Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1894-01-19

shipwreck on the wardrobe. And that
mother who sits at the window watch
ing for vain-glorious triumph of milli-
merry and fine colors, and domestic
geantry, will after a while hear as
Dad news from her children out in the
battle of life, as Sisera's mother heard
from the struggle at Esdrelon.
But If you still press the question
where's mother?" / will tell you
where she is not, though once she was
there. Some of you started with her
likeness in your face and her principles
in your soul But you have cast her
out. That was an awful thing for you
to do, but you have done it, That
hard, grinding, dlssipated look you
never got from her. If you had seen
any one strike her you would have
struck him down without much care
whether the blow was just sufficient
or fatal, but, my boy, you.have struck
her down-struclS her inn ocence from
your face and struck her principles
from your soul. You struck her down.
The tent-pin that Jael drove three
times into the skull of Sisera was not
so cruel as the stab you have made
more than three times through your
mothers heart But she is waiting
yet, for mothers are slow to give up
their boys-waiting at some window,i it
may be window on earth or at some
window in heaven. All others may
cast you off. Your wife may seek
divorce and have no more patience
with you. Your father may disinherit
you and say, Let him never again
darken the door of our house" But
there are two persons who do not give
you up-God and mother
How many disappointed mothers
waiting at the window. Perhaps the
panes of the window are not great glass
plate, bevel edged, and lowered over by
exquisite lambrequin, but the window
is made of small panes, / would
say about six or eight of them, in sum-
mer wreathed with trailing vine, and
in winter pictured by the Raphaels of
the frost, real country window. The
mother sits there knitting, or busy
with her needle of homely repairs,
when she looks up and sees coming
across the bridge of the meadow brook
a stranger who dismounts in front of
the window. lie lifts and drops the
heavy knocker of the farm house door
Come in!' is the response. He gives
his name and says, IL have como on
sad GRAND" There is nothing the
matter of my son in the city, is there?"
she asks "Yes!" he says, ''your son
got into an unfortunate encounter with
young man in liquor saloon last
night, and is badly hurt The fact is
he cannot get well. hate to tell you
all. am sorry to say he is dead"
Dead" she cries as she totters back
"Oh my son! my son! my son! Would
God had died for theer' That is the
ending of all her cares, and anxieties,
and good counsels for that boy. That
is her pay for her self-sacrifces in his
behalf. That is the bad news froul
the battle. So the tidings of derelict
or Christian sons travel to the window
of earth, or the windows of heaven at
which mothers sit.
But" says some one, ARE you not
mistaken about my glorifed mother
hearing of my evil doings since she
went away?' Says some one else:
Are you not mistaken about my glori-
fed mother hearing of my self-sacrifice
and moral bravery and struggle to do
rigbt?" No! heaven and earth are in
constant communication. There are
trains running every five minutes
trains of immortals ascending and de-
scending-spirits going from earth to
heaven to live there. Spirits descend
ing from heaven 10 earth to minister and
help. They hear from us many times
every day. Do they hear good news
or bad news from this battle,
this Sedan, this Thermopyle, this
Austerltz, in which every one of us is
fighting on the right side or the wrong
side? Oh God! whose | am, and whom
/ am trying TO serve, as result of this
sermon, roll over on all mothers new
sense of their responsibility, and upon
all children, whether still in the
nursery or out on the tremendous Es-
draelon of midlife or old age, the fact
that their victories or defeats sound
clear out, clear up to the windows of
sympathetic maternity. oh, is not this
the minute when the cloud of blessing
filed with the exhaled tears ofanXious
mothers shall burst in showers of
mercy on this audience
There is one thought that is almost
too tender for utterance. almost
fear to start it lest have not enough
control of my emotion to conclude it.
AS when we were children we so often
came in from play or from a hurt or
from some childish injustice practiced
upon us, and as soon as the door was
opened we cried: where's mother?"
and she said: Here / am" and we
buried our weeping faces in her lap;
SO after while, when we get through
with the pleasures and hurts of this
life, we will, by the pardoning
mercy of Christ enter the heavenly
home, and among the first ques-
tions, not the first, but among
the first, will be the old question
that we used to ask, the question that
is being asked in thousands OF places
| NJ fbic ,-o,.tr ,9,or,anf-fho c4,aofiof,.