The Newtown bee., 1895-09-06

on which Israel stumbled; this is a song Israel could not learn to sing. The peo- pie could understand Messiah who was to come in great glory, under whose conquering might the world-nations ! would be subdued. but 8 Messiah who was to come meek and riding upon an ass and upon colt the foal of an ass that they could not understand. BUT YET THIS SONG l of sacrifice and service is the universal l song. It is the song of the moth- 1 CT who rocks the cradle of her child, of the wife who attends to I the hundred and-one household cares, of the father who tolls early and late that his boy may have better start in life than he has had.
 l This law of sacrifice and service runs through all nature. The rock opens that the seed may be deposited in it's l cleft. The brook loses itself in the river, i and the river in the sea. Let me re- hearse parable. A little flower lay dropping on an August day. It was wilted and withered, it's life was nearly gone; but as it lay there so near it's end, a few drops of rain fell on it's head and it revived. And the little flower, re- freshed, raised itself to say: 50 cloud, I thank you for the benefcent gift of the rain, for you have saved my life." But the cloud replied: "Do not thank me, little flower, for the wind bore me upon it's wings and I obtained my beneficent gift of the rain from out the mighty sea-" Then the flower turned it's head away from the cloud to say: 70 sea, parent of all good, thou refreshed the dry and thirsty land, and in thy rich bounty thou hast not neglected me; thank thee, for thou hast saved my life.'' ssBut why thank me?'' sad the sea, 'for it was the sun that drew to himself on his bright shafts of light the rain-drops W hich were borne in the bosom of the cloud carried on the wings of the wind to refresh thy dropping form." Start led and confused the little flower turned at last to the sun and said: 70 glorious sun, whose bright rays bring to all life and glad ness, in thee I have now found my saviour; thank thee, for thou hast isav- | ed my life." "Ah, no," was the suns reply, ssthe thanks are not due to me. but to the Almighty God who fixed me in the bounds of space and bestowed upon me my great light and warmth and all my beneficent powers"
 The song of sacrifice and service! This is the missionary's song, the wife's song, the Sunday school teachers song, the minister's song. I know not the mo- tives that have brought this congrega- tion to church this morning. Some may have come from a sense of duty, some | BECAUSE IT IS SOMEWHAT THE FASHION to attend church, some from motives of curiosity to hear what may be said. and some to be refreshed amid the heated toll and struggle of this workaday world. God grant that this hour may prove a season of sweet refreshing to all; but, friends, if this service ends there, it has come very much short of it's mark. re- ioice that so many stay after this service to teach in our Sunday school, and that others go from here to teach in neighbor- ing districts and thus transmit the life
 which has been given to them. How
 weary sometimes get, not body-weary,
 but soul-wearY! What that means only one can know who weekly tries to lift an entire congregation, burdened with many cares, into purer and nobler life. How I sometimes shrink from the task of preaching to you. It is not the prepara- tion of sermon that I dread-not that at all; but need some one to preach to me. l need to be strengthened and encouraged, but I must forget myself and give to you of my very life.
 l The song of service and sacrifice! Yes, this song will be sung even in Heaven, for service and sacrifice will have their full place there. The life in Heaven is not to consist in staying in one of the rooms of the "many mansions" feasting on delightful dainties that are brought to us without our moving muscle or lift ing finger ,and entrancing our ears with ecstatic sounds. There we are to think for each other and toll for each other and do for each other uuremittingly and the bliss of 1t all will be that we shali never tire. No pains of body will ever call us to halt, no throbbing heads and aching eyes will cause us to rest. We shall work there as we have never work ed before; that will be Heavens rest, rest in perfect service. To play forever on golden harps is not the best way to praise God, but to give forever of our selves to His creatures. In Heaven we shall know the supreme joy of giving, ljoy of which we get only the faintest sug gestion here.
 l AS LAST THOUGHT
 we notice that the song of Heaven is 8 song of victory-power and riches and strength and glory and honor and bless l ing are there to be ascribed to the King. The song of Heaven is one prolonged 1 note of victory. How even now we an- ticipate that great scene of rejoicing, when Death, mans last enemy shall have fallen, when Satan shall have been bound, when there shall be no more tears, no more clouds, no more anxieties, levers and earth's malarial damps, but the walls of Zion shall be ssconjubilant with song," s'the song of them that tri- umph, the shout of them that feast." But what about the life here? Is there to be no victory now? Is it al- ways to be a going forth into the battle, always buckling on of the armor, always a clashing of the shields, but no rend- ing the ar with shouts of victory9 It is, of course, right for us to sing:
 Nicer think the victory won,
 Nor lay thine armor down;