The Portland daily press., 1892-11-05
Mozart came and began to play, and he

and the KING Familiarity looked over MS
shoulder and said: "What are you play
ing? I see no music before you" And
Mozart put his hand on his brow, as
much as to say, II am improvising. 1t
was very well for him, but oh, my
friends we cannot extemporize Heaven.
If we do not get prepared in this world,
we will never take part in the orches-
trail harmonies of the saved. o that we
were as wise as the crane and the stork,
flying away, flying away from the
tempest.
Some Of you have felt the pinching
frost of sin. You feel it to-day. You
are not happy. l look into your faces,
and know you are not happy. There
are voices within your soul that will not
be silenced, telling you that you are
sinners, and that without the pardon OF
God you are undone forever. What are
you going to do, my friends, with the
accumulated transgressions OF this life
time? VIII you stand still and let the
avalanche tumble over you? 0 that
you would go away into the warm heart
of Gods mercy. The southern grove,
redolent with magnolia and cactus,
never waited for northern fiocks as God
has waited for you, saying: 81 have
loved thee with an everlasting love.
Come unto me, all ys who are weary
and heavy laden, and will give you
rest"
Another frost is bidding you away; it
is the frost of sorrow. Where do you
live now? ''O," you say, 81 have moved. J"
Why did you move? You say, Il don't
want as large house now as formerly"
WHY do you not want as large a house?
You say ''My family is not so large. :"
Where have they gone to? ETERNITY"
Your mind goes back through that last
sickness and through the almost super
natural effort to save life, and through
those prayers that seemed unavailing,
and through that kiss (which received
no response because the lips were
lifeless, and l hear the bells tolling and
/ hear the hearts breaking-while
speak, hear them break. A heart! An
other heart! Alone! alone! alone! This
world, which in your girlhood and boy
hood was sunshine, is cold now, ano
oh! weary dove, you fly around this
world as though you would like to stay.
when the wind and the frost and the
blackening clouds would bid you away
into the heart of an all-comfortlng Coo.
O, have noticed again and again what
a botch this world makes OF it when II
tries to comfort soul in trouble! Ii
says, Don't cry!' How can we help
CRYING when the hearts treasures are
scattered and father is gone and mother
is gone, and companions are gone, and
the child is gone, and everything seems
gone? 1t is no comfort to tell a
man not to cry. The world comes up
and says: 30, it is only the body OF
your loved one that you have put in the
ground! But there is no comfort IN
that. That body is precious. Shall
we never put our hand in that hand
again, and shall we never see that
sweet face again? Away with your
heartlessness, oh world! But come,
Jesus! and tell us that when the tears
fall they fall into Gods bottle; that the
dear bodies of our loved ones shall rise
radiant in the resurrection; and all the
breakings down here shall be lifted up
there, and they shall hunger no more.
neither thirst no more, neither shall
the sun light on them nor any heat for
the Lamb which is in the midst of the
throne shall lead them to living foun-
tains of water, and God shall wipe all
tears from their eyes
You may have noticed that when the
chaffinch, or our stork or the crane
starts on it's migration, it calls all those
of it's kind to come too. The tree-tops
are full of chirp, and whistle, and carol
and the long roll-can. The bird does
not start off alone 1t gathers all of its
kind. O that you might be as wise in
this migration to Heaven, and that you
might gather all your families and your
friends with you! would that Hannah
might take Samuel by the hand, and
Abraham might take Isaac, and Hagar
might take Ishmael.
Start for Heaven yourself, and take
your children with you. Come thou
and all thy house into the ark. Tell
your little ones that there are realms OF
balm and sweetness for all those who
fiv in the right direction. Swifter than
eagles stroke, put out for Heaven. Like
the crane or the stork, stop not night
or dav until you find the right place 1ew
stopping.
To-day the Saviour calls,
Ye wanderers come.
o, We benighted souls,
Why longer roam?
The Spirit calls to-day,
Yield to his power.