News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1893-08-24
Yea, this woman of the

Yea, this woman of the text was great
i'll her piety, faith in God, and she was
not ashamed to talk about it before idol
aters. All, woman will never appreciate
what she owes to Christianity until she
knows and sees the degradation of her
sex under paganism and Mohammedan-
ism. Her very birth considered mis-
fortune. Sold like cattle in the sham
bles. Slave of all work, and at last her
body fuel for the funeral pyre of her hus-
band
Above the shrek of the fire worship
ers in India and above the rumbling of
the juggernauts l hear the million
voiced groan of wronged, insulted, bro
ken hearted, downtrodden woman. Her
tears have fallen in the Nile and Tigris
and the La Plata and on the steppes of
of Tartary. She has been dishonored in
Turkish garden and Persian palace and
Spanish Alhambra. Her little ones
have been sacrificed in the Ganges.
There is not groan, or dungeon, or an
island, or mountain, or a river, or a
sea but could tell q story of the outrages
heaped upon her.
tianity comes forth, and all the chains of
this vassalage are snapped, and she rises
up from ignomiHy to exalted sphere and
becomes the affectionate daughter, the
gentle wife, the honored mother, the
useful Christian. Oh, if Christianity has
done so much for woman, surely woman
will become it's most ardent advocate
and its sublimest exemplifcation!
When l come to speak of womanly in
fuence, my mind always wanders off to
one model-the aged one who, 81 years
ago, we put away for the resurrection
About 81 years ago, and just before their
marriage day, my father and mother
stood up in the old meeting house at
Somerville, N. j., and took upon them
the vows of the Christian. Through o
long life of vicissitude she lived harm
lessly and usefully and came to her end
in peace. No child of want ever came
to her door and was turned empty away.
No one in sorrow came to her but was
comforted. No one asked her the way
to be saved but she pointed him to the
cross. When the angel of life came to a
neighbours dwelling, she was there to re-
joice at the starting of another immortal
spirit. When the angel of death came to
neighbours dwelling, she was there to
robe the departed for the burial.
We had often heard her, when leading
family prayers in the absence of my IA
Their, say, 80 Lord, ask not for my chill
drer, wealth or honor, but 1 do ask that
they all may be the subjects of thy COM
fortirg gracer' Her II children brought
into the kingdom of God, she had but
one more wish, and that was that she
might see her long absent missionary
son, and when the ship from China an
chored in New York harbor and the long
absent one passed over the threshold of
his paternal home she said, "Now, Lord,
lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
for mine eyes have seen thy salvation"
The prayer was soon answered.
1t was an autumnal day when we gath
tred from affair and found only the house
from which the soul had fled forever.
She looked very natural, the hands very
much as when they were employed in
kindness for her children. Whatever else
we forget, we never forget the look of
mothers hands. AS we stood there by
the casket we could not help but say,
"Don't she look beautiful" 1t was a
cloudless day when, with heavy hearts,
we carried her out to the last resting
place. The withered leaves crumbled
under hoof and wheel as we passed, and
the sun shone Oh the Raritan river until
it looked like fire; but more calm and
beautiful and radiant was the setting
sun of that aged pilgrim life. No more
toll, no more tears, no more sickness. nc
more death. Dear mother! Beautiful
mother!
Sweet is the slumber beneath the sod,
While the pure spirit rests with God.
need not go back and show you Zen
obia or Semiramis or Isabella or even
the woman of the text as wonders of
womanly excellence or greatness when
l in this moment point to your own pic
ture gallery of memory, and show you
the one face that you remember so well,
and as;pISs I'll Yoyr holy rsSsallunns:ssur
and start you IN new co1lsce4sa9l6ir
God by the pronunciation of that tender,
beautiful, glorious word, Mother, moth
err
Mr. Roberts, Check For a Cent