The Globe-republican. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1889-1910, 1893-06-09

SacrlhceS on the altar morning aAU
night. You look in that household and
say, 81 cannot think of anything hap
pier. 1 do not really believe the world
| is so sad a place as some people de-
scribe it to be-" The scene changes
Father is sick. The doors must be kept
shut. The death-watch chirps dolefully
on the hearth. The children whisper,
and walk softly where they once
romped. Passing the house late at
night, you see the quick glancing of
lights from room to room. 1t is all
over. Death in the summer house.
Here is an aged mother-aged, but
not infrm. You think you will have
the joy of caring for her wants good
while yet. AS she goes from house to
house, to children and grandchildren,
her coming is dropping of sunlight in
the dwelling. Your children see her
coming through the lane, and they
cry, Grandmother Gomez Care for
you has marked up her face with many
deep wrinkle. and her back stoops
with carrying your burdens. Some
day she is very quiet She says she is
not sick, but something tells 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
so gently you do not exactly know the
moment of its going. Fold the hands
that have done SO many kindnesses for
you right over the heart that has beat
with love toward you since before you
were born. Let the pilgrim rest. She
=.
Gather about us what we will of COM
fort and luxury. when the pale messen-
ger 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 pill
low, he does not stop to see whether
there is a color in the cheek, or gentle
ness in the eye, or intelligence in the
brow. But what of that? Must we
stand forever mourning among the
graves of our dead? No! No! The
people in Bengal bring cages of birds
to the graves of their dead, and they
open the cages and the birds go singing
heavenward. So l 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
the glory of Heaven.
The ancients used to think that the
straits entering the Red sea were very
dangerous places, and they supposed
that every ship that went through
those straits would be destroyed, and
they were in the habit of putting on
weeds of mourning for those who had
gone on that voyage, as though they
were actually dead. Do you know
what they called those straits? They
called them the ''Gate of Tears" Oh,
l stand to-day 1.-THE gate of tears
through which many of your loved
ones have gone, and l want to tell
you that all are not shipwrecked
that have gone through those straits
into the great ocean stretching out be-
yond. 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 dead. How my
heart aches for human sorrow! This
sound of breaking hearts that l hear
all about me! This last look of faces
that will never brighten again! This
last kiss of lips that never will speak
again! This widowhood and orphan
age! Oh, when will the day of sorrow
be gone!
After the sharpest winter the spring
dismounts from the shoulder of a
southern gale AID 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 it very good. What, my
friends, if every winter had not its |
spring, and every night its day, and |
every gloom its glow, and every bitter |
now its sweet hereafter! If you have |
been on sea, you know, as the ship |
passes the night, there is a phosphores-
cent track left behind it, and as the
waters roll up they toss with unimag-
Unable splendor. Well, across this great
ocean of human trouble Jesus walks. |
Oh, that in the phosphorescent track of
his feet we might all follow and be IL
lumined!
There was a gentleman in the rail !
car who saw in that same car three pas
sengers of very different circumstances.
The first was maniac. He was care
fully guarded by his attendants; his
mind, like ship dismasted, was beat
ing against dark, desolate coast, from
which no help could come. The train
stopped, and the man was taken out
into the asylum, to waste away, per-
haps through years of gloom. The sec
ond passenger was culprit. The out
ragged law had seized on him. As the
car jolted, the chains ratified. On his
face were crime, depravity and dis
pair. The train halted, and he was
taken out to the penitentiary, to which
he had been condemned. There was
the third passenger, under far different
She was bride. Every
hour was gay as marriage-bell. Life
glittered and beckoned. Her compan-
ion was taking her to his fathers house.
The train halted. The old man was