying
dream calls, ''Mothe1! mothsrr' 1t mat
ters not whether she was brought up in the
surroundings city, and in sffluent home,
and was dressed appropriately with refer
eDce to the demands of modern life. or
whether she wore the old time cap, and
great round spectaces, aud apron of her
own make, and knit your socks with her
own needles seated by the broad fireplace,
with great back log ablsze on a winter
night. 1t matters not how many wrinkles
crossed and recr ossed her face. or how much
her shoulders stopped with the burdens of
a long life, if you painted a Madonna hers
would be the face. What gentle hand she
had when We we're sick, and what a voice
to sooths pain, and was there any one who
could so fill up room with peace, and pu
rity, and light? And what sad day that
was when we came home aud she could
greet us not, for her lips were forever still.
Come back, mother, this Christmas day,
and take your old place, aud as ten, or
twenty, or fifty years ago, come and open
the old Bible you used to read aud kneei in
the same place where you used to pray, and
look upon us as of old when you wished us
Merry Christmas or Happy New Year.
But no! That would not be fair to call you
back. You had troubles enough, and aches
enough and bereavements enough while
you were here. larry by the throne,
mother, till we join you there, your prayers
all answered, and in the eternal homestead
of our God we shall again keep Christmas
jubilee together. But speak from your
thrones, all you glorifed mothers, and say
to all these, your sons and daughters, words
of love. words of warning, words of cheer.
They need your voice, for they have travel
led far and with many heart-break since
you left them, and you do well to call from
the heights of heaven to the valleys of
earth, Hail, enthroned ancestry! We are
coming, Keep place for Us right beside
you at the banquet.
'SlJw- footed yearsl More swiftly run
into he gold Ofthat unsettled sun.
Homesick we are for thee,
Calm land eyund the sea-