The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1895-11-13

shepherds. These, at creation. STOOD In tne
balcony of heaven and serenaded the new.
born world wrapped in swaddling clothes OF
light. And there, holier and mighter than
ali il Michael. the archangel. To command
an earthly host gives dignity. but this one is
leader of the 20. 900 chariots of God and OF
the ten thousand times ten thousand angels.
I think God gives command to the arch
angel. and the archangel to the seraphim,
and the seraphim to the cherubim, until ali
the lower orders of heaven hear the COM
mand and go forth on the high behest.
Now bring on your lions! Who can fear?
All the spectators in the angelic gallery are
our friends. "He shall give His angels
charge over thee to keep thee in ell thy
ways. They shall bear thee up in their
hands. lest thou dash thy foot against q
stone. Though shalt tread upon the lion
and adder; the young lion and the dragon
shalt thou trample unlerfoot."
I look again and I see the gallery OF the
martyrs. Who is that? Hugh Latimer, sure
enough! He would not apologize Tor the
truth preached. and so he died, the night
before swinging from the bedpost in perfect
glee at the thought Of emancipation. Who
are that army of $3.50? They are the
Theban legion who died for the faith. Here
is a larger host in magnificent array-SS4,- =
0O0--who perished for Christ in the perse-
cution of Diocletian. Yonder is family
Croup-Felicitas, Of Rome. and her chill
dren. While they were dying for the faith
she stood encouraging them. One son was
whipped to death by thorns, another was
, flung from rock. another was behe2ded.
At last the mother became martyr. There
they are, tosether-a family group in heav-
en-! Yonder is John Bradford, who said in
the fire. "We shall have merry supper with
the Lord tonight" Yonder is Henry Woes,
who exclaimed as he died, ''If I had
ten heads they should all fall off
for Christ" The great throng of tho
martyrs! They had hot lead poured down
! their throatS. horses were fastened to their
hands and other horses to their feet. and
thus they were pulled apart. They had their
tongues pulled out by redhot pinchers; they
were sewed up in the skins of animals and
then thrown to the dogs; they were daubed
with combustibles and set on fire! II all the
martyrs stakes that have been kindled
could be set at proper distances, they
would make the midnight all the world
over bright as MONDAY! And now they
SIT yonder in the martyrs gallery. For them
the fires Of persecution have gone out. The
swords are sheathed and the mob hushed.
Now they watch us with an all observing
sympathy. They know all the pain, all the
| hardship, all the. anguish, all the injustice,
all the privation. They cannot keep still.
|
sumo. The floods cannot drown. The lions
cannot devour! Courage, down there in the
| arena,'
What, are they all looking? This night
we answer back the salutation they give and
cry, Hail, soEs and daughters OF the fire!
I look again, and see another gallery,
that OF eminent Christians. What strikes
me strangely is the mixing in companionship
OF those who on earth could not agree. There
I see Martin Luther, and beside him Roman
Catholic who looked beyond the superstl-
tions of his church and Is saved. There
| is Albert Barnes and around him the presby-
tery which tried him for hete ioxyl
Yonder is Lyman Beecher and the church
court that denounced him! Stranger than
all, there are John Calvin and James Az
| minus! Who would have thought they
would sit so lovingly together? There ale
George Whitefleld and the bishops who
would not let him come into their pulpits be-
cause they thought him fanatic. There are
the sweet singers-Toplady, Montgomery,
Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts and Hrs.
Sigourney. Ifheaven had had no music be-
fore they went up, they would have started
the singing. And there the band OF I'M MISSION
aries-David Abeel, talking OF China re-
deemed, and John Scudder Of India saved,
and David Brainerd of the aborigines evan
| gelized, and Mrs. Adoniram Judson, whose
prayers for Burma took heaven by violence.
| All these Christians are looking into the
arena. Our struggle is. nothing to theirs.
Do we, in Christ's cause, suffer from the
cold? They walked Greenland's icy moun-
tains. Do We suffer from the heat? They
sweltered in the tropics. Do We get
| fatigued? They tainted with none to care
! for them but cannibals. Are we prosecuted?
They were mathematical. And as they look
| from their gallery and see us falter in the
presence of the lions I seem to hear Isaac
Watts addressing US in his old hymn, only
| little changed:
Must YOU be carried to the skies
On f1owery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
Or sailed through bloody seas!
Toplady shouts in his old hymn:
Your harps. We trembling saints,
Down from the willows take,
Loud to the praise OF love divine,
Bid every string awake.
While Charles Wesley. the Methodist, breaks
| forth in his favorite words, little varied:
A charge to keep YOU have,
A God to glorify,
A never dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky!
Hook again, and see the gallery OF our
departed. Many of those in the other gal
leries we have heard Of, but these we knew.
Oh, how familiar their faces! They sat at
our tables, and we walked to the house o.
God in company. Have they forgotten us?
| Those fathers and mothers started US on the
road Of life. Are they careless as to what
becomes OF US? And those children, do they
look on with stolid indifference as to whether
we win or lose this battle for eter-
nifty? Nay; I see that child running his
| hand over your brow and saying: IA
ther, do not fret" "Mother, do not worry"
They remember the day they left US. They
remember the agony OF the last farewell.
Though years in heaven. they know our faces.
our names. They watch this fight for heaven.
Nay; see them rise up and lean over and
wave before us their recognition and
encouragement. That gallery is not full.
They are keeping places for US. After we
have slain the lion they expect the King to
call lis. saying, "Come up higher" Between
the hot struggles in the arena wipe the
sweat from my brow and stand on tiptoe.
reaching up my right hand to clasp theirs in
rapturous Handwriting. while their voices
come ringing down from the gallery, crying,
'Be thou faithful unto death, AMI you shall
| have crown"
But here pause, overwhelmed with the
majesty and the Joy Of the scene! Gallery Of
the King. Gallery Of angels! Gallery Of
prophets and apostles! Gallery of martyrs!
Gallery Of saints! Gallery of friends and
kindred! Oh, majestic circles OF light and
love! Throngs! Throngs! Throngs. How
shall we stand the gaze OF the universe?
Myriads of eyes beaming on us! Myriads OF
| hearts beating in sympathy for us! How