The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1893-08-30


that stand on the shelf. remember that
there is a larger bottle than these which
is filled with no mixture by earthly
apothecaries, but ii is Gods bottle, in
which he hath gathered all out tears.
Again, God remembers all the sorrows
of poverty. There is much want that
never comes to inspection. The dea-
cons Of the church never see ii. The
comptrollers Of almshouses never report
it. 1t comes not to church, for it has
no appropriate apparel. 1t makes no ap-
peal for help, but chooses rather to suf-
fer than expose its bitterness. Fathers
who fail to gain a livelihood, so that
they and their children submit to con-
slant privation; sewing women who can
not ply the needle quick enough to earn
them shelter and bread.
But whether reported or uncomplain-
ing, whether in seemingly comfortable
parlor or in damp cellar or in hot garrett
Gods angels of mercy are on the watch.
This moment those griefs are being col
lected. Down on the back streets in all
the alleys, amid shanties and log cabins.
the work goes on. Tears of want-seeth-
ing in summers heat or freezing in win
ter's cold-they fall not unheeded. They
are Jewels for heavens casket. They
are pledges of divine sympathy. They
are tears for Gods bottle.
PaternaI Anxietfcs.
Again, the Lord preserves the remem-
brance of all paternal anxieties. You
see a man from the most infamous sur
roundings step out into the kingdom of
God. He has heard no sermon. He has
received no startling providential warn
ing. What brought him to this new
mind? This is the secret: God looked
over the bottle in which he gathers the
tears of his people, and he saw a par
ent's tear in that bottle which has been
for forty years unanswered. He said,
GO to. now, and let Me answer that
tearw and forthwith the wanderer is
brought home to God.
Oh. this work of training children for
God 1t is a tremendous work. Some
people think 1t easy. They have never
tried IL. A child is placed in the arms
Of the young parent. 1t is beautiful
plaything. You look into the laughing
eyes. You examine the dimples in the
feet. You wonder at its exquisite or
ganism. Beautiful plaything! But on
some nightfall as you sit rocking that
little one. a voice seems to fall straight
from the throne of God, saying, That
child is immortal The stars shall die,
but that is an immortal Suns shall
grow old with age and perish, but that
is an immortal!'
Now. know with many Of you this is
the chief anxiety. You earnestly wish
your children to grow up rightly, but
YOU ma II ndIu NOTk 10 lildhG NilCIi w
as YOU wish. You check their temper.
You correct their waywardness. In the
midnight your pillow is wet with weep
ing You have wrestled with God in
agony for the salvation of your chill
dren. You ask me if all that anxiety
has been Intellectual. I answer, No. God
understands how hard you have tried TO
make that daughter do right, though
she is so very petulant and reckless, and
what pains you have bestowed in teach
ing that son 10 walk in the path OF up
rightness, though he has such strong
proclivities for dissipation.
l speak a cheering word. God heard
every counsel you ever offered him.
God has known all the sleepless nights
YOU have ever passed. God has seen
every sinking of your distressed spirit
God remembers your prayers. lie Keeps
eternal record Of your anXietles, ana
In His lachrymatory. not such as stood
in ancient tomb. but in one that CLOVIS
and glitters beside the throne of God,
He holds all those exhausting tears.
The grass may be rank upon your
graves and the letters upon your tomb
stone defaced with the elements before
the divine response will come, but lie
who hath declared, 81 will be God 10
thee and to thy seed after thee, will
not forget. and some day in heaven
while YOU are ranging the fields of light
the gates of pearl will swing back, ana
garlanded with glory that long way
ward one will rush into your out
stretched arms of welcome and triumph.
The hills may depart, and the earth
NAV burn, and the stars fall, ana tlllle
nerish. but God will break His oath
and trample upon His promises-neVer!
never!
Our Bereavenents.
Again. God keeps a perpetual remem-
brance Of all bereavements. These are
the trials that cleave the soul and throw
the red hearts of men 10 be crushed IN
the wine-press. Troubles at the store
Won may leave at the store. Misrepre-
sentation and abuse of the world you
may leave on the street where you tound
them. The law suit that would swallow
your honest Accommodations may De leIt
in the court room. But bereavements
are home troubles, and there Is no es-
cape from them. You will see that va
cant chair. Your eye will catch at the
suggestive picture.
You cannot fly the presence of such
ills. You go 10 Switzerland to get clear
of them: but more sure-footed than the
mule that takes you up the Alps, your
troubles climb 10 the tiptop and sit shiv-
erfng on the glaciers. You may cross the
seas, but they can outsail the sWlttest
steamer. You may take caravan and put
out across the Arabian desert, but they
follow YOU like a simeon, armed with
suffocatiOn. You plunge into the Man,
moth cave but they hang like stalactites
from the roof of the great cavern. They
stand behind with skeleton fingers TO
push you ahead. They stand before you
to push you back. They run upon you
like reckless horsemen. They charge
upon you with cleaning spear. They
seem to come haphazard, scattering
shots from the gun of careless sports
man. But not so. 1t is good aim that
sends them just right, for God Is the
archer.
This summer many of you will es-
pecially feel your grief as you go to
places where once you were accompanied
by those who are gone now. Your
troubles will follow you to the seashOre
and will keep up with the lightning
express In which you speed away. Or
tarrying at home they will sit beside you
by day and whisper over your pillow
night after night. 1 want to assure you
that you are not left alone, and that
your weeping is heard in heaven.
You will wander among the hills and
say. up this hill last year our boy
climbed with great glee and waved his
cap from the top" or This Is the place
where our little girl put flowers in her
hair and looked up in her mothers face"
until every drop of blood in your heart
tingled with gladness, and you thanked
God with a thrill Of rapture, and you
look around as much as to say: who
dashed out that light? Who filled this
cup with gall? What blast froze up
these fountains of the hearth
Some of you have lost your parents
within the last twelvemonth. Their
prayers for you are ended. You take up