The Globe-republican., 1894-08-31
brooks weep in sympathy - the pro.


al. In great cities the cart jostles tn,
hearse. and there is mirth, and glad
ness. and Indifference as the weeping
procession goes by. In this city O
Main. 1t was common thing to havt
trouble and bereavement and death
Christ saw it every day there Perhaps
ti-at very hour there were others beina
carried out: but this frequency o.
trouble didn't harden Christ's heart a
all. He stepped right out. and He saw
this mourner. and He had compassion
on her and He said: Weep not"
/ Now. l have to tell you. o bruised
souls. and there are many everywhere
(have you ever looked over any grea,
audience and noticed how many shad
ows of sorrows there are3 leone tc
all such and say: ''Christ meets you
and He has compassion on you, and he
says: Weep not" Perhaps with
some it is financial trouble. ''Oh." You
say, lit is such silly thing for man
to cry over lost money" Is it? Sup
pose you had large fortune, and all
luxuries brought to your table, and
your wardrobe was full. and your
home was beautified by music and
sculpture and painting and thronged
by the elegant and educated, and then
some rough misfortune should strike
you in the face and trample your treas
ures, and taunt you children for their
faded dress, and send you into COM
mercial circles an underling where
once you waved a scepter of gold, do
you think you would cry then? 1
think you would. But Christ comes
and meets all such to-day. He sees all
the straits in which you have been
thrust. He observes the sneer of that
man who once was proud to walk in
your shadow and glad to get your help.
He sees the protested note. the uncan-
celed judgment, the foreclosed mort
gage, the heart-breaking evaporation,
and He says: Weep not. own the
cattle on thousand hills. Twill never
let you starve. From my hand the
fowls of heaven peck all their food.
And will I1et you starve? Never-no,
my child. never
Or perhaps this tramp at the gate of
Main has an echo in your own bereft
spirit. You went out to the grave, and
you felt you never could come back
again. You left your heart there.
The white snow of death covered all
the garden. You listen for the speak
ing of voices that will never be heard
again, and the sounding of feet that
will never move in your dwelling again,
and there is heavy, leaden pressure
Iae Al
light of your eyes, and the heavy spirit
that that woman carried out of the
gate of Main is no heavier than yours.
And you open the door, but he comes
not in. And you enter the nursery,
but she is not there. And you
sit at the table. but there is a vacant
chair next to you. And the sun does
not shine as brightly as it used to, and
the voices of affection do not strike
you with so quick thrill, and your
cheek has not SO healthy hue, and
your eye has not so deep fire. Do I
not know? Do we not all know? There
is an uplifted woe on your heart. You
have been out carrying your loved one
beyond the gate of the city of Main.
But look yonder. Some one stands
He seems waiting for you.
AS you come up He stretches out His
hand of help. His voice is full of ten
derness. yet thrills with eternal
strength. Who is it? The very one
who accosted the mourner at the gate
of Main. and He says: sweep not"
Perhaps it is worse grief than that.
It may be living home trouble that
you cannot speak about to your best
friend. 1t may be some domestic un.
happiness 1t may be an evil suspi-
cion. 1t may be the disgrace follow
ing in the footsteps of son that is /
or companion who is cruel, /
Or father that will not do right; and 4
for years there may have been a vul-
ture striking its beak into the vitals of
your soul, and you sit there to-day feel
ng it is worse than death. 1t is. It is
worse than death. And yet there is
'elief. Though the night may be the
blacklist. though the voices of hell may
ell you to curse God and die, look up
Ind hear the voice that accosted the
of the text as it says: weep
lot"
E3rtQ natQ no SORROW
That Heaven cannot heal.
learn, again. from all this that
'hrist is the master of the grave. Just
ntside the gate of the city, Death and
'hrist measured lances: and when tho
Dung man rose. Death dropped. Now,
re are sure of our resurrection. Oh.
'hat a scene it was when that young
IAN came back. The mother never
xpected to hear him speak again. She
ever thought that he would kiss her
gain. How the tears started, and
ow her heart throbbed. as she said:
Oh. my son. my son. my son!" And
hat scene is going to be repeated.
is going to be repeated ten thous-
nd times. These broken family cir.
les have got to come together. These
household lights have got ,
, be rekindled. There will be a stir
l the family lot in the cemetery. and ,
here will be rush of life at the COM
land: Young man. say unto thee,
rise!' As the child shakes of the
- - l.