Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1893-06-16
Y. 4. BlSH9P, Island Pond, VI

VI ueVitn, Out tnere ne uled In the winter,
when the snow is q shroud, and when the
wind Is dirge, II Is easy to think OF our
mortality, but when the weather is pleasant
and all our surroundings are agreeable how
difficult It Is for US TO appreciate the truth
that we are mortal! And yet my text teaches
that death does sometimes come TO the sum
mer house.
He Is blind and cannot see the leaves. He
9 deaf and cannot hear the fountains. oh.
IL death would ask us for victims we could
point him to hundreds Of people who would
rejoice to have him come. Push back the
door OF that hovel. Look at that little child
cold and sick and hungry. II has never
heard the name Of God but in blasphemy.
Parents Intoxicated staggering around its
straw bed. oh, death, there Is a mark for
theei Up with 1t into the light Before
these little feet stumble on life pathway give
them rest.
Here Is an aged man. He has done his
work. He has done 1t glortously. The COM
psnions of his youth are all gone, his chill
dren dead. He longs 30 be at rest, and
wearily the days and tho nights pass He
says, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly"
oh, DEATH there Ia o mark for thee Take
from him the stafr and give him the sceptrei
Up with him into the light, where eyes never
grow dim, and the hair whitens not through
the long years Of eternity. All, death will
not do that Death turns back from the
straw bed and from the aged man ready for
the skies and comes TO the summer house
What doest thou here, thou bony, CHASTITY
monster, amid this waving grass and under
this sunlight sitting through the tree
branches? Children are at play. How quickly
their feet go and their locks toss In the wind
Father and mother stand at the side Of the
room looking on. enjoying their glee II
does not seem possible that the wolf should
ever break into that fold and carry of q
lamb. Meanwhile an old archer stands look
Ing through hthethieket. He points his arrow
st the brightest OF the group-he Is a sure
narksman-the bow bends, the arrow speeds
iush, nowl The quick feet have stopped,
md the locks toss no more In the wind
Laughter has gone out OF the hall Death
In the summer house
Here Is father In midlits. His coming
home at night Is the signal for mirth. The
children rush to the door and there are books
on the evening stand, and the hours pass
away on glad feet. There Is nothing want
ing in that home. Religion is there and
sacrifices ON the altar morning and night.
You look In that household and say: ~ oan-
not think OF anything happier l do not
really believe the world is 80 sad place as
some people describe 1t to be-" The scene
changes. Father is sick. The doors must
be kept shut. The deathwatch chirps dole
iuh1 VII LILO no Wul5p6I
and walk softly where once they romped.
Passing the house late at night, you see the
quick glancing OF lights from room to room.
II is all over. Death In the summer house.
Here Is an aged mother-aged, but not in
firm. You think you will have the Joy OF car
Ing for her wants good while yet. As she
goes Hom mouse TO house. to children and
grandchildren, her coming Is dropping OF
sunlight In the dwelling. Your children SEQ
her POminQ through the lane and fhav crv
"Grandmothers come" Care for you has
marked up her face with many a deep
wrinkle, and her back stoops with car
rying your burdens. Some days she Is
very quiet She says she is not
sick, but something tells you you
will not much longer have mother. She will
sit with you no longer at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes out 50 gently you do
not exactly know the moment OF its going.
Pold the hands that have done many kind
nesses for you right over the heart that has
beat with love for youS Since before you were
born. Let the pilgrim rest She Is weary.
Death In the summer house
Gather about US what we will OF comfort
and luxury, when the pale messenger comes
he does not stop to look at the architecture
OF the house before he comes in, nor entering
does he wait to examine the pictures we have
gathered on the wall, or bending over your
pillow he does not stop to see whether there
! Is color In the cheek, or gentleness In the
eye, or intelligence In the brow But what
of that? Must we stand for ever mourning
among the graves Of our dead No! No The
people In Bengal bring cages of birds to the
graves OF their dead and then they open the
| cages, and the birds go singing heavenwaru.
SO would bring to the graves OF your dead
| all bright thoughts and congratulations and
bid them think OF victory and redemption.
stamp on the bottom OF the grave, and It
breaks through into the light and glory Of
| heaven.
| entering the Red sea were very dangerous
| places, as they supposed that every ship that
| went through those straits would be de-
stroyed, and they were In the habit OF put
ting on weeds OF mourning for those who
had gone on that voyage, as though they
were actually dead. Doyou know what they
called those straits2 They call them the
"Gate OF Tears" Oh, stand to-day at the
gate OF tears through which many Of your
loved ones have gone, and want to tell you
that all are not shipwrecked that have gone
through those straits into the great ocean
stretching out beyond.
The sound that comes from that other
shore on still nights when We are wrapped
in prayer makes me think that the departed
are not dead. We are the dead-we who
toll, we who weep, We who sin-we are the
row! This sound of breaking hearts that
hear all about mex This last look OF faces
that will never brighten again This last
kiss of lips that never will speak again
This widowhood and orphanagel Oh, when
will the day OF sorrow be gomez
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from the shoulder Of a southern gale
and puts its warm hand upon the earth, and
In its palm there comes the grass, and there
come the flowers, and God reads over the
poetry of bird and brook and bloom and
pronounces II very good. What, my friends
II every winter had not its spring, and every
night It's day, and every gloom its glow, and
every bitter now its sweet hereafter2 II you
have been on the sea, you know, as the shiI
passes In the night, there is q phosphoresceni
track left behind II, and as the waters roll uI
they toss with unimaginable splendor. Well
across this great ocean Of human trouble
Jesus walks Oh, that In the phosphorescenl
track Of His feet We might all follow and bt
illumined!
There was a gentleman In the rail car who
saw In that same car three passengers o.
very different circumstances. The first wa
a maniac. He was carefully guarded by hi
attendants his mind, like ship dismasted
was beating against dark, desolate coast
from which no help could come. The trail
stopped, and the man was taken out into tn
asylum to waste away perhaps through year
OF gloom. The second passenger was
culprit. The outraged law had seized on him
, As the cars jolted the chains ratified On hi
face were crime, depravity and despair. Tn
train halted, and he was taken out to tn
penitentiary, to which he had been con
demned. There was the third passenger un
der far different circumstances She was
bride. Every hour was gay az marriag
J bell. Life glittered and beckoned. Her CON
panion was taking her to his fathers house
The train halted. The old man was there
welcome her to her new home, and his whit
locks showed down upon her as he sealed h
word with fathers kiss.
, Quickly we fly toward eternity. We wi
, soon be there. Some leave this life col
, demned culprits. They refused pardon
they carry their chains. oh, may II be wit
, us that leaving this neeting life for the mex
! we may find our Father ready to greet us I
| our no,r harna with Him fnrayar What wi