Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1895-09-16

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locked fasg to keep it, but let the door
of this cage open the least, and that
! soul is off. Eagles wing could not catch
it. The lightnings are not swift enough
to come ND with it, When the soul leaves
the body it takes so worlds at bound
And have I no anxiety about 1t? Have
you no anxiety about IL!
/ do not care what you do with my
body when my soul is gone, or whether
Won believe in cremation or Inflammation.
I shall sleep just as well in wrapping
of sackcloth as in satin lined with
eagles down. But my soul-before I
close this discourse I will find out
where it will land. Thank God for the
intimation of my text that when we die
Jesus takes us. That answers all ques-
lions for me- What though there were
massive bars between here and the City
of Light, Jesus could remove them
What though there were great Saharas
of darkness, Jesus could illume them
What though I get weary on the way,
Christ could lift me on his omnipotent
shoulder. What though there were
chasms to cross, his hand could trans
port me. Then let Stephens prayer be
my SPIRIT Tt may be in that hour we
will be too feeble to say a long prayer
It may be in that hour we will not be
able to say the Lords Prayer, for it
has seven petitions. Perhaps we may be
too feeble even to say the infant prayer
our mothers taught us, which John
Quincy Adams, 70 years of age, said
every night when he put his head upon
his pillow:
Now lay me down to sleep.
pray the Lord my soul to keep.
We may be too feeble to employ
either of these familiar forms, but this
prayer of Stephen is so short, is so con-
else, is SO earnest, is SO comprehensive,
we surely will be able to say that
''Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. Oh,
if that prayer is answered, how sweet
it will be to die! This world is clever
enough to us. Perhaps it has treated us
a great deal better than we deserved to
be treated, but if on the dying pillow
there shall break the light of that better
world we shall have no more regret
than about leaving q small dark, damp
house for one large, beautiful and capa
cious. That dying minister in Philadel-
phia, some years ago, beautifully de-
picted it when, in the last moment, he
threw up his hands and cried out, 81
move into the hght!"
A Peaceful Sleep.
Pass on now, and I will show you one
more picture, and that is Stephen asleep.
With a pathos and simplicity peculiar
to the Scriptures the text says of Ste
phen, ''He fell asleep "Oh," you
say, "what a place that was to sleepl
A hard rock under him, stones falling
down upon him, the blood streaming,
the mob bowling. What place it was
to sleepr' And yet my text takes that
symbol of slumber to describe his de-
parture, so sweet was it, so contented
was it, SO peaceful was it. Stephen had
lived very laborious life. His chief
work had been to care for the poor. How
many loaves of bread he had distribut-
ed, how many bare feet he had san
daled, how many cots of sickness and
distress he had blessed with ministries
of kindness and love, do not know
Yet from the way he lived and the way
he preached, and the way he died, I
know he was a laborious Christian.
But that is all over now. He has pressed
the cup to the last fainting lip. He has
taken the last insult from his enemies
The last stone to whose crushing weight
he is susceptible has been hurled. Ste
phen is dead The disciples come.
They take him up. They wash away
the blood from the wounds. They
straighten out the bruised limbs. They
brush back the tangled hair from the
brow, and then they pass around to
look upon the calm countenance of him
who had lived for the poor and died for
the truth. Stephen asleep!
I have seen the sea driven with tho
hurricane until the tang led foam caught
in the rigging, and wave rising above
wave seemed as if about to storm the
heavens, and then have seen the tenn
pest drop, and the waves crouch, and
everything become smooth and bur-
nished as though a camping place for
the glories of heaven. So I have seen a
man whose life has been tossed and
driven coming down at last to an inf
mite calm in which there was a hush of
heavens lullaby. Stephen asleep!
saw such one. He fought all his
days against poverty and against abuse
They traduced his name They ratified
at the doorknob while he was dying
with duns for debts he could not pay.
Yet the peace of God brooded over his
pillow, and while the world faded heav-
en- dawned, and the deepening twilight
of earth's night was only the opening
twilight of heavens morn. Not sigh.
Not a tear Not a struggle. Hush
Stephen asleep.
have not the faculty as many have
to tell the weather. I can never tell by
the setting sun whether there will be a
drought OF not. I cannot tell by the
blowing of the wind whether it will be
fair xuaathor or fOl1l on the n1Orrn1xr RI1t