Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1890-09-06

parted hlIluTeu dIC bLAO OdTS1n6D, the
fires of the setting day tingeing the
tops Of the paddles.
Oh, have you never sat by such a
deathbed2 In that hour you hear the
departing soul cry, "Hark, look!" You
hearkened and you looked A little
child pining away because of the death
of its mother, getting weaker and weak
er every day, was taken into the room
where hung the picture of her mother.
She seemed to enjoy looking at it, and
then she was taken away and after a
while died. In the last moment that
wan and wasted little one lifted her
hands, while her face lighted up with
the glory of the next world, and cried
out, ''Mother!" You tell me she did
not see her mother9 She did. So in
my first settlement at Belleville plain
man said to me, what do you think l
heard last night2 l was in the room
where one of my neighbors was dying.
He was good man, and he said he
heard the angels of God singing before
the throne. l haven't much poetry
about me, but l listened, and | heard
them, too" Said l, II have no doubt
of it." Why, we are to be taken up to
heaven at last by ministering spirits.
Who are they to be2 Souls that went
up from Madras, or Antioch or Jerusa-
lem2 Oh, no; our gloriied kindred
are going to troop around us.
DIR. TALMAGE's IDEA OF HEAVEN.
Heaven is not stately, formal place,
as l sometimes hear it described, a
very frigidity of splendor, where people
stand on cold formalities and go around
about with heavy crowns of gold on
their heads. No, that is not my idea
Of heaven. My idea of heaven is more
like this: You are seated in the evening
tide by the fireplace, your whole family
there, or nearly all of them there.
While you are seated talking and en-
joying the evening hour there is a
knock at the door, and the door opens
and there comes in a brother that has
been long absent. He has been alb
sent-for years you have not seen him
and no sooner do you make up your
mind that it is certainly he than you
leap up, and the question is who shall
i've him the first embrace. That is
my idea of heaven-a great home
circle, where they are waiting for us.
Oh, will you not know your mothers
voice there? She who always called
you by your first name long after others
had given you the formal ''Mister?'
You were never anything but James,
or John, or George, or Thomas, or
Mary, or Florence, to her. Will you
not know your child's voice2 She of
the bright eye, and the rudy cheek,
and the quiet STEP who came in from
play and flung herself into your lap a
very shower of mirth and beauty
Why, the picture is craven in your
soul 1t cannot wear out. If that
little one should stand on the other
side of some heavenly hill and call to
you you could hear her voice above
the burst of heavens great orchestra.
Know it2 You could not help but
know it.
A WONDERFUL ASSURANCE.
Now / bring you this glorious con-
ISOLATION of future r-%ognitfon IF Won
na:1ld oep this they into your heart 1T
would Eft great many shadows that
are stretching across it. When was
lad used to go out to tho railroad
track and put my ear down on the
track, and l could hear the express
train rumbling miles away and coming
ON, and today, my friends, if we only
Lad faith enough, we could put our ear
down to the grave of our dead and
listen, and hear in the distance the
rambling on of the chariots of resur-
rection victory. o heaven, sweet
heaven! You do not spell heaven as
you used to spell it. You used to spell
ii h-e-a-v-e-n-heaven But now when
you want to spell that word you place
side by side the faces Of the loved ones
who are gone and in that irradiation
ct light and love and beauty and ioy
you spell it out as never before in
sDngs and hallelujahs. Oh, We whose
hearts are down under the sod of the
cemetery, cheer up at the thought of
this reunion! Oh, how much you will
have to tell them when once you meet
| themi
How much you have been through
/ OF
shining shore you will talk it all over.
The heartaches, the loneliness, the
sleepless nights, the weeping until
you had no more power to weep, be-
cause the heart was withered and dried
up. Story of vacant chair, and empty
cradle, and little shoe only half worn
out, never to be worn again, Just the
shape of the foot that once pressed it,
And dreams when you thought that
the departed had come back again, and
the room seemed bright with their
faces, and you started up to greet
them, and in the effort the dream
broke and you found yourself standing
amid room in the midnight alone
Talking it all over, and then, hand in
hand, walking up and down in the
light. No sorrow, no tears, no death.
0 heaven, beautiful heaven! Heaven.
where our friends are. Heaven, where
we expect to be. In the east they take
a cage of birds and bring it to the
tomb of the dead, and then they open
the door of the cage and the birds,
flying out, sing. And l would today