Idaho semi-weekly world., 1891-02-13

Again | remark, III grace 10 ~
ING there is a time for threshlng' l 'e"
YOU bluntly that is death. just as
farmer beats the wheat out OF tile
straw so death beats the soul out Oh
the body. Every sickness Is stroke
# the hail and the sickbed rs Tue
threshing floor What, say YOU Is de"'l'
to n GOOD man only taking the wheat
out of the straw That is all. An aged
man has fallen asleep. Only yesterday
Won saw him in the sunny porch play
ing with his grandchildren. Calmly ne
received the message to leave tliS
world. He bade pleasant good-oy 10
his old friends. The telegraph carries
the tidings, and on swift rail trans the
kindred come. wanting once more TO
look on the face of dear old grand
father. 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 Grandfather was never AFRAID
of ANYTHING. He will rise in the morn
ing 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. Anything ghastly in thatf
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
lust as she left them What if the hand
that plucked four-o'clocks out OF the
meadow is still2 1t will wave the eter-
nal triumph. What if the voice that
made music in the home is stillf 1t VIII
sing the eternal hosanna. Put white
rose in one hand, and a red rose in the
other hand, and a wreath of orange
blossoms on the brO~--the white flower
for the victory, the red flower for the
Saviour's sacrifice, the orange blossoms
for her marriage day, Anything ghast-
ly about that2 Oh, no. The sun went
down and the flower shut. The wheat
threshed out of the straw. Dear Lord,
give me 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 w. Long
fellow, writing a letter of coincidence
to those parents, said: "Those last
words were beautifully poetic, 'Dea1
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 it may be with us when our work
is all done. 'Dear Lord, give me
sleep"
l have one more thought to present
l have spoken of the plowing, of the
sowing, of the narrowing, of the reap
ing, Of the thresling. | must nov
speak a moment of the garnering.
HARVEST HOME AT LAST.
Where is the garner? Need I tel
you? Oh, no. So many have gone
out from your own circles, yea, from
your own family, that you have haC
your eyes on that garner for many ;
year What hard time some of then
had In Gethsemanes of suffering
they sweat great drops of blood. The!
took the ''cup of trembling" and the,
put it to their hot lips, and they cried
'If it be possible, let this cup pas
from me-" With tongues OF burnin:
agony they cried, 80 Lord, de
liver my soul" But they got owe
it. They all got over it. Garnered
Their tears wiped away; their battle
all ended; their burdens lifted. Gar
nered The Lord of the harvest vii
not allow those sheaves to perish in TIN
equinox. Garnered Some of us re
member on the farm, that the sheave
were put on the top of the rack whicl
surmounted the wagon, and thes
sheaves We're piled higher and higher
3 and after a while the horses started 70
the barn, and these sheaves swayed t.
and fro in the wind, and the old wagon
oreaked, and the horses made a stuq
gle and pulled so hard the harnes
came up in loops of leather on thei
backs, and when the front wheel strucI
the elevated floor of the barn it SCENE,
as If the load would go no further un
til the worlAnen gave great shout, anC
} then with one last tremendous strait
} the horses pulled in the load; then the,
, were unharnessed, and forkful afte
, forkful of grain fell into the NOW. {
, my friends, our getting into HEAVIER
may be pull, hard pull a very hare
! pull, but these sheaves are bound to g,
in. The Lord of the harvest has prom
ised it. | see the load ut last com
ing in the door of the H,ayenly garner
: The sheaves of the Christiar oul swa
to and fro in the wind Of death, an,
the old body creaks under the lead
and as the load strikes the floor of tn
celestial garner it seems as if it can q
no farther. 1t is the last struggle unt
the voices of angels and the voices c
our departed kindred and the welcon
ing voice of God shall send the harves
rolling into the eternal triumph, Will
all up and down the sky the cry
heard: Harvest home! uarves
homew
Peril in Boys Telegraph Line.
A special from Topeka, Kan, saws
Two inventive lads, Fred Baer an
Earl Mcdowell, constructed a priyat
telegraph wire, the wire for which wa