The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1892-06-23

nun describe the pile of black basalt
that shook when the law was givenl
Gone to meet Paul and hear him tell
how Felix trcmbled, and how the ship
went to pieces in the breakers, and how
thick was the darkness in the Manner
tine dungeon! Gone to meet John
Knox and John Wesley and Hannah
Moore and Francis Havergal! Gone to
meet the kindred who preceded them!
Why, | should not wonder if they had
~ larger family group there than they
ever had here. Oh, how many of them
nave got together again! Your
father and mother went years apart,
but they have got together, and
their children that went years ago got
together again. Gone where they have
more room! Gone where they have
more jubilant society! Gone where they
have mightier capacity to love you than
when you were here! Gone out of him
derances into unbounded liberty! Gone
out of January into June! Gone where
they talk about yon, as we always talk
about absent frienos, and say: 81 won
der when they will come up to join us.
Hank! the outside door of Heaven
swings open. Hank. there are feet on
the golden stairs. Perhaps they are
coming!'
l was told at Johnstown after the
flood that many people who had been
for months and years bereft, for the first
time got comfort when the awful flood
came, to think that their departed once
were not present to see the catastrophe.
AS the people were floating down on
the housetops they said: ''Oh, how glad
| am that father and mother are not
here" or ''How glad am that the chill
dren are not alive to see this horror"
And ought not we who are down here
amid the up-turnings of this life be
glad that none of the troubles which
submerge us can ever alright our friends
assembled? Before this I warrant
our departed ones have been intro
duced to all the celebrities of Heaven.
Some one has said to them: LET me
introduce you to Joshua, the man who
by prayer stopped two worlds for sew.
eral hours. Let me make you ac-
quainted with this group of three
her"es-Jnhr HISS, Philip Melancthon
and Martin Luther Aha! here is
Fenelon! Here is Archbishop Leigh
ton! Here are tatimer and Ridleyl
Here is Matthew Simpson! Here is
poets row-James Montgomery and
Anna Barbatld and Horatius Bonar
and Phoebe Palmer and Lowell
Mason" Were your departed ones
fond of music? What oratorios led on by
Handel and Haydn. Were they fond of
pictures? What Raphaels pointing out
skies with all colors wrought into
chariot wheels, wings of seraphim and
coronations. Were they fond of poetry?
What eternal rhythms led on by John
Milton. Shall we pity our glorified
kindred? No, they had better pity us.
We, the shipwrecked, and on G raft in
the hurricane, looking up at them sail
ing on over calm seas, under skies that
never frowned with tempests, we hon
pied with chains; they lifted by wings.
Surely the bitterness of death is past"
Further, if what l have been saving
is true, we should trust the Lord and be
thrilled with the fact that our own day
of escape cOmeth. If our lives were 90
ing to end when our heart ceased to
pulsate and our lunge to breath. I
would want to take ten million years of
life here for the first installment But.
my Christian friends, we can not afford
always to stay down in the cellar of our
Fathers house. We can not ALWAYS be
postponing the best things. We can
not always be tuning our violins for
the celestial orchestra. We must get
our wings out. We must mount. We
can not afford to stand out here in the
vestibule of the house of many man
sions, while the windows are illumi-
mated with the levee angelic, and we can
hear the laughter of those forever free,
and the ground quakes with the bound
ing feet of those who have entered
upon eternal play. Ushers of Heaven!
Open the gates! Swing them clear
back on their pearlly hinges! Let
the hanging gardens of the King
breathe on us their aromatics. Let
our redeemed ones just look out and
give us one glance of their glorifed
faces. Yes! there they are now! see
them. But | can not stand the vision.
Close the gate, or our eyes will be
quenched with the overpowering bright
ness. Hold back the song or our eals
will never again care for earthly an
them. Withdraw the perfume or we
shall swoon in the fragrance that hui
man n0stril was never made to breathe.
All these thoughts are suggested as
we stand this Easter morn amid the
broken rocks of the Saviour's tomb.
Indeed | know that tomb has not been
rebuilt. for stood in December of 1889 |
amid the runs of that the famous Sc
oulcher of all time. There are thou
ands of tombs in our Greenwood and
Laurel Hill and Mount Auburn with |
mere polished stone and more elaborate
and more foliaged surround
ngs, but as | went down the steps of |
5he supposed tomb of Christ on nv re-
urn from Mount Cavalry, said to nv
self: This is the tomb of all tombs
Around this stand more stupen- |
lous incidents than around anv
grave of all the world since |
death entered it." l could not
breathe easily for overraastering
emotion as l walked down the four