The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1893-03-01

NhcAh "At &c NAOA eAo'O~ w Ao~1 PCCkAC " o-4s
Is warmth.
Many years ago a man was floating down
on the Ice of the Merrimac, and great ef
forts were made TO rescue him. Twice he
| got hold of a plank thrown to him, and
twice he slipped away from 1t because that
end of the plank was covered with &c. and
he cried out, For Gods sake give me the
wooden end of the plank this time and
this done he was hauled to shore.
The trouble is that in our efforts TO save
the soul there Is too much GOODNESS and
icy formality, and so the imperiled one slips
off and floats down Give it the other end
! of the plank-warmth of sympathy,
warmth of kindly association. warmth Of
| genial surroundings. 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 cold day, the rain beating and
the atmosphere full of sleet, the hen cluclxs
| 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
Disguised and frozen of the world come in
| out of the March winds of the worlds crit
icism; come In out of the sleet of the worlds
assault; come in out Of a world that does
not understand you aud does not want 10
understand you. will comfort and will
soothe, and | will be your warmth, las
hen gathereth her chickens under her
wing" oh, the warm heart OF God is
| ready for all those to whom the world has
given the cold shoulder.
But notice that some one must take the
storm for the chickens All. the hen takes
the storm. have watched her under the
pelting rain. have seen her in the pinch
| Ing frosts almost frozen 70 death or 81
most struggled IN the waters, and what
! fight she makes for the young under wing
| IL a dog. or a hawk, or a man come too
neari And so the brooding Christ takes the
storm for us What food Of anguish and
tears that did not dash upon his holy souli
| What beak of torture did not pierce his
vitalsl What barking Cerberus of hell was
not let out upon him from the kennelsl
What he endured. oh, who can tell,
To save our souls from death and hell
CHRIST TAKES THE STORM FOR Us.
Yes the hen took the storm for the chick.
ems 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 she is
under the fence half dead. And now the
/ rain turns TO snow, and II Is an awful
/ night, and in the morning 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 under
stand why the mother does not scratch for
| them something 10 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 persisted. Poor
| thingl Self sacrificing even unto death
! And does il not make you think Of him
/ vino endured all for usi So the wings un-
der which we come for spiritual safety are
blood spattered wings, are night Swallowed
wings, are tempest torn wings. In the Isle
| of Wight ] saw the grave Of Princess Eliza
beth, who died while prisoner at Coris
brook 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 ths
/ wings
But now the summer day is almost past,
and the shadows OF the house and barn
and wagon shed have Heightened. The
| farmer, with scythe OF hoe on shoulder. is
returning from the fields. The oxen Are
unyoked. The horses are crunching the
oats ut the full bin The air IL bewitched
OF honeysuckle and wild brier. The milk
man, pail in hard, is approaching the barn
yard The fowls, Keeping early hours, are
collecting their young. "CluckP "Cluckr
! "CluckP' and soon all the eyes of tnat
feathered nursery are closed
The bachelors OF the winged tribe have
assembled 20 their perch, but the hens. in
motherhood divinely appointed, take all
the risk Of siumber on the ground, and
/ ell night long the wings will stay out
i spread and the little ones will not utter a
sound Thus at shutdown, lovingly, safely.
completely, the hen broods her young. So
il we are the Lords the evening Of our life
win come The heats OF the day will have
passed. There will he shadows, and We
cannot see rs far The work of life will be
about ended.
The hawks OF temptation that lowered in
the sky will have gone 70 the woods and
folded their wings. Sweet silences will
come down The air will be redolent with
the breath OF whole arbors OF promises
sweeter than jasmine or evening 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 shutdown to sunrise, las hen
! gathereth her chickens under her wings"
Dear mel How many souls the Lord hath
| thus broOded,
Mothers, after watching over sick cradles
and then watching afterward over way
ward sons and daughters, ut last them
selves taken care of by a motherly God
Business men, after a lifetime struggling
with the uncertainties of money markets,
and the change OF tariffs, and the under
selling Of men who because OF their dis
I honestiess can afford to undersell and years
Ok dissa pointment and struggle, at last
under wings where nothing can perturb
them any more than bird of prey which
is 10 miles on disturbs a chick at midnight
broOding In barnyard.
My text mas its strong est application for
people who We're born in the country
Wherever you may now live, and that IL the
ma, ority Of you You cannot hear my
text without having all the rustic scenes of
the old farmhouse come back 60 you. Good
old days they were. You knew nothing
much OF the world. for you had not seen
the world.
BY law Of association yOu cannot recall the
broOding hen AID her chickens without see
ting also the barn. and the haymow, and
the wagon shed and the house, and the
room where you played, and the freside
with the big backlog before which you sat,
and the neighbors anu the burial. and the
wedding, and the deep snowbanks, and
hear the village bell that called YOU to wor-
ship, and seeing the horses which, after
pulling yOu 10 church, stood around the old
| ciapboarded meeting house. and those who
sat at either end Of the church pew, and in
deed all the scenes OF your first Il years,
and you think OF what you were then and
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