The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1893-09-07


from them. You will see that vacant
chair, Your eye will catch at the sug-
gestive picture. :,
Won cannot fly the presence of such
ills. You go to Switzerland to get clear
Of them: but, moro sure footed than the
mule that takes you up the Alps, your
troubles climb to the tiptop and sit shiv-
ering on the glaciers. You may cross
the seas. but they ran outsail the swift
est steamer, You may take caravan and
nut out across the Arabian desert, but
they follow you Ike simeon, armed
with suffooation. You plunge into the
Mammoth cave, but taey hang like sta
lactites from the rosf or the great cav
EN-. They stand behind with skeleton
fingers to push yoe ahead. They stand
before you to throw you back. They
run upon you like reckless horsemen.
They charge upon you with cleaning
spear. They seem to come haphazard.
scattering shots from the gun Of care
less sportsman. But not SO. 1t is good
aim that sends thrm just right. for God
is the archer.
This summer many Of you will espe-
cially feel your grief as you go to places
where once you were accompanied by
those who are gone now. Your trou-
bles will follow you to the seashore and
will keep up with the lightning express
in which you speed away. Or, tarrying
at home, they will sit beside you by
day and whisper over your pillow night
after night. / want to assure you that
you are not left alone and that your
weeping is heard in heaven.
You will wander among the hills and
say, 'sUp this hill last year, our boy
climbed with great. glee and waved his
cap from the top" or "This is the place
where our little girl put flowers in her
hair and looked up in her mothers
face" until every drop of blood in your
heart tingled with gladness, and you
thanked God with thrill of rapture
and you look around as much as to say:
.sWho dashed out that light? Who filed
this cup with gall! What blast froze mp
these fountains of the hearth
Some of you have lost your parents
within the last 10 months. Their prayers
for you are ended You take up their
picture and try to call back the kind
ness that once looked out from those
old, wrinkled faces and spoke in such a
tremulous voice, and you say it is s good
picture, but all the while you feel that,
after all, it does not do justice, and you
would give almost anything-you would
cross the sea; you would walk the earth
over-to hear just one word from those
lips that few months ago used to call
you by your first name, though so long
you yourself have been parent.
Now, you have done your best to hide
your grief. You smile when You do not
feel like it. But though you may de-
ceive the world, God knows. He looks
down upon the empty cradle, upon the
desolated nursery, upon the stricken
home and upon the broken heart, and
says: "This is the way | thrash the
wheat; this is the way scour my jew
elsl Cast thy burden on my arm, and /
will sustain you.s All those tears have
gathered into my bottleT'
USES OF cons LACHRYMAToRy.
But what is the use of having SO many
tears in Gods lachrymatory? In that
great casket or vase, why does God pre-
serve all your troubles? Through all
the ages Of eternity, what use Of a great
collection of tears! do not know that
they will be kept there forever. I do
not know but that in some distant age
of heaven an angel of God may look
into the bottle and find it as empty Of
tears as the lachrymals of earthenware
dug up from the ancient city. Where
have the tears gone? What sprite OF
hell hath been invading Gods palace
and hath robbed the lachrymatories9
None. These were sanctifed sorrows,
and those tears were changed into pearls
that are now set in the crowns and
robes of the ransomed.
walk up to examine this heavenly
coronet, cleaning brighter than the sun.
and cry, "Fron what river depths of
heaven were those gems gatheredY' and
thousand voices reply, "These are
transmitted tears from Gods bottle" !
see scepte-s of light stretched down from
the throne of those who on earth were
trod on Of men, and in every scepter
point and inlaid in every ivory stair If
golden throne I'behold an indescribabls
richness and luster and cry, "Fron
whence this streaming ight-these fash
ing pearls?" and the voices of the elders
before the throne, and Of the martyrs
under the altar, and of the hundred and
forty and four Thousand radiant on the
CLASSY sea exclaim, Transmitted tears
from Gods bottle"
Let the ages Of heaven roll on-the
story of earth's pomp and pride lonA
ago ended; the kohinoor diamonds that
make kings proud, the precious stones
that adorned Persian tiara and famed
in the robes 81 Babylonian processions
forgotten; the Golconda mines, charred
In the last confagration, but firm as the
everlasting hills and pure as the hight
that streams from the throne, and bright
as the river that flows from the eternal
rock, shall gleam, shall sparkle, shall
flame forever these transmitted tears Of
Gods bottle.
Meanwhile let the empty lachryma-
tory of heaven stand for ever. Let no
4 81 80 ,xvi,,o otr -