The Indiana State sentinel., 1893-08-09


propriate to the season, the text being
Psalm xxx, 3-''While 1 was musing
the fire burned"
Here is David. the psalmist, with the
forefnger Of his right hand against his
temple. the door shut against the world,
engaged in contemplation. And it would
be well for us to take the same posture
often. closing the door against the
world. while we sit in sweet solitude to
contemplate.
In small island off the coast once
passed a Sabbath in delightful solitude,
for I had resolved that I would have
one day Of entire quiet before 1 entered
upon autumnal work. 1 thought to have
spent the day in laying out plans for
Christian work, but instead of that il
became a day of tender reminiscence.
1 reviewed my pastorate. I shook hands
with an old departed friend, whom I
shall greet again when the curtains Of
life are lifted. The days of my boy
hood came back. and 1 was ten years
of age, and I was eight, and 1 was five.
There was but one house on the island,
and yet from Sabbath daybreak, when
the bird chant woke me, until the even
ing melted into the bay, from shore to
shore. there were ten thousand me-
mories. and the groves were album with
voices that had long ago ceased.
AnticipntiOns of Youth.
Youth is apt too much to spend all its
time in looking forward Old age is apt
too much to spend all of its time in
looking backward. People in midlife
and on the apex look both ways. It
would be well for US, think. however
90 spend more time in reminiscence. By
the constitution of our nature we spend
most Of the time looking forward. And
the vast majority of the people live not
so much in the present as in the future.
/ find that you mean to make reputa-
tiOn, you mean to establish yourself
and the advantages that you expect to
achieve absorb a great deal of your
time. But I see no harm in this if it
does not make you discontented with
the present or disqualify you for exist
ing duties.
1t is a useful thing sometimes to look
back and see the dangers we have es-
capped, and to see the sorrows we have
suffered. and the trials and wanderings
of our earthly pilgrimage. and TO sum
i
far as God may help me, TO stir up your
memory Of the past so that in the re-
view you may be encouraged and hum
bled and urged to pray.
There is a chapel in Florence with a
fresco by Guido. 1t was covered up
with two inches Of stucco until our
American and European artists went
there and after long toll removed the
covering and retraced the frescO. And
1 am aware that the memory Of the past
with many of you is covered up with
ten thousand obliterations, and I pro-
pose this morning. so far as the Lord
may help me, to take away the covering
that the old picture may shine out
again.
1 want to bind in one sheaf all your
past advantages. and I want to bind in
another sheaf all your past adversities.
It is a precious harvest, and 1 must be
cautious how I swing the scythe.
Home Influences.
Among the great advantages of your
past life was an early home and its sur
roundings. The bad man Of the day.
for the most part. dip their heated pas
sions out of the boiling spring Of an un-
happy home. We are not surprised that
Byron's heart was a concentration Of
sin when we hear his mother was aban-
doned. and that she made sporO Of his
infirmity and often called him "the
lame brat" He who has vicious parents
has to fight every inch Of his way if he
would maintain his integrity and at last
reach the home Of the good in heaven.
Perhaps your early home was in the
city It may have been in the days
when Canal-st., New York, was far UP
town. That old house in the city may
have been demolished or changed into
stores, and it seemed like sacrilege to
you. for there was more meaning in
that plain house, in that small house,
than there is in a granite mansion or
turreted cathedral. Looking back this
morning, you see it as though it were
yesterday-the sitting room. where the
loved ones sat by the plain lamplight,
the mother at the evening stand, the
brothers and sisters-perhaps long ago
gathered into the skies-then plotting
mischief on the floor or under the table;
your father, with firm voice, command
ing silence that lasted half a minute.
Oh, those were good days! If you had
your foot hurt, your mother always had
a soothing salve to heal it, If you were
NTOukeQ IN the street, your ldlltE Was
always ready TO protect you. The year
was one round Of frolic and mirth.
Your greatest trouble was an April
shower, more sunshine than shower. The
heart had not been ransacked by trOub-
les nor had sickness broken in, and no
lamb had a warmer sheepfOld than the
home in which your childhood nestled.
Perhaps you were brought up in the
country. You stand now today in men,
Ory under the old tree. You dubbed il
for fruit that was not quite ripe, be-
cause you could not wait any longer.
You hear the brook rumbling along the
pebbles. You step again into the fur
row where your father in his shirt
sleeves shouted TO the lazy oxen. You
frighten the swallows from the rafters
of the barn and take just one egg and
silence your conscience by saying they
win not miss 1t. You take drink again
out Of the very bucket that the old well
fetched up. You go for the cows "a
night and find them wagging their
heads through the bars. Outlines in the
dusty and busy streets you wish you
were home again on that cool grass or
in the hall Of the farm house through
which there was the breath of new
mown hay or the blossom Of buckwheat
You may have in your windows now
beautiful plants and flowers brought
them stirs in your soul so much charm
and memory the old ivy and the vel
low sunfOwer that stood sentinel along
the garden walk and the forgetmenots
playing hide and seek mid the long grass
The father who used to come in sun
burned from the fields and sit down on
the dOOrsifi and wipe the sweat from his