Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1889-04-20

Immediately. 1t will take some hours
to form the procession skyward and
we will all want to take look at this
world before we leave it forever and
see the surroundings of the couch
where our bodies have long been
sleeping. On that Easter morning
the marble, whether it lay fiat
upon your grave or stood up In
monument, will have to be jostled
and shaken and rolled aside by the
angel of Resurrection, and while wait
ing for your kindred to gather and
the procession to form your resurrect-
ed body may sit in holy triumph upon
that chiseled stone which marked the
place of your protracted slumber. On
that day what fragile thing will be
Aberdeen granite and column of ba-
salt and the mortar which will rattle
out OF the wall of vaults that have
been sealed thousand years, and the
Tai. built for queen in India, sep
ulcher two hundred and seventy-fve
feet high, and made of jasper and cor
nelian and turquois and lapis-lazuli
and amethyst and onyx and sapphire
and diamond, and which shall that
day rain into glittering dust on
groves OF banyan and bamboo
and palm. And all under what
poweri Ponderous crowbars welded
by giantsa No. Thunderbolt cleaving
asunder the granitel No. Battering
ram swung against the walls of ceme-
teries2 No. Dynamite drilled under
the foundations of cenotaph and alb
beya No. 1t will be done by music.
Nothing but music, sweet but all pen
etrating music. The trumpet shall
soundl You say that is fgurative;
how do you know2 But, whether lit
eral or fgurative, it means music any
how, The trumpet, that stirring, in
cisiye, mighty instrument, with nat
ural compass from G below the staff
to K above, blown above Sinai when
the law was given, blown around Jeri-
cho when the walls tumbled, blown
when Gideon discounted the INDIAN
ties, blown when the ancient Israel
ties were gathered for worship, to be
blown for the raising of the dead in
the last great Easter The mother,
who, when the child must be awak-
ened, kisses its eyes awake, does well.
THE GREAT RESURRECTION.
But the trumpet, which when the
dead are to be aroused kisses the ear
awake, does better. Be not surprised
if the dead are to be awakened by
music. Why, that is the way now
we raise the dead. Take the statistics,
If you can, of the millions of souls
that have been raised from the death
of sin by hymns, by psalms, by solos,
by anthems, by flutes, by violins, by
organs, by trumpets. Under God what
hosts have been resurrected by Ira D.
Sankey, by Thomas Hastings, by Will
liam D. Bradbury, by Lowell Mason,
by motherly lullabies, by church dox
ologies, by oratorios. If we raise the
dead now by music, be not surprised
that ON the last day the dead are to be
raised by music. .l... ...........-..
The trumpet shall sound! And that
instrument shall have plenty of work
to do on the day mentioned. 1t will
have to sound through all the pyra-
mids, which are only names for sepul-
cheers, and liberate the buried kings.
And through hypogean graves which
were built In mounds and the hypo-
gean graves which were dug in rocks
and through the nine hundred wind
ing miles of catacombs under and
around the Roman Campagna, where
over seven million human beings
sleep. And through all the crystal
sarcophagi of Atlantic and Pacific and
Mediterranean and Caspian and
Black sea deeps And over all the
battle fields Of continents, until
all the fallen troops of English
and French and Italian and German
and Russian and Persian and Ameri-
can and the worlds battle fields an
swer the call. Marathon, come up!
Agincourt, come upl Blenheim. come
up! Acre, come up! Hohenlinden,
come up! Sedan, come up! Gettys-
burg, come upl Near Sharpsburg
during our. civil war, when I was,
with some others under the auspices
of the Christian commission, looking
after the wounded, Federal and Con-
federatn, one moonlight night was
where | could look down upon the
tents of the sleeping army. Oh, what
an imposing spectacle! But my sub
ject calls US to look down upon
inightier host of soldiers slumbering
their last sleep in the bivouac of the
dust: the seven hundred and fifty
thousand slain in the Crimean war,
the eight hundred thousand slain in
our American war, the fifteen million
slain in the wars of Sesostris the
twenty-five million slain in Jewish
wars. the thirty-two million slain in
wars of Ghengis Khan, the eighty
million slain in the wars of the Cru
saders, the one hundred and eighty
million slain in the Roman wars Aye,
according to Dr.. Dick, the dead in
war, if each one occupied sour feet of
ground, would make enough graves to
reach four hundred and forty-two
times around the earth.
THE INNUMERABLE DEAD.
The most of people are dead. The
world is a house of two rooms, base
ment, and room above ground. The
basement has two to one, three to one,
four to one more occupants than the
superstructure. Sickness and war and
death have been stacking their har
vests for near six thousand years
Where are those who saw the Pilgrim
Fathers embark, or the Declaration of
Independence signed, or Franklin lasso
the lightning, or Warren Hastings
tried, or Queen Elizabeth in her trium-
phal march to Kenilworth, or Will
lam, Prince of Orange, land, or Gus
tavus Adolphus crowned, or Jerome of
Prague burned at the stake, or Tanner
land found his empire2 Gone! Gone!
But the trumpet shall sound Music
to raise the dead. Oh, how much the
world needs it. You take torch and |
will take torch and we will go
through some of the aisles of the Ro-
man catacombs and see the expectant
epitaphs on the walls and right over
where the departed sleep You know
that these catacombs are fifty or sixty
feet underground, and if one loses the
guide or his torch is extinguished, he
never finds the way out So let us
stay close together and with our
torches. as we wander along a small
part of these nine hundred miles of
underground passages, see the inscrip-
tons as they were really chiseled
there on both sides the way. On your
side you read by the light of your
torch: Here rests a handmade of
God who out of all her riches now
possesses but this one house. Thou
wilt remain in eternal repose of
happiness. A. D. $780," On my
side l read by the light Of the
torch: "Aurelia, our sweetest daugh-
top. she lived fifteen wears and fOur