The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1892-01-08

II
comes there?" the great ones of the
celestial arrival. No; the shepherds
heard the first two bars of the music,
the first in the major key and the last
in the subdued minor: GLORY to God in
the highest. and on earth peace, good
will to men," All. yes; the fields were
| honored.
The old shepherds with plaid and crook
have for the most part vanished, but we
have grazing on our United States
pasture fields and prairie about forty
| five million sheep, and all their keepers
| ought to follow the shepherds of my
text, and all those who toll in fields, all
vine-dressers, all orchardists, all hus-
bandmen. Not only that Christmas
night. but all up and down the worlds
history God has been honoring the
fields. Nearly all the messiahs of re-
form and literature and eloquence and
law and benevolence have come from
the fields. Washington from the fields.
Jefferson from the fields. The presi-
| Dental martyrs, Garfield and Lincoln.
from the fields. Henry Clay from the
fields. Daniel Webster from the fields
Martin Luther from the fields Be-
fore this world is right, the overflow
| ing population of our crowded cities
will have TO take to the field Instead
| OF ten merchants in rivalry as to who
shall sell that one apple. we want at
least eight of them to go out and raise
apples. Instead of ten merchants de-
string to sell that one bushel of wheat,
we want at least eight of them to go
| out and raise wheat. The world wants
now more hard hands, more bronzed
cheeks, more muscular arms. To the
ieldsl God honored them when He
woke up the shepherds by the midnight
| anthem, and He will, while the world
lasts, continue to honor the fields.
When the shepherds crook was that
famous night stood against the wall of
the Bethlehem khan, itwas prophecy
of the time when thresher's fail, and
farmers plow, and woodman's ak,
and ox's yoke, and sheaf-binder's rake
shall surrender to the God who made
the country, as man made the town.
Behold, also, that on that Christmas
night God honored motherhood. Two
angels on their wings might have
brought an infant Saviour to Bethle-
hem without Mary's being there at all.
When the villagers, on the morning of
December 20, awoke, by Divine ar
rangement, and in some unexplained
way, the child Jesus might have been
found in some comfortable cradle OF
| the village. But no, no! Motherhood
for all time was to be consecrated, and
one of the tenderest relations was to be
II 1ofo ool Int nd 0f hn
sweetest words. mother" In all ages
John Wesley had a good mother, st.
Bernard had good mother, Dod-
bridge good mother, Walter Scott
good mother, Benjamin West a
good mother. In a great audience,
most of whom were Christians. asked
that all those who had been blessed of
Christian mothers arise, and almost tho
entire assembly stood up. Don't you
see how important it is that all mother
hood be consecrated? Why did Titan,
the Italian artist, when he sketched the
Madonna, make it an Italian ,facea
Why did Rubens, the German artist, in
his Madonna, make it a German face?
Why did Joshua Reynolds, the English
artist, in his Madonna, make it an En-
glish face? Why did Murillo. the
Spanish artist, in his Madonna, make it
a Spanish face? / never heard, but I.
think they took their own mothers as
the type of Mary, the mother of Christ.
When you hear some one, in sermon or
grafton, speak in the abstract of good,
faithful, honest mother, your eyes fill
up with tears, while you say to your
col AZ
The first word child utters is apt to
be Mother" and the old man, in his
dying dream, calls: Mother! motheri'
1t matters not whether she was brought
up in the surroundings of a city, and
afauent home, and was dressed appro-
priately with reference to the demands
of modern life, or whether she wore
the old-time cap, and great round spec
tacles, and apron of her own
make, and knit your socks with
her own needles, seated by the
broad fireplace, with great black
log ablaze, on a winter night. II
matters not how many wrinkles crossed
and recrossed her face, or how much
her shoulders stopped with the burdens
of long life. Ifyou painted Madon,
ma, here would be the face. What
gentle hand she had when we were
sick and what voice to soothe pak
and was there anyone who could SO fill
up a room with peace, and purity, and
light? And what sad day that was
when we come home and she could
greet us not, for her lips were forever
still. Come. back, mother, this Christ
mas day, and take your old place, and
as ten, or twenty, or fifty years ago,
come and open the old Bible as you
used to; read and kneel in the same
place where you used to pray, and look
upon us as of old when you wished us
Merry Christmas or a Happy New
Year. But no! That would not
be fair to call you back. You had
troubles enough, and aches enough.
and bereavements enough while you
were here. larry by the throne, moth
er. till we join you there, your prayers
all answered, and in the eternal home
stead of our God we shall again keep
Christmas jubilee together. But speak
from your thrones, all you glorified
mothers, and say to all these, your sons
and daughters. words of love,
words of warning, words of cheer.
They need your voice, for they
have travelled far and with many
heart-breal1 since you left them, and
you do well to call from the heights OF
Heaven to the valleys of earth. Hail,
enthroned ancestry! We are coming.
Keep place right beside you at the