The Canton times. (Canton, Miss.) 1893-1906, 1894-09-21

Out of Jesus Christ not rest. No voice
to silence the storm. No light to
kindle the darkness. No dry dock to
repair the split bulwark.
Thank God, can tell you something
better. If there is no rest on earth,
there is rest in Heaven. Oh, We who
are worn out with work, your hands
calloused, your backs bent, your eyes
half put out, your fingers worn with
the needle that in this world you may
never lay down; We discouraged ones,
who have been waging hand-to-hand
fight for bread; We to whom the night
brings little rest and the morning
more drudgery-oh, we of the weary
hand, and of the weary side, and the
weary foot, hear me talk about rest!
Look at that company of enthroned
ones. Look at their hands; look at
their feet; look at their eyes. 1t can
not be that those bright ones ever
toiled? Yes! yes These packed
Chinese tea boxes, and through mis-
sionary instruction escaped into glory.
These sweltered on southern planta.
tions, and one night, after the cotton
picking, went up as white as if they
had never been black. Those died o.
overtoi1 in the Lowell carpet
factories, and these in Manchester
mills; those helped build the pyramids.
and those broke away from work on
the day Christ was bounded out OF
Jerusalem No more towers to build;
Heaven is done. No more garments to
weave; the robes are finished No
more harvests to raise; the gamers are
full Oh, sons and daughters of TOLL
arise We and depart, for that is your
rest.
Scovill McCallum, a boy of my Sum
day school, while dying, said to his
mother: "Dont't cry, but sing-sing
There is rest for the weary, t@f
There is rest for the weary"
then, putting his wasted hands over his
heart. said: There is rest for me-"
But there are some of you who want
to hear about the land where they
never have any heartbreaks and no
graves are dug. Where are your father
and mother? The most of you are
orphans. I look around, and where I
see one man who has parents living
see ten who are orphans. Where
are your children? Where see
one family circle that is un-
broken / see three or four that
have been desolated. One lamb gone
out of it's fold; one flower plucked from
that garland; one golden link broke
from that chain; here a bright light
put out, and there another, and yonder
another. With such griefs, how are
you to rest? Will there ever be
power that can attune that silent voice,
or kindle the luster of that closed eye,
or put spring and dance into the little
foot? When we bank up the dust
over the dead, is the sod never
to be broken? Is the cemetery to
hear no sound but the tire of the
hearse wheel, or the tap of the bell at
the gate as the long procession comes
in with their awful burdens of grief.
Is the bottom of the grave gravel, and
the top dust? No! no! no! The tomb
is only a place where we wrap our
robes about us for a pleasant nap on
our way home. The swellings of Jor-
dan will wash off the dust of the way.
From the lop of the grave we catch a
glimpse of the towers glinted with the
sun that never sets.
Oh, we whose locks are wet with the
dews of the night of grief; We whose
hearts are heavy because those we'll
known footsteps sound no more at the
doorway, yonder is your rest! There
is David triumphant; but once he be-
moaned Absalom. There is Abra-
ham enthroned; but once he wept
for Sarah. There is Paul ex-
ultant; but once he sat with his
feet in the stocks. There is
Payson radiant with immortal health;
but on earth he was always sick. No
toll, no tears, no partings, no strife, no
agonizing cough tonight. No storm
to rufie the crystal sea. No alarm TO
strike from the cathedral towers. No
dirge throbbing from seraphic harps.
No tremor in the everlasting song; but
rest-perfect rest-unending rest.
Into that rest how many Of our loved
ones have gone! The little children
have been gathered up into the bosom
of Christ. One of them went out of
the arms of widowed mother, follow
ing its father. who died few weeks
before. In this last moment it seemed
to see the departed father, for it said,
looking upward with frightened coun-
tenance: Papa, take me upr'
Others put down the work of mid.
life feeling they could hardly be
spared from the office or store, or shop,
for day, but are to be spared from
it forever. Your mother went.
Having lived a life of Christian
consistency here, ever busy with kind.
ness for her children, her heart full of