The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1889-05-22
REV. DIR. TALMAGE.
THE BROOKLYN DIVINES sun.
DAY SERMON.
Subject: "Other Days Lived Ovcr.'

Subject: "Other Days Lived Oycr."
TEXT: "Thou shalt remember all the
,cay arhach the Lord thy God led hee."-
Deuteronomy viii, 2.
Before entering on my subject I wish
to say that some newspaper correspondents
| referring to recent sermon in which well
coined foreign nationalities to this country,
have said that advocated rs q desirable
| thing the intermarriage of the white and
black races. never said 80, never thought
so, and any one who so Inisrepresents that
sermon is either q villain or fool. perhaps
both.
But to open this mornings subject have
to say God in the text advises the people tc
look back upon their past history. 1t will do
us oil good to rehearsc the scenes between this
May morning and our cradle, whether it was
rocked in country OF in town. A few days
ago, with my sister and brother. visited the
place Of my boyhood. 1t was one of the
most emotional and absorbing days OF my
life. There stands the old house, and as
: went through the rooms I said: II could
find my way here with my eyes shut,
although I have not been here in forty years. 1"
| There was the sitting room where largo
family group every evening gathered, the most
| Of them now in better world. There was the
old barn where we hunted for Easter eggs, and
the place where the horses stood. There is
| where the orchard was, only three or four
trees now left of oil the grove that once bore
apples, and such apples too. There is the
brook down which we rode to the water
ing of the horses bareback, and with q
rope halter. We also visited the cemetery
where many Of our kindred are waiting for
the resurrection, the old people side by side,
after a journey together of sixty years, only
about three years between the time Of their
going. There also sleep the dear old neigh
bors who used to tie their horses under the
shed of the country meeting house and
sit at the end of the pew, singing
Duke Street" and "Balerma," and
'tAntioch." Oh, they were q glorious
we'll, raised splendid lot of boys and girls,
and are now as to their bodies in silent neigh
borhood on earth, but as to their souls in jubi-
liant neighborhood before the throne of God.
I feel that my journey and visit last week
did me good and it would &, you all good, if
not in person then in thought, to rovisit the
scenes of boyhood or girlhood. "Thou shalt
remember all the way which the Lord thy God
led thee"
Youth is apt too much to spend all Its time
in looking forward. Old age is apt too
much to spend all its time in looking back
ward. People in mid-life and on the apex
look both ways 1t would be well for us, I
think, however, to spend more time in
Renaissance. By the constitution Of our
nature we spend most of the time looking
forward and the vast majority of this audi.
ence live not so much in the present as in the
future. I find that you mean to make
a reputation, you mean to establish your
self, and the advantages that you expect to
achieve absorb a great deal of your time. But
see no harm in this if it does not make you
discontented with the present or disqualify
you for existing duties
1t is useful thing sometimes to look back
and to see the dangers we have escaped, and
to see the sorrows we have suffered, and the
trials and wanderings of our earthly pilgrim
age, and to sum up our enloymentS. 1mean
this morning, so far as God may help me, to
stir up your memory of the past, so that in
the review you may be encouraged, and
humbled, and urged to pray.
There is chapel in Florence with frcsco
by Guido. 1t was covered up with two
inches of stucco until our American and Eu-
removed the covering and retraced the
fresco And I am aware that the memory
of tho past, with many of you, is all covered
up with ten thousand obliterations, and
propose this morning, so far as the Lord
may help me, to take away the covering, that
the old picture may shine out again.
want to bind in one sheaf all your past
advantages and I want to bind i'll another
sheaf all your past adversities. Itisa precious
harvest, and must be cautious how swing
the scythe.
Among the greatest advantages of your
pastlife was al early home and its surround
for the most part, dip their heated
passions out of the boiling spring of
an unhappy home. We are not surprised to
find that Byron's heart was concentration
of sin, when we hear his mother was aban-
doned, and that she made sport of his i'll
trinity, and often called him 1.-THE lame
brat" He who has vicious parents has to
fight every inch of his way if lie would main
tain his integrity, and at last reach the home
of the good in heaven.
Perhaps your early home was in the city.
1t may have been in the days when Canal
street. New York, was far up town and the
site of this present church was an excursion
into the country. That old house in the city
may have been demolished OF changed into
stores, and it seemed like sacrilege tc
you, for there was more meaning in
that plain house. in that small house,
than there is in O granite mansion or tur-
reted cathedral. Looking buck this morning
you see it as though it were yesterday-the
sitting room, where the loved ones set by the
plain lamplight, the mother at the evening
stand, the brothers and sisters, perhaps long
ago gathered into the Skies then plotting
mischief on the floor or under the table, your
father with firm voice commanding silence
that lasted half a minute.
Oh, those were good days! If you hn'
your foot hurt, your mother always Lad q
Soothing salve to heal it, If you were
wronged in the street, your father was
always ready to protect you. The year was
one round of frolic and mirth. Your greatest
trouble was like an April shower, more SUN
shine than shower. The heart had not been
ransacked by troubles, nor had sickness
broken it, and no lamb had q warmer sheep
fold than the home in which your childhood
nestled.
Perhaps you were brought up in the
country. You stand now to-day i'll memory
under the old tree. You dubbed it for
fruit that was not quite ripe because you
couldn't wait any longer. You hear the
brook rumbling along over the pebbles.
You step again into the furrow where your
father in his shirt sleeves shouted to the lazy
oxen. You frighten the swallows from
the rafters of the barn, and take just
one csg, and silence your conscience
by saying they won't miss it. You
take n drink again out Of the very bucket
that the old well fetched up. You go for the
COWS ut night, and find them wagging their
heads through the bars. Oftincs in the dusty
ana pusy sGrec1S you WISH you "cle holio
again on that cool grass, or in the rag car
peted hall Of the farmhouse through which
there was tho breath Of now moTn hay or tic
blossom Of buckwllcat.
You iiiay have in your windows now beau
tiful plants and flowers brought from across
the seas, but not ono Of them stirs in your
soul so much charm and memory rs tho old
ivy and the yellow sun1ower that stood SELL
tinel along tho garden wall, and the forget
mc-nots playing hide-and-scek mid the long
grass. The father. who used to CORE in SUM-