The Russellville Democrat., 1890-08-28

wood nailed across each other, and the underside of each bar was furnished with sharp teeth. and when the horses were hitched to 1t 1t went tearing and leaping across the flsld, driving the seed down into the earth until 1t sprang up in the harvest Be- reavement, sorrow. persecution are tho Lords harrows to sink the Gospel truth into your heart There were truths thatyou heard thirtyyears ago that bavs not troubled you until recently. Some great trouble came over you, and the truth was narrowed in, and it has come up. What did God mean in this coun. try in 1857? For century there was the Gospel preached, but great deal of it produced no result Then God harnessed wild panic to harrow of commercial disaster, and that harrow went down Wall street. down Third street and up Third street, down State street and up State street. until the whole land was torn to pieces as it never had been before. What followed tho harrow? A great awakening, in which there were five hundred thousand souls brought into tho Kingdom of our Lord. No harrow, no crop.
 Again, I remark, in grace as in tho farm there must be a reaping. Many Christians speak of religion as though it were matter of economics or insur- ance. They expect to reap in the next world. Oh, no! Now is the time to reap. Gather up the joy of the Christian re- ligion this morning, this afternoon, this night If you have not as much grace as you would like to have, thank God for what you have, and pray for more. You are no worse en- slayed than Joseph, no worse troubled than was David, no worse seourged than was Paul. Yet amid the rattling of tatters, and amid the gloom of dungeons, and amid the horror of shipwreck, they triumphed in the grace of God. The weakest man here has five hundred acres of spiritual joy all ripe. Why do you not go and reap it? You have been grooming over your infrmi- ties for thirty years. Now give one round shout over your emancipa tion. You say you have it so hard; you might have it worse. You wonder why this great cold trouble keeps revolving through your soul, turning and turning, with black hand on the crank An, that trouble is the grindstone on which you are to sharpen your sickle. To the fields! Wake upl Take up your green spectacles, your blue spectacles, your black spectacles. Pull up the corners of your mouth as you pull them down. To the feldsl Reap! reap!
 Again, l remark, in grace as in farm ing there is . time for thrashing. I tell you bluntly that is death. Just as farmer beats the wheat out of the straw, so death beats the soul out of body. Every sickness is stroke of the flax, and the sick-bed is the thrashing- floor. What, say you, is death to a good man only taking the wheat out of the straw? That is all. An aged man has fallen asleep. Only yes terday you saw him in the sunny porch playing with his grandchildren. Calm ly he received tho message to leave this world. He bade pleasant good bye to his old friends. The telegraph carries the tidings, and on swift rail- trains the kindred come, wanting once more to look on the face of dear old grandfather. Brush back the gray hairs from his brow; it will never ache again. Put him away in the slum- Der of the tomb. He will not be afraid of that night Grandfather was never afraid of any thing. He will rise in the morning of the resurrection. Grandfather was always the first to rise. His voice has already mingled in the doxology of Heaven. Grandfather always did sing in church. Any thing ghastly in that? No. The threshing of the wheat out of tho straw. That is all.
 The Saviour folds lamb in His bosom. The little child filled all tho house with her music, and her toys are scat tered all up and down the stairs just as she left them. What if the hand that plucked four-o'clocks out of the meadow is still? It will wave the eternal tri- umph. What if tho voice that made music in the home is still? It will sing the eternal hozanna. Put white rose in one hand, and red rose in the other hand, and a wreath of orange blossoms on the brow; the white flower for the victor. tho the red flower for tho Saviour's sac- rifice, the orange blossoms for her marriage day. Any thing ghastly about that? Oh, no, The sun went down and tho flower shut. The wheat thrashed out of the straw. Dear Lord, give mo sleep" said dying boy; the son of one of my elders, Dear Lord, give me sleep" And he closed his eyes and awoke in glory Henry ". Longfellow, in writing aletter of condolence to those parents, said: Those last words were beautifully poetic. Dear Lord, give me sleep'"
 Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath
 That the reaper came that day.
 Twas an angel that visited the earth
 And took tho flower away
 So it may be with us when our work is all done. Dear Lord, give me sleep!
 have one more thought to present. l havo spoken of the blowing, of the sowing, of the narrowing, of the reaI- ing, of the thrashing. I must nov speak moment of the garnering.
 Where is the garner? Need I tell you? Oh, no So many have gone out from your own circles--yea, from your own family-that you baye had your eyes on that garner for many year. What hard time some of them had. In Gethsemanes of suffering they sweat great drops of blood. They took the ''cup of trembling" and they put it to their hot lips and they cried: 'If it be possible, let this cup pass from me" With tongues of burn ing agony they cried; 70 Lord, deliver my soulF' But they got over 1t They all got over it. Garneredl Their tears wiped away; their battles all ended; their burdens lifted. Gar nered2 The Lord of tho harvest will not allow those sheaves to perish in the equinox. Garnered Some of us remember, on the farm, that tho sheaves wero put on the top of tho rack, which surmounted the wagon, and these sheayes were piled higher and hirbaP and aftar atyhffa fha