The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1894-03-21

flowers red enough to depict the caanage,
white enough to celebrate the victory. fra
grant enough to breathe the joy?
Those men OF whom just spoke dragged
their victims at the chariot wheels, but
Christ. our Lord, taxes those who once were
oaptives and invites them into His chariot to
ride, while He puts around them the arm OF
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"
| II this be true, cannot see how any man
can carry bis sorrows great while. II this
conqueror from Bozrah is going to beat back
all your griefs, why not trust Him? Oh, do
YOU not feel under this gospel your griefs
falling back and your tears drying up as you
hear the tramp of a thousand illustrious
promises led on by the conquerer from
Bozrah, ''traveling, travelling in the great
| ness OF His strength"
On that Friday which the Episcopal
church rightly celebrates. calling it Good
| Friday" your soul and mine were contended
for. On that day Jesus proved Himself
mightier than eu:th and hell, and when the
lances struck Him He gathered them up into
a sheaf as 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 perlshed, II
| we will only believe it.
There may be some one here who may say
| 'tI don't like the color Of this conqueror's
J garments. You tell me that His garments
| were not only spattered with the blood OF
| conflict. but also they were soaked; that
they were saturated that they were dyed IN
| it." Iadmit it. You say you do not like
| that. Then T quote you two passages OF
| Scripture: without the shedding of blood
| there is no remission" sin the blood is the
atonement." But it was not your blood. II
was His own. 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 side! It seems as If an artery must have
been cut.
There Is q fountain filed with blood
| Drawn from Immanuels veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that dood
Lose ell their guilty stains.
At2 o'clock tomorrow afternoon 80 among
| the places Of business or toll. 1t will be no
! difficult thing for you to find men who by
| their looks show you that they are over.
worked. They are prematurely old. They
are fastening rapidly toward their decease.
| They have gone through crises in business
| that shattered their nervous system and
pulled on the brain. They have shortness
| Of breath, and pain in the back OF the head,
and at night an insomnia that alarms them.
Why are they drudging at business early and
late! For fun2 No 1t would be difficult to
extract any amusement out Of that exhaus-
ton. Because they are avaricious? In many
cases, no. Because their own personal ex.
penses are lavish? No !; a few hundred dollars
would meet all their wants.
The simple fact Is the man is enduring oil
that fatigue and exasperation and wear and
tear to keep his home prosperous. There Is
an invisible line reaching from that store,
from that bank. from that shop, from that
scaffolding, to quiet scene few blocks,
few miles away, and there Is the secret OF
that business endurance. He is simply the
champion Of homestead, for which he wins
bread and wardrobe and education and pros
perity, and in such battle 10, 900 mon fall. OF
ten business men whom bury nine die Of
overwork for others. Some sudden disease
finds them with no power OF resistance, and
they are gone. Life for life. Blood for blood.
Substitution
At o'clock tomorrow morning, the hour
when slumber is most uninterrupted and
most profound, walk amid the dwelling
houses of the city. Here and there you will
find dim light, because 1t is the household
custom to keep subdued light burning, but
most OF the houses from base to top are as
dark as though uninhabited. A merciful
God has sent forth the archangel OF sleep,
and he puts his wings over the city. But
yonder Is clear light burning, and outside
on the window easement a glass or pitcher
containing food for a sick child-the food 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 drop too much or too little, or
moment too soon or too late. She is very
anxious, for she has buried three children
with the same disease, and she prays and
kiss on 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. Brain or nervous fever sets in, and
one day she leaves the convalescent child
with mothers blessing and goes up to join
the three in the kingdom OF heaven. Life
for life. Substitution! The fact is that
there are an uncounted number OF mothers
who, after they have navigated large
family. of children through all the diseases
Of infancy and got them fairly started up the
Towering slope OF boyhood and girlhood,
have only strength enough left to die. They
fade away. Some call it consumption some
call it nervous prostration ;some call 1t inter-
mittent or malarial disposition. but call It
martyrdom Of the domestic circle. Life for
life. Blood for blood. Substitution!
Or perhaps the mother fingers long
enough to see son get on the wrong road,
and his former kindness becomes rough re-
ply when she expresses anxiety about him.
But she goes right on, looking carefully after
his apparel, remembering his every birthday
with some memento, and when he is brought
home, worn out with dissipation, nurses him
till he gets well and starts him again and
hopes and expects and prays and counsels
and suffers until her strength gives out and
she falls. She is going, and attendants bend
ing over her pillow ask her If she has any
message to leave, and she makes great effort
| to say something, but OUT of three or four
! minutes ofindistinct utterance they can catch
but three words, MY poor boy!" The simple
| fact is she died for him. Life for life. Sub.
stitution.
| About thirty-three years ago there went
| forth from our homes hundreds OF thousands
| of men 20 do battle for their country. All
| the poetry OF war soon vanished and left
| them nothing but the terrible prose. They
waded knee deep in mud. They slept In
snowbanks. They marchedt till their cut feet
tracked the earth. They were swindled out
Of their honest rations and lived on meat not
| fit fora dog. They had jaws all fractured,
| and eyes eXtinguished, and limbs shot away.
Thousands OF them cried for water as they
, lay dying on the field the night after the
battle and got it not. They were homesick
and received no message from their loved
ones. They died in barns. in bushes. In
bitches, the buzzards OF the summer heat tho
only attendants on their obsequies.
No one but the infinite God, who knows
everything. knows the ten thousandth part
of the length and breadth and depth and
height OF anguish Of the northern and south
ern battlehelds. Why did these fathers
leave their children and go to the front, and
why did these young men. posrponing the