Connecticut western news., 1893-03-02

and so the imper1Ied one slips otr ana plank-warnth of sympathy, warmth of kindly association, warmth of genial sur roundings.
 The world declines to give it, and in many cases has no power to give it, and here is where Christ comes in, and, as on a cold day, the rain beating and the at mosphere full of sleet, the hen clucks her chickens under her wings, and the warmth of her own breast puts warmth into the wet feathers and the chilled feet of the infant group of the barnyard, so Christ says to those sick and frosted and disgusted and frozen of the world, Come in out of the March winds of the worlds criticism; come in out of the sleet of the worlds assault; come in out of world that does not understand you and does not want to understand you; will com fort and will soothe and will be your warmth, "as hen gathereth her chick ems under her wing" Oh, the warm heart of God is ready for all those to whom the world has given the cold shoulder.
 SACRIFICE UNTO DEATH.
 But notice that some one must take the storm for the chickens. Ahl the hen takes the storm. I have watched her under the pelting rain. I have seen her in the pinching frosts almost frozen to death or almost strangled in the waters, and what fight she makes for the young under wing If dog or hawk or a man comes too near! And so the breeding Christ takes the storm for us. What flood of anguish and tears that did not dash upon his holy soul! What beak of torture did not pierce his vitals! What barking Cerberus of hell was not let out upon him from the hennels!
 What he endured, oh, who can tell,
 To save our souls from death and he'll
 Yes, the hen took the storm for the chickens, and Christ takes the storm for us. Once the tempest rose so suddenly the hen could not get with her young back from the new ground to the barn, and there sbe is under the fence half dead. And now the rain turns to snow, and it is an awful night, and in the morn ing the whiteness about the gills and the beak down in the mud show that the mother is dead, and the young ones come out and cannot understand why the mother does not scratch for them some thing to eat, and they walk over her wings and call with their tiny voices, but there is no answering cluck. She took the storm for others and perished. Poor thing! Self sacrificing even unto death!
 And does it not make you think of him who endured all for us? So the wings under which we come for spiritual safety are blood spattered wings, are night shat tered wings, are tempest torn wings. In the Isle of Wight I saw the grave of Princess Elizabeth, who died while a prisoner at Carisbrool1 castle, her finger on an open Bible and pointing to the words, Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and will give you rest" Oh, come under the wings!
 But now the summer day is almost passed, and the shadows of the house and barn and wagon shed have length ened. The farmer, with scythe or hoe on shoulder, is returning from the fields. The oxen are unyoked. The horses are crunching the oats at the full bin. The air is bewitched of honeysuckle and wild brier. The milkman, pail in hand, is approaching the barnyard. The fowls, keeping early hours, are collecting their young, "Cluck!' "Cluckr' "Cluckr' and soon all the eyes of that feathered nursery are closed.
 The bachelors of the winged tribe have ascended to their perch, but the hens, in a motherhood divinely appointed, take all the risk of a slumber on the ground, and all night long the wings will stay outspread, and the little ones will not utter sound. Thus at sundown, low ingly, safely, completely, the hen broods her young So, if we are the Lords, the evening of our life will come. The heats of the day will have passed. There will be shadows, and we cannot see as far. The work of life will be about ended. The hawks of temptation that lowered in the sky will have gone to the woods and folded their wings. Sweet silences will come down. The air will be redo lent with the breath of whole arbors of promises sweeter than jasmine or even- ing primrose. The air may be little chill, but Christ will call us, and we will know the voice and heed the call and we will come under the wings for the night the strong wings, the soft wings, the warm wings-and without fear and in full sense of safety, and then we will rest from sundown to sunrise, "as hen gathereth her chickens under her wing" Dear me, how many souls the Lord hath thus brooded!
 Mothers, after watching over sick cra- dies and then watching afterward over wayward sons and daughters, at last themselves taken care of by motherly God. Business men, after 8 lifetime struggling with the uncertainties of money markets, and the change of tariffs, and the underselling of men who be- cause of their dishonesties can afford to undersell, and years of disappointment and struggle, at last under wings where nothing can perturb them any more than a bird of prey which is 10 miles off dis turbs chick at midnight brooded in a barnyard.
 TRUSTING IN DIVINE SHELTER. | My text has its strongest application for people who were born in the country, wherever you may now live, and that is the majority of you. You cannot hear my text without having all the rustic scenes of the old farmhouse come back to you. Good old days they were. You knew nothing much of the world, for