The Pascagoula democrat-star. (Pascagoula, Miss.) 1878-1920, 1890-08-22
Ghcl emnrraf-S Star
the OLD TRAnP'S SERMON.
What Nan Is He That LlVeth and Shall
Net See Death.

ror makes lie too sad for tears
lis emblems OF woe are hung upon
every heart. There Is not a Strain
of music lifting The mind above
the mountains OF sublimity but
dies away into a wall OF sorrow
heard far down in the valleys be-
low. The flying wings of hope are
oft too weak to bear us over the
dark gulf of despair, and which
eve way we turn before us lies the
open grave.
Death is everywhere, in all that
moves and breathes, the common
fate of all things that are, the cpl
tome of unknown worlds. Some
passionate heart, feeding upon it.
sell, breaks in a thrilling song, at
which the world w0nders-and for
gets, for the crumbliug dust OF
ages rests on the greatest thoughts,
and few ever dream that shadOwy
ghosts are near.
A terrible thought is death
That we, just as Lille becomes beau.
liful, must leave il 60 down into
the muddy grave when our feel
have Just reached the border of
the land of promise; resign love
Nhen The very soul is Sanctiiied by
il; leave home when hume has be.
come heaven; turn from all that
makes life dear to face the scowl-
ing waters that sweep by the bleak
shores of unknown space.
God has made the world so love
w, is il not a dreaded thought that
we who come into it must face
death every day of our llyeo! Toll
as we may, strive as We do. build
high as we are wont, behind us
stalks a tleshleSs figure, whose
bony finger may at any moment be
laid upon our shoulder, and We
must go. The end Vi all things /,
death.
In the little paradise You call
home, around which tie blessed
memories Irvine in Silken JOY and
hight and glory fill the ambient air,
hangs a yellow tuft Of song in gid
ed cage. Its little bright eyes
grow tender ss you approach, II
pecks at your ou~tstretched finger
in mimic anger, then perches upon
it in buoyant happiness ; place the
seed with its little cup and il picks
out dainty morsels with cute exact.
ness ; into the sparkling water it
dips its tiny bill, and then in the
very ecstasy of lie pours out lis
heart IN ripping waves of song
that fill your own heart with glad
ness.
But some day you find it moping
on lis slender perch, Its song is ST.
lent, lis eye luSlreleSS, its feathers
lose their gloss, only a brief day,
almost too brief for thought, aud
II falls from its perch, dead.
On the wIndOwsiIl blooms some
beautiful flower radiant with nj
lures sweetest alchemy. Its green
leaves bring you visions of spring
even through the snow what's out
side ; its red petals are a blush OF
beauty that mortal hand can new
er hope to initiate; its subtle per
fume fills the air with sweetness.
You watch it day alter day with
much engrOSsing care, supplying
all its wants, and loving it rs you
do, its seems TO respond 10 all your
love.
But some day you notice a vel.
low speck upon the leaves, a brown
tinge to the lower petal Of The
flower. Care availeth nothing now,
the petals all drop, the stem with
ers-lhiS is death.
Out OF the exquisite mystery OF
motherhood which began with
Eve, a little child is horn, a queru-
lous helpless thing at iirst, that YOU
hold close to your heart, and won
der 1t it will ever know and love.
Drawing its s%ustenance from Your
own brave life it thrives and grows
until at last your longing dream is
all fulfilled, and you love as you
never loved before with the Slrang
err grandeur and sweet sell abnega.
ton that Mary felt when she held
in her arms the hope of all that
live and die; the sweetness thai
springs from every des0lation ;
the brightness that al times dazzles
the darkest soul.
Your baby grows and thrives, its
eyes are bluer han The bluest skies
of June; it. hair is finer than The
finest silk, and into il the sun has
woven strands Of gold. lis downy
cheeks surpasS the velvet sUilness
of the faiTest rose; its voice has a
music that thrills you into tears.
oh, how it loves you! 1t cllngs 10
you with Tiny hands that reach
down into your heart /; it holds uD
for your kisses its rosebud mouth
in eager longing; 1t lays its little
face against yours, and the cares of
life seem light as Ihislle-d0wp.
At night il kneels by your side
and lisps the childish prayer YOU
taught il. Oh ! mothers, so the
infant Jesus knelt, with claSped
hands, and as you gaze The downy
crib before you is transformed into
a manger, and you see that won
derful star blazing in The heavens,
and the shepherds gathering on
the plains. Thank God, you can
not see, "a yet, The crown Of thorns
nor the nails that may pierce those
dimpled hands.
But some day those soft cheeks
grow red with fevsr's fire /; those
Inlle let prnW strangely tired . In