The enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 188?-1899, 1893-06-07

and there are books on the evening
stand, and the hours pass away on glaa
feet. There is nothing wanting in that
home. Religion is there, and sacrifices
on the altar day and night. You look
in that household and say: 81 cannot
think of anything happier do not
really believe the world is so SAD
place as some people describe 1T to be.
The scene changes. Father Is SICK
The doors must be kept shut. Inc
death-watch chirps dolefully on the
hearth. The children whisper ana
walk softly where they once romped,
Passing through the house at nlght
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 vet. 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 come" 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 you will not
much longer have mother. She Will
sit with you no more 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
is weary. Death in the summer house!
Gather about us what we will OF
comfort and luxury, when the pale
messenger 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, bend
ing over your pillow, he does not stop
to see whether there is a color in the
cheek, or gentleness in the eye, or in.
telligence in the brow. But what OF
that? Must we stand forever mourn.
ing among the graves Of our deadP Mol
No! The people in Bengal bring cages
of birds to the graves OF their dead
and then they open the cages. and the
birds go singing heavenward. So
would bring to the graves of yonr dead
all bright thoughts and congratula'
tions, and bid them think of victory
and redemption. stamp on the bot
tom 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, ant
they were In the habit Of putting OF
weeds Of mourning for those who hat
gone on that voyage, as though they
were actually dead. Do you know
what they called those straitsP The!
called them the "Gate OF Tears" o,
stand to-day at the gate Of tear
through which many of your love'
ones have gone, and want to tell yo'
that all are not shipwrecked that hav'
gone through these straits into tn
great ocean stretching out beyond
The sound that comes from that othe
shore on still nights when we az
wrapped in prayer makes me thin
that the departed are not dead. We ar
the dead-we who TOLL we who weep
we who sin-we are the dead. How
my heart aches for human sorrow! thi
sound of breaking hearts that hea
all about mel this last look of face
that will never brighten again! thi
last kiss of lips that never will spea
again; this widowhood and orphanage
o, when will the day Of sorrow b
gone!
After the sharpest winter, the sprin
dism cunts from the shoulder Of south
ern gale and puts its warm hands upo
the earth, and in its palm there come
the grass, and there comes the flowers
and God reads over the poetry Of bird
and brook, and bloom, and pronounce
1t very good. What, my friends,
every winter had not its spring, an
every night its day, and every gloor
its glow, and every bitter now its swee
hereafterl II you have been on the sea
you know, as the ship passes in tn
night, there is phosp horescent trac
left behind IL, and as the waters ro
up, they toss with unimaginable spler
I dor. Well, across this great ocean c
, human trouble Jesus walks o, tina
In the phosphoresc ent track of His fee
we might all follow and be illuminet
There was gentleman in the raj
car who saw in that same car three pa
, sengers of very different circumstance
The first was a maniac. He was car'
fully guarded by his attendants; HI
mind, like ship dismasted, was bea
, ing against dark, desolate coast, fror
, which no help could come. The trai
stopped, and the man was taken out II
, TO the asylum, to waste away, perhaps
through years of gloom. The secon
| passenger was culprit. The ou
} ragged law had seized upon hin
| As the cars jolted, the chain
1 ratified. On his face were crime
. depravity and despair. The train haltet
3 and he was taken out TO the peniteI
D tiary, TO which he had been condemned
3 There was the third passenger, unde
8 far different circumstances. She wa
/. a bride. Every hour was gay as ma
b riage-bell Life glittered and beclsonec
4 Her companion was taking her to h