The Penn's Grove record., 1893-06-09
lumber 46.

AaFhN 'sAaHJ 'NA " WI AAAV N'H asalFI II IFlAIn
and all our surroundings are agreeable how
difficult it is for us to appreciate the truth
that we are mortal And yet my text teaches
that death does sometimes come to the sum
mer house.
He is bin and cannot see the leaves. Ho
Is deaf and cannot hear ths fountains. Oh.
II death would ask us for victims, we ccaG;
point him to hundreds OF people who would
reJoIee to nave him come. Push back the
door Of that hoTel. Look at that little child
cold and sick an hungry. 1t has never
heard tho name OF God but in blasphemv.
Parents intoxicated staggering around its
straw bed. On, death, there is a marx for
thee! Up with it into the Light Before
tnese little feet stumble oniie's pathway give
them rest.
Here is an agel man. He has donc his
work. He has done it gloriously. The con-
p~anions Of his youth are all gone, his chill
dren dead. He longs to be at rest. and
YEARLY the days and the nights pass. Ha
says, Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly"
Oh. death, there is n marx for thee TAKE
from him the stafr and give him the sepptrei
Up with him into the light where eyes never
grow lin, and the mar WAitGns not through
the long years of eternity. An. death will
not do that. Death turns blak from the
straw bed and from thn aged man ready Tor
the skies and cones to the summer house.
What doest thoa here. thou bony, ghastiy
monster, amid this waving grass and under
this sunlight sitting through the tree
branches? Children are at play. How quickly
their feet go and their locks toss in the wind
Father and mother stand at the side oil the
room looking On. enjoying their gIee. 1t
does not seem possible that the wolf should
ever break into that fold and carry of a
lamb. Meanwhile an old archer stands look
ing through thethicket. lie points his arrow
at the brightest of the ~grOup--he is a sure
marksman-the bow bends, the arrow speeds!
Hush, now! The quick feet have stopped,
and the locks toss no more in the WI
Laughter has gone out OF the hail. Death
in the summer house!
Here is a father in midlife. His coming
home at night is the signal for mirth. The
children rush to the door. anlthere are books
on the evening stand. and the hours pass
away on glad feet. There is nothing want
ing in that home, Religion is there and
sacrifices on the altar morning and night.
You look in that household and say 81 can
not think of anything happier. I do not
really believe the world is 50 sad a place As
some people describe IT to be- The scene
changes. Father is sick. The doors must
be kept shut. Tho deathwatch chtrDs dole
fully on the hearth. The children whisper
and walk softly where once they romped.
Passing the house late at night, you see the
quick g~lancing OF lights from room to room.
1t is all over. Death in the Summer house.
Here is an aged mother aged. but not in
llTIu. lou IniIlk you Will nave the Joy oil car
ing for her wants q good while vet. As She
goes ron mouse TO house. to children and
grandchildren. her coming is a dropping of
sunlight in the dwelling. Your children see
her coming through the lane. and they cry.
"Grandmother's comer Care for you has
marked up her face with many a deep
wrinkle, and her back stoops with car
rying your burdens. Some days 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 longer at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes ont so gently you do
not exactly know the moment OF lis going.
Fold the hands that have done o many kind
nesses for you right over the heart that has
beat with love for 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 cOmfor
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 pictIres We have
gathered on the wall. or bending over your
pillow he does not stop to see whether there
is a color in the cheek, or gcntleness in the
eye, or intelligence in the brow. But what
of that? Must we stand for ever mourning
among the graves of our dead, No! 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 hegvenwhrd.
So | would bring to the graves Of your dead
all bright thoughts and congratulations and
bid them think of victory and redemption. l
stamp on the bottom of the grave. and it
breaks through into the light and glory OF
heaven
The ancients used TO think that the straits
entering the Red sea were very dangerous
places, as they supposed that every ship that
went through those straits would be de-
stroyed, and they were in the habit of put.
ting on weeds of mourning for those who
had gone on that voyage. as though they
were actually dead. Doyou know what they
called those straits? They call them the
''Gate of Tears On, / stand to-day at the
gate Of tears through which many o, your
loved ones have gone. and | want to tell You
that all are not shipwrecked that have gone
through those straits into the great ocean
stretching ont beyond.
The sound that comes from tnat other
shore on Still nights when we are wrapped
in prayer makes me think that the departed
are not dead. We art the dead-Ee who
.oil, We who weep, we who sin-wc are the
dead. How my heart aches for human s1r-
rowl This sound OF breaking hearts that I
hear all about me! This last look of faces
that will never brighten again! This last
kiss of lips that never will speak again
This widowhood and orphanage. Oh, when
will the day of sorrow he gone?
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from Iut SnouitltE 81 Il southern Etit
and puts its warm hand upon the earth. and
in its palm there comes the grass. and there
come the flowers, End God reads over the
poetry of bird and brook and bloom and
%pronounees it very good. What. my friends.
il every winter had not its sprinc. and every
night its day, and every gloom its glow, and
every bitter now its sweet hereafter! II you
have been on the sea, you know, as the ship
passes in the night, there is apbospnorescent
track left behind il, and as the waters roll up
they toss with unimaginable ~splenior. Well,
across this great ocean of human trouble
Jesus walks. On, thatln the hoSph0reseelt
track of His feet we might all follow and be
illuminedi
There was a gentleman in the raj ear who
saw In that same ear three pass myers OF
very different circumstances. The first was
a maniac. He was carefully Cugr,jel by ms
attendants his mind, like a snip ilsnastei.
wa beating against n dar6, 0~Fsollte coast.
from which no help could come. lac tram
stopDsd, and the man was taken out into tho
asylum to waste away perhaps through yelrs
Of gloom, The second passenger was q
eulprit. The outraged law had seized on hun.
As the cars joltel the chains ratified. on his
| face were crime, depravity and despair. Inc
train halted, and he was taken out to the
penitentiary, to which he had been con
demned. There was the third passenger I'M
der far different circumstances She was a
bride. Every hour was gay as n marriage
bell, Life glittered and b~eckoned. hercoiu-
panion was taking her to his father house.
| The train halted. The old man was there to
| welcome her to her new home, and his white
looks showed down upon her as he sealed hi
word wlth n fathers kiss.
Quickly we fly toward eternity. We Will
soon be there. Some leave thus lie CON
demned culprits. They refused a pardon
they carry their chains. oh, may it be with
us that, leaving this fieeting life for the next,
we may find our Father ready to greet us TO
our new home with Him forever That VIII
be a marriage banquet, Fathers welcome!
Fathers bosom Fathers kiss! HeaveAi
HeayenI