The enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 188?-1899, 1894-08-29

Went up as Wn1te as II they had never
been black. Those died of over toll in
the Lowell carpet factories, and these
In Manchester mills; those helped build
the pyramids, and these 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 garners are full. 0, sons and
daughters of toll, arise ye and depart,
for that is your rest.
Scovill M'Callum, boy of my Sunday
school, while dying, said to his mother:
Don't cry, but sing, sing,
There IS rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary.
Then, putting lis 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 arc your father
and mother? The most of You are
orphans. look around, and where /
see one man who has parents living, /
see ten who are orphans. Where are
your children? Where / see one fam
lily circle that is unbroken, see three
or four that have been desolated. One
lamb gone out of this fold; one flower
plucked from that garland; one golden
link broken from that chain; here
bright light put out, and there an
other, and yonder another. With
such griefs, how are you to rest? Will
there ever be a power that can attune
that silent voice, or kindle the luster of
that closed eye, or put spring and dance
into that 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 professions come in with
their awful burden of grief? Is the
bottom Of the grave gravel and the top
dust? Mol no! no! The tomb is only
place where we wrap our robes around
us for pleasant nap on our way home.
The swellings of Jordan will only wash
off the dust of the way. From the top
of the grave we catch glimpse of the
towers glinted with the sun that never
sets.
0, ye whose locks are wet with the
dews of the night Of grief; ye 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 Abraham
enthroned; but once he wept for Sarah.
There is Paul exultant; but he once 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
ngonizing cough tonight. No storm
to rufile 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-unendipg 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, following
its father who died few weeks before.
In its last moments it seemed to see
the departed father, for it said, look
ing upward with frightened counten-
nance: Papa, take me up"
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 kindness for her children,
her heart full Of that meek and quiet
spirit that is in the sight of God great
price, suddenly her countenance was
translgured, and the gate was opened.
and she took her place amid that great
cloud of witnesses that hover about the
throne.
Glorious consolation! They are not
dead. You cannot make me believe
that they are dead. They have only
moved on. With more love than that
with which they greeted us on earth,
they watch us from their high place
and their voices cheer us in our strug-
gle for the sky. Hail, spirits blessed,
now that We have passed the flood and
won the crown! With weary feet we
press up the shining way, until in ever
lasting reunion we shall meet again.
Oh! won't it be grand when, our con-
aicts done and our partings over, we
shall clasp hands and cry out: "This is