The weekly intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1891-1901, 1894-03-10

now, in the closing hours OF our life,
or in some terrible pass of life, Jesus
will help us. He has done it already.
He did it 1861 years ago. You might
as well talk of Washington as though
he were going to achieve IL national
independence in 1850 as to speak of
Christ as though He were going to
achieve our salvation in the future.
He did it in the year of our Lord SO,
1851 years ago., on the field of Bazrah,
the Captain of our salvation fighting
unto death for your and my ~emaucipa-
ton. All we nave to do is to accept
that fact in our heart of hearts, and
we are free for this world and we are
free for the world to come. But, lest
we might not accept, Christ comes
through here to-day, travelling in the
greatness of His strength" not to tell
you hat He is going to fight for you
some battle in the future, but to tell
you that the battle is already fought,
and the victory already Won.
You know that when Augustus, and
Constantine, and Trajan, and Titus
came back from the wars what n time
there was. You kuow they came on
horseback or in chariots, and there
were trophies before and there We're
people shouting on all sides, and there
were garlands flung from the win
dow. and over the highway a triumph
al arch was sprung. The solid ma
sonry to-day at B~eneventum, Rimini
and Rome still tell their admiration
for those heroes. And shall we let our
Conqueror go without lifting any ac-
claim? Have we not flowers red
enough to depict the carnage, white
enough to celebrate the victory, fra
grant enough to breathe the joy?
Those men Of whom l just spoke
dragged their victims at the chariot
wheels; but Christ, our Lord, takes
those who C were captives and in
vites them into His chariot to ride,
while He puts around them the arm of
His strength, saying: 81 have loved
thee with an everlasting love, and the
waters shall not drown it, and the fires
shall not burn it, and eternity shall
not exhaust it."
man can carry his sorrows n great
while. If this Conqueror from Bozrah
is going to beat back all your griefs,
why not trust ftlmP
On that Friday which the Episcopal
church rightly celebrates, calling it
Good Friday" your soul and mine
were commended for. On that day
Jesus proved himself mightier than
earth and hell; and when the lances
struck Him, he gathered them up into
a sheaf, II a reaper gathers the grain,
and He stacked them. Mounting the
horse of the Apocalypse, He rode down
through the ages, travelling in the
greatness Of His strength" On that
day your sin and mine persisted. if we
will only believe it.
There may be some one here who may
say: 81 don't like the color of this Con-
queror's garments. You tell me that
His garments were not only spattered
with blood of conflict, but also that
they were soaked, that they were sat
urated, that they were dyed in it." l
admit it. You say you do not like that.
Then l quote to you two passages of
Scripture: "Without the shedding of
blood there is no remission" in the
blood is the atonement" But it was
not your blood. 1t was His wi Not
only enough to redden His garments
and to redden His horse. but enough
to wash away the sins of the world.
Oh, the blood on His brow, the blood
on His hands. the blood on His feet,
the blood on His sidel 1t seems as il
IN artery must have been cut.
There is q fountain filled blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains
At 1 o'clock tomorrow morning, the
hour when slumber is most uninterrupt-
| ed and most profound, walk amid the
dwelling houses Of the city. Here and
there you will find a dim light, because
it is the household custom to keep a
subdued light burning; but most OF the
houses from base to top are as dark as
though u~ninhabited. A merciful God
has sent forth the archangel of sleep,
and he puts his wings over the city.
But yonder is n clear light burning, and
outside on the window easement q
glass or pitcher containing food for a
sick child; the food Is set in the fresh air.
This is the sixth night that mother
has sat up with that sufferer. She has
to the last point obeyed the physicians
prescription, not giving q drop too
much or toe little, or q moment toe
soon or too late. She is very anxious.
for she has buried three children with
the same disease, and she prays and
weeps, each prayer and sob ending with
q kiss Of the pale cheek. BY dint OF
kindness she gets the little one through
the ordeal. After it is all over. the
mother is taken down. Brair
and nervous fever sets in, and
one day she leaves the conva.
lescent child with a mother
blessing and goes up to join the
three in the kingdom Of Heaven. Lift
for life. Substitution The fact is tina
there are an amounted number O
mothers who. after they have navi
gated a largo family of children
through all the diseases of infancy, and
got them fairly started up tho flower
ing slope OF boyhood and girlhood
nave only strength enough left to die
They fade away. Some call II con
sumption; some call 1t nervous prostra'
ton; some call II intermittent or mala-
rial disposition; butt call 1t martyrdon
of the domestic circle. Life for life
Blood for blood. Substit utionl
Or perhaps the mother fingers long
enough to see a son get on the wrong
road and his former kindness become,
rough reply when she expresses a~nxiet,
about him. But she goes right on
looking carefully after his apparel, re
Wondering his every birthday witt
some memento. and when he is brough
homo worn out with dissipation. nurses
him till he gets we'll and starts hin
again, and hopes, and expects, ant
prays, and counsels, and suffers, unit
her strength gives out and she fails
She is going, and attendants. bending
over her pillow, asks her IL she has any
message to leave, and she makes grea'
effort to say something. but out o
three or four minutes of indistinct ut
terance they can catch but three words
"My poor boy!" The simple fact is sh,
died for him. Life for life. Substitu
ton!
About thirty-four year ago Their,
went forth from our homes hundreds o
thousands of men to do battle for thei
country. All the poetry Of battle soor
vanished and left them nothing but tn,
terrible prose. They wadsd knee-deel
in mud. They slept in snow banks
They marched till their cut feet tracke,
h earth. They were swlndled out o
their honest rations, and lived on mea