The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1895-11-09
dying for tn. faith she .to.a

dying for the faith she stosd
: encouraging them One SON was
: whipped to death by thorns; an.
other was flung from rock; another
was beheaded. At last the mother be-
came a martyr. There they are, to-
gether--a family group in Heaven'
Yonder is John Bradford. who said. In
per with the Lord to-nightp Yonder
is Henry Woes, who exclaimed, as he
died: IF I had ten heads. they
should all fall off for Christi The
great throng OF the martyrs! They
had hot lead poured down their
Threats; 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
red-hot pincers; they were seven up in
the skins of animals, and then thrown
10 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 dis
tances, they would make the midnight.
all the world over, bright as noondayl
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 can not keep still.
They cry: Courage! The fire will not
consume. The foods can not drown.
The lions can not devour. Couragei
down there in the arena"
What, are they all looking? This
night we answer back the salutation
they give, and cry: ''Hail! sons and
daughters of the fire!"
Hook again, and see another gal
lery, that of eminent Christians. What
strikes me strangely is the mixing in
companionship of those who on earth
could not agree. There / see Martin
Luther, and beside him Roman
Catholic who looked beyond the super
stitions of his church, and is saved.
There is Albert Barnes, and around
him the presbytery who tried
him for hcterodoxy! Yonder is
Lyman Beecher, and the church
court that denounced him! Stranger
than all there is John Calvin and James
Arminius! Who would have thought
that they would sit so lovingly to-
gether There is George Whitefild,
and the bishops who would not let him
come into their pulpits because they
thought him fanatic. There are the
sweet singers, Toplady, Montgomery,
Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts and Mrs
Sigourney. If Heaven had had no music
before they went up, they would have
started the singing. And there, the
band of missionaries: David Abeel,
talking OF China redeeme and John
Scudder, o: India saved and David
Brainerd, of the aborigines evangel-
lied; and Mrs. Adoniram Judson,
whose prayers for Bur nah took Heav-
en- 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 mountains. Do we suffer from the
heat? They sweltered in the tropics.
Do we get fatigued? They tainted,
balls. Are we prosecuted? They were
mathematical. And as they look from
their gallery and see us falter in the
presence. of the lions, seem to hear
Isaac Watts addressing us in his old
hymn, only n little changed:
Must you be carried to the skies
On howery beds OF ease.
While others fought to win the prize,
Or sailed through bloody seas?
Toplady shouts in his old hymns:
Your harps. ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the praise of love divine,
Bid every string awake.
Hook again, and l see the gallery Of
our departed. Many of those in the
other galleries we have heard Of; but
these we knew. Oh! how familiar
their faces! They sat at our tables.
and we walked to the house Of God in
company. Have they forgotten usq
Those fathers and mothers started
us on the road of life. Are
they careless as to what be-
comes of us? And those children:
do they look on with stolid Indifference
rs to whether we win or lose this bat
tie for eternity? Nay; see that child
running his hand over your brow and
saying: Father, do not fret" Moth
er, 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. They remember our sorrows.
They watch this fight for Heaven
Nay; I 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 us,
saying: Come up higher!" Be-
tween the hot struggles in the arena l
wipe the sweat from my brow, and
stand on tiptoe, reaching up my right
hand to clasp theirs in rapturous hand
shaking, while their voices come ring
ing down from the gallery, crying:
''Be thou faithful unto death, and you
shall have a CROWN
Sure must fight II would reign
Be faithful to my Lord
And bear the cross, endure the pain,
Supported by Thy word.
Thy saints in all this glorious war