Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1890-08-28

| cles, your black spectacles. Pull up the col
ners OF your mouth as far as you pull then
down. To the fieldsl Reap reapl
Again l remark, in grace as In farming
there is time for threshing. l tell you
bluntly that is death Just as farmer beats
the wheat out of the straw so death beats the
soul out of the body. Every sickness is a
stroke of the fail, and the sickbed is the
threshing floor. What, say you, is death to
good man only taking the wheat out OF the
straw That is all. An aged man has fallen
asleep. Only yesterday you saw him in the
Calmly he received the message to leave this
world. He babe pleasant good-by 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 slumber of the tomb.
He will not be afraid of that night. Grand
father was never afraid OF anything. He
will rise in the morning of the resurrection
Grandfather was always the first to rise.
His voice has already mingled in the doxol-
ogy of heaven. Grandfather always did
sing in church. Anything CHASTITY in thatS
No. The threshing of the wheat out of the
straw. That is all.
The Saviour folds a lamb in His bosom.
The little child filled all the house with her
music, and her toys are scattered all up and
down the stairs Just as she left them. What
IL the hand that plucked four oclocks out Of
the meadow is still? 1t will wave the eternal
triumph. What il the voice that made mu-
sic in the home is stills 1t will sing the
eternal hosanna. 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 victory, the red
flower for the Saviour's sacrifice, the orange
blossoms for her marriage day. Anything
CHASTITY about that? oh, no. The sun wsnt
down and the flower shut. The wheat
threshed out of the straw. Dear Lord,
give me Sleep said a dying boy, the son OK
one of my elders; Dear Lord, give me
Sleep" And he closed his eyes and awoke In
glory Henry w. Longfellow, writing let
ter OF coincidence TO those parents, said;
Those last words were beautifully poetic:
'Deir 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 the flower away.
So il may be with us when our work is all
done. Dear Lord. give me Sleep
l have one more thought to present
have spoken Of the blowing, of the sowing,
Of the narrowing. of the reaping, OF the
threshing. | must now speak moment Of
the garnering.
Where is the garnerg Need l tell your Oh,
no. SO many have gone out from your own
from your own family-that
you have had your eyes on that garner for
many year. What a hard time some Of
them hadi In Gethsemanes OF suffering they
sweat great drops of blood. They took the
''cup OF trembling and they put il TO their
not lips and they cried: "If IL be possible
let this cup pass from me- With tongues
II burning agony they cried: 20 Lord, de
liver my soulP But they got over It. They
III got over it. Garneredl Their tears wiped
away; their battles all ended-their bur-
lens lifted. Garneredl The Lord Of the
harvest will not allow those sheaves TO
perish in the equinox. Garneredl Some
II us remember, on the farm, that the
heaves were put on the top OF the rack
which surmounted the wagon, and these
heayes were piled higher and higher. and
Ifter a while the hcrses started for the
,arn; ami these sheaves swayed TO and fro
n the wind, and the old wagon creaked
md the horses made a struggle and pulled
o hard the harness came up in loops OF
Gather on their backs, and when the front
Wheel struck the elevated floor Of the barn
{ seemed as IL the load would go no farther
Until the workmen gave a great shout and
hen with one last tremendous strain the
Iorses pulled in the load; then they were un-
larnessed and forkful after forkful of grain
ell into the NOW. Oh, my friends our get
ing into heaven may be pull, hard pull,
very hard pull; but these sheaves are
'ound TO go in The Lord OF the harvest
las promised it see the load at last COM
ne In the door OF the heavenly garner. The
heaves Of the Christian soul sway TO and fro
q the wind OF death, and the old body creaks
nder the load, and as the load strikes the
DOR OF the celestial garner il seems as II IL
an go no farther. IL is the last struggle,
ntil the voices OF angels aud the voices OF
ur departed kindred and the welcoming
dice OF God shall send the harvest rolling
1to eternal triumph while all up and down
be sky the cry IS heard: Harvest homel
harvest homeH