The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1893-01-01

city people do. Some o you look like
that pinches yer ears, but it's dead
squar' fact, an I'll tell you why. The
boy out on the r2nge ridin' after
stock is with Ged all the time. He
lives right in the bosom o nature. in a
country vet rs God made it, not
| despoiled BY the hand o man, an he
has nobody but God to talk to. Wen
he sees the beautiful flowers a-noddin'
him graceful good morrin'' from
their grassy beds beside the trail, he
knows that God put 'em thar and his
heart throbs with thanks fur the pleas
ure his eyes have enjoyed.
'yY'en the little birds see him aeon
in an git near the trail an sing IN
music no human throat could produce,
he knows they sing the Masters praise
an his glad soul echoes the ripplin'
meIody. Wen he comes to a crystal
brook that dances over the rocks an
sparkles back tinkiing laughter to the
ticklin' rays O. sunshine an gifts down
of his horse to queuch his thirst he
realizes that God caused that water to
burst forth from the earth fur the use o
man an bssst, an his heart breathes
thanks AZ he quG1fs the refreshin'
draught.
"If the clouds bun ch up an heavens
tears fall upon the cart h, he don't look
through lace curtains as You folks do
an growl at the weathe cause it's
goin' to keep you away from theater
or social blowout, but he unties his
slickcr from MS saddle, puts it on an
says: This rain is a godsend. The
grass II push right out O the ground
an steck.'n get hog fat
An see him wen he camps fur the
night He pulls off his saddle an stakes
HIS horse out to Craze, a singin' the
songs o heaven. an, after his plain
lunch, spreads his blankets an the grass.
Then he kneels down beside that
blanket bed an prays. Thar's nobody
thar but God an him, an he finds it
the easiest thing in the world to whis-
per his thanks an his desires into tho
ever-listenin' ear. He prays fur the
rope O salvation to circle over the boys
ylt begged in sin an fur the Almighty
hand to stiddy them that's jest bin
pulled out o. the mud, an his PRAYER is
sincere. He knows he is all alone, far
from human habitation, whar' deadly
reptiles Turk an wild beast prowl at
night, an he asks God to keep an eye
on him, an guard him from peril. Then
he rolls up in his blankets and lays
gain up at the shinin' jewels set in
the crown o heaven, an his reverence
fur the Great King increases as he sees
the wonderful work o. His hands.
Countless thousands O shinin' orbs
meet his view-worlds like cur own,
greater than our own, all follerin'
their paths through space with the pre-
cision o. soldiers at drill, while through
them, like a great captain, the moon
silently plows its way. He knows
that the beautiful gem gar den war
planted by the hand o God afore the be-
wildered gaze O. the first man rested
on it's twinklin' loneliness. afore the
birth O humanity, an he feels wat a
blessed privilege it is to serve the
Master whose hand could stud the
heavens with such brilliant glories.
Wen at last his eyes are softly
closed by the finger o the angel o
sleep an he floats from the shores o.
consciousness out onto the tranquil sea
O. Stun Der, his sleep is untroubled an
he rests as calmly as a babe upon its
mothers bosom.
Now, my friends. how does your
side o the picter show up? Some of
you look sort O. narvous an uncom-
Portable, jest as a calf looks wen it
sees a hot brandin' iron comm, an
you think I'd better not foller the
trail I'm on too fur Thank you, grand
ma. good OF Christian woman down
thar, with the calm o Heaven ON her
dear oil face ar the light o Gods love
il her eyes jest nodded to me, an
know her nod meant: Give it to 'em,
Bill, fur most of 'em deserve it
How many of you ar everyday
Christians? Wat l mean Is: How
many of you live right clost up to God
every day in the week? Hol' up yer
hands. Less'n a dozen! That's a
mighty poor shown O. fat stock in
SIGH big herd. ! know you are all
Sunday Christians; that wen in yer
grasps fur wealth an fur the pleasures
o life you run up agin Saturday night
you ask the devil to excuse you fur a
day, an spend Sunday a-kickin' the
rocks out o. the trail to Heaven that
you've allowed to roll in durln' the
week.
Wen some o. you go home to-day
you'll find a grand dinner ready fur
you do you ever think o eatin' cold
Sunday dinner an sllowin' yer cooks
TO spend an hour with God?-an' you'll
set down to that dinner, an the wom-
EMIL talk about how the other women
war dressed at church, an the men'll
talk about the business witch they feel
they've sighted by layin' of day,
an will one thought go lords God At