The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891, 1889-05-02

| Why that Is the way now we raise inc
dead. Take the statistics, IL 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 violius, by organs, by trumpets.
| Under God what hosts have been resur-
rected by Ira d. Sankey, by Thomas
Hastings, by William d. Bradbury, by
Lowell Mason, by motherly lullabies, by
church doxologies, by oratorios. IL we
raise the dead now by music, be not sur
prlsed that on the last day the dead are to
be raised by music.
The trumpet shall sound! And that in
strument shall have plenty Of work to do
on the day mentioned. 1t will have to
sound through all the pyramids, which
are only names for sepulchers, and lib
crate the buried kings. And through n.y.
Togean graves which were built IN
mounds, and the hypogean graves which
were dug in rocks, and the nine hundred
| winding miles of catacombs under and
around the oman Campagna, where over
seven million human beings sleep. And
| through all the crystal sarcophagi OF At
| lantic, 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 American, and
the worlds battle-fields answer the call.
I Marathon, come up! Agincourt, come
up! Blenheinl, come up! Acre,
| come up! Hohenlinden, come up!
| Sedan. come up! Gettysburg, come upl
Near Sharpsburg, during our civil war,
when l was, with some others, under the
auspices of the Christian Commission,
! looking after the wounded, Federal and
! Confederate, one moonlight night | was
| where ! could look down upon the tents Of
! the sleeping army. Oh, what an impos-
/ ing spectacle! But my subject calls us 10
| look down upon a mightier host of SOL
diers slunbering their last sleep in the
bivOuac Of the dust, the seven hundred
and fifty thousand slain in the Crimean
war, the eight hundred tn ousand slain in
cur American war, the fifteen million
slain in the wars of Sesostris, the twenty
five million slain in Jewish wars, the
thirtv-two million slain in wars Of Chen
gis Khan, the eighty million slain in the
wars of the Crusaders, the hundred and
eighty million slain in the Roman wars.
Aye, according to DR.. Dick, the dead in
war, if each one occupied four feet Of
ground, would make enough graves 10
reach four hundred and forty two times
around the earth.
The most of people are dead. The world
is house of two rooms, a basement and
a room above ground. The basement has
two to one, three to one, four to one more
occupants than the superstructure. Sick
ness and war and death have been stack
ing their harvests for near six thousand
years. Where are those who saw the
Pilgrim Fathers embark, or the Declara-
ton Of Independence signed, or Franklin
lasso the lightning, or Warren Hastings
tried, or Queen Elizabeth in her triumphal
march to Kenilworth, or William, Prince
of Orange, land, or Jerome of Prague
burned at the stake, or Tamerland found
his empire? Gone! Gonel
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 Roman catacOmbs and
see the eXpectant epitaphs on the walls
and right over where the departed sleep.
You know that these catacombs are tisSy
or sixty feet underground, and if one
loses the guide or his torch is extin-
guished, he never finds the way out. So
let US stay close together and with our
| torches, as we wander along small part
|
ground passages, see the inscriptions 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 will remain in eternal repoSe OF happi
| ness A. d. $50.
On ny side 1 read by the light Of the
! torch:
Aurela, or sweetest daughter; she lived IF
| teen years and four months A. D. 3S1.
On your side you read:
Here hath been laid sweet spirit, guileless,
wise and beautiful. Buried in peace. A. d. 1888
On my side l read:
You well deserving one lie in peace. You
wilt rise. A temporary rest is granted you.
Plaucus her husband, made this.
On your side your read:
Nicephorus, sweet soul, in the place Of re-
freshment
On my side | read:
In Christ, Alexander is not dead, but lives
| beyond the stars, and his dead body rests in
| this tomb.
On your side you read:
Here, happy, you find rest bowed down with
| years.
| Irene sleeps in Cod
Arethusa sleeps in God
Navira in pence. a sweet soul who lived six
| teen years. O soul sweet as honey; this epitaph
was made by her parents.
But let us come out from these cata-
combs and extinguish our torches, for
upon all these longings and expectations
of all nations the morning of resurrection
dawns. The trumpet shall sound! And
the sooner it sounds the better. Oh, how
we would like to get our loved ones back
| again! If we are ready to meet our Lord,
our sins all pardCned, what a good thing
if this moment we could hear the resound-
ing and revorberating blast! Would you
not like to see your father again, your
mother again, your daughter again, your
boy again, and all your departed kindred
again? Roll on sweet day of
resurrection and reunion! Under the
hoofs of the white steeds that draw thy
chariot we strew Easter flowers. Would
it not be grand if we could all rise to-
gether? You know that the Bible says
we shall not sleep, but we shall all be
changed. What if we should be among
the favored ones who never have to see
death, and that while in the full life of
our body we should hear that trumpet
sound and these mortal bodies take on
Immortality? Oh, how | would hasten to
two places before the close of such day
peaceful Greenwood and the village
cemetery back of Somerville. And
would cry aloud:
"The hour has come, the trumpet has
sounded, the resurrection is here. Father
and mother Won were the best of all the