The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1893-08-03

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That brawny muscle did not always
bunch your arm. You have not al
ways worn spectacles. Grave and
| dlgnlfied as you now are, you
once went coasting down the hill-
! side, or threw off your hat for the
race, or sent the ball flying high. But
youth will not always last. 1t stays
only long enough to give US exuberant
| spirits, and broad shoulders for burden
carrying, and an arm with which to
battle our way through difficulties
Life's path, if you follow it long
enough will come under frowning crag
and cross trembling causeway. Blessed
old age, if you let it come naturally.
You can not hide it. You may try to
cover the wrinkles, but you can not
| cover the wrinkles. If the time has
come for you to be old, be not ashamed
to be old. The grandest things in all
the universe are old. Old mountains,
old rivers, old seas and an old eternity.
Then do not be ashamed to be old, I'M
| less you are older than the mountains
and older than the stars.
How men and women will lie. They
say they are forty, but they are sixty.
They say they are twenty, but they
are thirty. They say they are sixty,
but they are eighty. How some peo-
pie will lie! Glorious old age, if found
in the way of righteousness! How
beautiful the old age of Jacob, leaning
on the top of his staff; of John Quincy
Adams, falling with the harness on; of
Washington Irving, sitting pen in
hand, amid the scenes himself had
made classical; of John Angel James,
to the last proclaming the Gospel to
the masses of birmingham; of Theo-
ness and emaciation, devoting his illus
trious faculties to the kingdom of
| God! Ateventide it was light!
See that you do honor to the aged.
A philosopher stood at the corner of
the street day after day, saying to the
| passers-by: you will be an old man;
you will be an old man" ''You will
be an old woman; you will be an old
woman" people thought he was
cay. l do not think that he was.
Smooth the way for that mothers feet
they have not many more steps to
| take. Steady those lettering limbs;
they will soon be at rest Plow not up
that face with any more wrinkles;
trouble and care have marked it full
enough. Thrust no thorn into that
old heart; it will soon cease to
beat. 1.-THE eye that mocketh
its father, and refused to
obey its mother, the ravens
| of the valley shall pick it out and the
young eagles shall eat it." The bright
morning and the hot monday of life
have passed with many. 1t is four
o'clock! five o'clock! six o'clock! The
shadows fall longer and thicker and
faster. Seven o'clock! eight o'clock
The sun has dipped below the horizon;
the warmth has gone out of the air.
Nine o'clock! ten o'clock! The heavy
dews are falling; the activities of life's
day are all hushed; it is time to go to
bed. Eleven o'clock! twelve o'clock!
The patriarch sleeps the blessed sleep,
the cool sleep, the long sleep. Heavens
messengers of light have kindled bon
fires of victory all over the heavens.
At eventime it is light! Light.
My text shall also find fulfillment in
the latter days of the church. Only a
few missionaries, few churches, a
few good men, compared with the in
situations leprous and putrefed.
1t is early yet in the history of every
thing good. Civilization and Chris
tianity are just getting out of the
cradle. The light of martyr-stakes,
flashing all up and down the sky, is
but the flaming of the morning; but
when the evening of the world shall
come, glory to Gods conquering truth,
it shall be light. Wars sword clang-
ing back in the scabbard; intemper-
ance, buried under ten thousand
broken decanters; the worlds impuri-
ty, turning its brow heavenward for
the benediction: blessed are the pure
in heart" the last vestige of selfish
ness submerged in misunderstanding
charities; all China worshiping DIR.
Abeels Saviour; all India believing in
Henry Martyrs Bible; aboriginal SUI
perstition acknowledging David Brain
erd's plety; human bondage delivered
through Thomas Clarkson's Chris
tlanity; vagrancy coming back from
its pollution at the call of Elizabeth
Fry's Redeemer; the mountains cam
ing down; the valleys going up; ''holi-
ness" inscribed on horses bell,
and silkworm's thread and brown
thrasher's wing, and shells tinge, and
manufacturers shuttle, and chemists
laboratory, and kings scepter, and ma
tons magma charta. Not hospital,
for there are no wounds; not an asylum,
for there are no orphans; not a prison,
for there are no criminals; not an
aims house, for there are no paupers:
not tear, for there are no sorrows.
The long dirge of earths lamentation
has ended in the triumphal march of
redeemed empires, the forests harping
1t on vine-strung branches, the
water chanting it among the gorges,
the thunders drumming it among
the hills, the ocean giving
it forth with its organs, trade
winds touching the keys and Eurocly-
don's foot on the pedal l want to see
John Howard when the last prisoner
is reformed; l want to see Florence
NIGHTINGALE yybap fba 1oe+ ..l.