National Baptist world., 1894-11-16

1ast the little one, and see all the time
That he is getting weaker, and the
Dreath is shorter, and make outcrv to
God to help us, and to the doctors to
save him, and see it is of no avail. and
then to know that his spirit is gone.
and that you have nothing left but the
casket that held the Jewel, and
that in two or three DAYS
you must even put that away,
and walk around about the house
and find it desolate, sometimes feeling
rebellious, and then to resolve to feel
differently, and to resolve on self-con-
troll, and just as you have come to what
you think is perfect self-control, to
suddenly come upon some little coat or
picture, or shoe half worn out, and how
all the floods of the soul burst in one
wild wall of agony! Oh, my God, how
hard 1t is to part, to close the eyes that
never can look merry at our coming,
to kiss the hand that will never again
do US kindness. l know religion
gives great consolation in such an
hour, and we ought to be comforted:
but anyhow and anyway you make it,
! it is awful.
On steamboat wharf and at rail-car
window we may smile when we say
farewell; but these good-byes at the
death-bed, they just take hold of the
heart with iron pincers and tear out
by the roots until all the fbers culver
and curl and drop thick blood. These
separations are wine-presses in which
our hearts, like red clusters. are
thrown, and then trouble turns the
wlndlass round and round until we are
utterly crushed and no more capacity
to suffer, and we stop crying because
we have wept all our tears.
On every street. at everv doorstep. bv
every couch, there have been partings.
but once past the heavenly portals. and
you are through with such scenes for
ever In that land there are many
hand-claspings and embracings, but
only in recognition. That great home
circle never breaks. Once find your
comrades there. and you have them
forever. No Grape floats from the door
of that blissful residence. No cleft
hillside where the dead sleep. All
awake, wide awake, and forever. No
pushing out of emigrant ship for for
eign shore. No tolling of bell as the |
funeral passes. Whole generations of |
glory. Hand to hand, heart to heart.
JOY to joy. No creeping up the limbs
of the death chill, the feet cold until |
hot fannels cannot warm them. No
rattle of sepulchral gates. No parting. |
no pain.
Further, the Heavenly City will have
no pain of body. The race is pierced |
with sharp distresses. The surgeons |
knife must cut. The dentists pincers
must pull. Pain is fought with pain.
The world is a hospital. Scores of dis
eases like vultures contending for a
struggle as to which shall have
1t. Our natures are infinitely suscepti-
bic to suffering. The eye, the foot.
the hand, with immense capacity of
anguish.
The little child meets at the entrance
of life manifold diseases. You hear
the shrill cry of infancy as the lancet
strikes into the swollen gum. You see
It's head toss in consuming fevers that
take more than half of them into the
dust. Old age passes dizzy and weak
and short-breathed and dim-sighted.
On every northeast wind come down
oleurisies and pneumonias. War lifts
It's sword and hacks away whole gen
sratlons. The hospitals of the earth