The Brookhaven leader., 1890-01-09

want peace. The greatest music they
ever heard was the clanking chains oil
their captives. IL all the blood that
has been shed in battle could be gath
cred together IL would upbear navy.
The club that struck Abel 10 the earth
has its echoes in the butcheries of all
ages. Edmund Burke. who gave on
wild statistics, said that there had been
spent in battle thirty-five thousand mill
ions of dollars, or what would be equal
to that; but he had not seen into our
times, when in our own day, in America,
we expended three thousand million o.
dollars in civil war.
Oh, If we could now take our position
on some high point and see the world's
armies march pastl What spectacle Il
would bel There go the hosts Of lsraci
through a score of Red Seas-one Of va.
ter, the rest of blood. There go Cyrus,
and his army, with infuriate yell, rejoic-
ing over the fall of the gates of Baby
Ion. There goes Alexander, leadir g
forth his hosts and conquering all the
world but himself, the earth ceiling
with the battle cash of Arbela ana Per
scpolis. There goes Ferdinand Cortes,
leaving his butchered enemies on the
table lands once fragrant with vanilla
and covered over with groves of flower
ing cacao. There goes the great French
man, leading his army down through
Egypt like one of its plaques, and up
through Russia like one of it's own icy
blasts. Yonder is the grave trench I'M
der the shadow of Sebastopol There
are the ruins of Delhi and Allahabad,
and yonder are the inhuman Sepoys and
the brave regiments under Havelock
avenging the insultcd flag of Britain;
while cut right through the heart of my
native land is 4 trench in which there
lie one million Northern and Southern
dead.
Oh, the tears! Oh, the blood! Oh, the
long marches! @, the hospital wounds!
Oh, the martyrdom! Oh, the death! But
brighter than the light which flashed on
all these swords and shields ard mus
kerry is the light that fell on Betnle-
hem, and louder than the bray of the
trumpets, and the neighing of the
chargers, and the crash of the walls,
and the groaning of the dying armies,
is the song that unrolls this moment
from the sky, sweet as though all the
bells of Heaven rung jubilee: peace
on earth, good will toward men," Oh,
when will the day come-God hasten it,
when the swords shall be turned into
pillow shares, and the fortresses shall be
remodeled into churches, and the nan
of blood battling for renown shall be-
come good soldiers of Jesus Christ, and
the cannon now striking down whole
columns of death shall thunder the vic
tories of the truth?
When we think of the whole world
saved we are apt to think of the few
few, compared with the population to
come. And what small part Guilt
waited. Do you know it has been au-
chemically estimated that three-fourths
of Europe is yet all barrenness, and
that nine hundred and ninety-one-onc-
thousandth part of the entire globe is
uncultivated? This is all to be cult
waited, all inhabited and all eospelizcd.
Oh, what tears of repentance when
nations begin to weep! Oh, what sup
plications when continents begin to
pray! Oh, what rejoicing when hemis-
pheres begin to sing. Churches will
on the places where this very
hour smokes the blood of human sac
rifice, and wandering through the snake
infested jungles of Africa Christ's heel
will bruise the serpent's head. Oh,
m fr1tr of lNraf oh
be sounded everywhere and the
nations are redeemed, a light
will fall upon every town
brighter than that which fell upon
Bethlehem, and moro overwhelming
than the song which fell on the pasture
fields whore the flocks fed, there will
be a song louder than the storm-lifted
oceans: "Glory to God in the highest"
and from all nations and kindred and
people and tongues will come the re-
sponse: And on earth peace, good will
toward men!" On this Christmas eve
bring you good tidings Of great Joy
Pardon for all sin, comfort for all
trouble and life for the dead. Shall we
now take this Christ into our hearts?
The time is passing, This is the clos
ing of the year. How the time speeds
by. Put your hand on your heart-one,
two, three. Three times less it will
beat. Life is passing like gazelles over
the plain. Sorrows hover like petrels
over the sea. Death swoops like vult-
ure from the mountains. Misery rolls
up to our ears like waves. Heavenly
songs fall to US like stars.
l wish you a merry Christmas, not
with worldly dissipation, but merry
with Gospel gladness, merry with par
doned sin, merry with hope of reunion
in the skies with all your loved ones
who have preceded you. In that grand
est and best sense a merry Christmas.
And God grant that in our final mo-
ment we may have as bright a vision as
did the dying girl when she said:
Mother, pointing with her thin
white hand through the window
"Mother, what is that beautiful land
out yonder beyond the mountains, the
high mountains?"
''Oh," said the mother, ''my darling,
there are no mountains within sight OF
our home"
''Oh, yes" she said, don't you see
them-that beautiful land beyond the
out there, just beyond the
high mountains"
The mother looked down into the face
of her dying child and said: ''My dear,
think that must be Heaven that you
see."
"Well, then" she said, ''father, you