The enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 188?-1899, 1892-09-07

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down their throats; horses were fas
tened 70 their hands, and other horses
to their feet, and thus they were
pulled apart; they had their tongues
/ pulled out by red-hot pincers; they were
sewed up In the skins Of animals, ant
then thrown to the dogs; they were
daubed with conbustibles and set OF
firel II all the martyrs stakes that have
been kindled could be set at proper dis
tances, they would make the midnight
all the world over bright as monday
And now they sit yonder in the mar
tyrs gallery. For them the fires OF per
secution have gone out. The swords are
sheathed and the mob hushed. Now
they watch us with an all-observine
sympathy. They know all the pain, al
the hardship, all the anguish, all the
injustice, all the privation. They can
not keep still. They cry: Courage
The fire will not consume. The floods
cannot drown. Thelions cannot devour
Couragel down there In the arena"
What are they all looking? This
night we answer back the salutation
they give, and cry, Hail! sons and
daughters of the frel'
look again, and see another gallery,
that of eminent Christians. What strikes
me strangely is the mixing in com
panionship Of those who on earth could
not agree. There is Albert Barnes
and around him the Presbytery who
tried him for heterodoxyl Yonder Is
Lyman Beecher, and the church court
that denounced him! Stranger than all
there is John Calvin and James Armin.
ius. Who would have thought that
they would sit so lovingly togetherf
There is George Whiteheld and the
ministers who would not let him come
into their pulpits because they thought
him a fanatic. There are the street
singers, Toplady, Montgomery, Charles
Wesley, Isaac Watts and Mrs. Sig
Quincy. II Heaven had had no music
before they went up, they would have
started the singing. And there, the
band OF missionaries; David Abeel,
talking of China redeemed; and John
Scudder, Of India saved; and David
Brainerd, of the aborigines, evan.
gelized; and Mrs Adoniram Judson,
whose prayers for Burmah took Heaven
by violencel All these Christians are
looking into the arena Our struggle Is
nothing to theirs. Do we, in Christ's
cause, suffer from the cold? They
walked Greenland's Icy mountains. Do
we suffer from the heat2 They swell
tered In the tropics. Do we get far
tigued? They tainted, with none 10
care for them but cannibals. Are we
persecuted2 They were mathematical.
And as they look from their gallery and
see us falter in the presence Of the
lions, seem to hear Isaac Watts ad-
dressing us in his old hymn, only little
changed:
Must you be carried TO the skies
On howery beds OF ease,
While others fought to win the prize
Or sailed through bloody seasi
Toplady shouts in his old hymn;
Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the praise OF love divine,
Bid every string awake.
While Charles Wesley, the Methodist,
breaks forth in his favorite words, a lit.
tie varied:
A charge 10 keep you have,
A God to glorify;
A neyer-dying soul 10 save,
And ht Il for the skyl
look again, and see the gallery OF
our departed. Many OF those in the
other galleries we have heard of; but
these we knew. Oh! how familiar their
faces! They sat at our tables, and we
walked TO the house Of God in company
Have they forgotten us? Those fathers
and mothers started us on the road OF
life Are they careless as to what be-
comes Of us? And those children; do
they look on with stolid indifference az
TO whether we win or lose this battle
for eternity? Nay; SEQ that child rum
ming its hand over your brow and
saying Father, do not fret;" Mother,
do not worry" They remember the day
they left us. They remember the agony
of the last farewell. Though years In
heaven, they know our fates- They
remember our sorrows. They speak
our names They watch this fight for
heaven Nay; / see them rise up and
lean over, and wave before us their
recognition and encouragement That
gallery Is not full. They are keeping
places for us. After we have slain the
lion they expect the King to call US,
saying, Come up higherl'' Between
the hot struggles In the arena wipe
the sweat from my brow and stand on
tiptoe, reaching up my right hand to
clasp theirs In rapturous hand-shalsing,
while their voices come ringing down
from the gallery, crying, "Be thou faith
full unto death, and You shall have
crownl"
But here / pause, overwhelmed with
the majesty and the Joy of the scene.
Gallery Of the Kingl Gallery of angels
Gallery Of prophets and apostlesl Gal
lery OF martyrs Gallery of saintR
Gallery Of friends and kindred. o,
majestic circles OF light and love.
Throngsl Throngs! Throngsl How
shall we stand the gaze Of the universe?
Myriads Of eyes beaming on us
Myriads Of hearts beating In
sympathy for us. How shall we
ever dare TO sin again? How
shall we ever become discouraged
again? How shall we ever feel lonely
againp With God for us, and angels for
us, and prophets and apostles for Ms,
and the great souls Of the ages for us,
and our glorified kindred for us-shali
we give up the fight and dieP MOI Son
Of God, who didst die TO save us Mol
ye angels, whose wings are spread forth
TO shelter US mol ye prophets and apos.
ties, whose warnings startle uA. Mol 70
loved ones, whose arms are outstretched
10 receive US Mol we will never sur
render
Sure must light II would reign
Be faithful 70 my Lord;
And bear the cross endure the pain,
Supported BY thy Word
Thy saints IN all this glorious war
Shall conquer, though they die;
They see the triumph from afar,
And soizeit with their eye.
whe9 that ylustrious DAY shall rise,