Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1895-07-05

end you Will be chased 0y the anathemas
of an incensed God rally you to a
besiegement of the gates of hell. We
want in this besieging host no soft sem
timentalists, but men who are willing
to take and give hard knocks. The gates
of GAIA were carried off, the gates OF
Thebes were battered down, the gates
of Babylon were destroyed, and the gates
Of hell are going to be prostrated.
The Christianized printing press Will
be rolled up as the chief battering ram.
Then there will be a long list Of aroused
pulpits, which shall be assailing for
tresses, and Gods redhot truth shall be
the flying ammunition Of the contest,
and the sappers and the miners will lay
the train under these foundations Of sin,
and at just the right time God, who
leads on the fray, will cry, Down with
the gatesv" and the explosion beneath
will be answered by all the trumpets Of
God on high, celebrating universal vic
tory
But there may be one wanderer that
would like to have kind word calling
homeward have told you that society
has no mercy. Did l hint, at an earlier
point in this subject, that God will have
mercy upon any wanderer who would
like TO come back to the heart of infinite
love?
A Lost Wanderer.
A cold Christmas night in farm
house Father comes in from the barn,
knocks the snow from his shoes and sits
down by the fire. The mother sits at the
stand knitting. She says to him, "Do
you remember it is the anniversary to-
night?" The father is angered- He new
er wants any allusion to the fact that
one had gone away, and the mere sug-
gestion that it was the anniversary Of
that sad event made him quite rough,
although the tears ran down his cheeks.
The old house dog that had played with
the wanderer when she was a child comes
up and puts his head on the old mans
knee, but he roughly repulses the dog.
He wants nothing to remind him Of the
anniversary day.
A cold winter night in a city church.
It is Christmas night. They have been
decorating the sanctuary. A lost wan
derer of the street, with thin shawl
about her, attracted by the warmth and
light, comes in and sits near the door.
The minister Of religion is preaching Of
him who was wounded for our trans
gressions and bruised for our iniquities,
and the poor soul by the door said:
"Why, that must mean me! Mercy for
the chief Of sinners; bruised for our in
iuuities; wounded for our transgres-
sions. "
The music that night in the sanctuary
brought back the old hymn which she
used to sing when, with father and
mother, she worshiped God in the viii
lage church. The service over, the min
lister went down the aisle. She said to
him: "Were those words for me?
Wounded for our transgressions. , Was
that for me;" The man Of God under
stood her not. He knew not how to COM
fort a shipwrecked soul, and he passed
on, and he passed out. The poor wander
er followed into the street.
Return of the Lost.
"What are you doing here, Meg"
said the police. "What are you doing
here tonight" "Oh, she replied, Il
was in to warm myself" " And then the
rattling cough came, and she held TO the
railing until the paroxysm was over.
She passed on down the street, falling
from exhaustion, recovering herself
again. until after awhile she reached the
outskirts of the city, and passed on into
the country road. 1t seemed so familiar
She kept on the road, and she saw in the
distance a light in the window. All,
that light had been cleaning there ev-
cry night since she went away On that
country road she passed until she came
to the garden gate. She opened 1t and
passed up the path where she played III
childhood. She came TO the steps and
looked in at the fire on the hearth. Then
she put her fingers TO the latch. Oh. II
that door had been locked she would
have perished on the threshold, for she
was near 10 death But that door had
not been locked since the time she went
away. She pushed open the door. She
went in and lay down on the hearth by
the fire. The old house dog growled as
he saw her enter, but there was some
thing in the voice he recognized, and he
frisked about her until he almost pushed
her down in his JOY.
In the morning the mother came
down, and she saw aSundle of rags ON
the hearth, but when the face was up
lifted. she knew it, and it was no more
old Meg Of the street. Throwing her
arms around the returned prodigal, she
cried. "Oh. Maggier The child threw
her arms around her mothers neck and
laid, "Oh, motherr' And while they
were embraced a rugged form lowered
above them. 1t was the father. The Sc
verify all gone out Of his face, he stoop-
ed and took her up tenderly and carried
her 10 mothers room and laid her down
on mothers bed, for she was dying.
Then the lost one, looking up into her
mother 5 face, said: Wounded for our
transgressions, and bruised for our in
iquitiesp Mother, do you think that
means me?" "Oh, yes, my darling,
said the mother. If mother is 50 glad
to get you back, don't you think God is
glad to get you backi'
And there she lay dying, and all their
dreams and all their prayers were filled
with the words, Wounded for our trans
gressions, and bruised for our iniqui-
ties, >" until, just before the moment OF
her departure, her face lighted up, show
ing the pardon of God had dropped upon
her soul And there she slept away on
the bosom of a pardoning Jesus. So the
Lord took back one whom the world re-
jected.
Doom Of witty Frenchmen.
"Great wits are sure to madness near
allied" The doom Of witty FrenchInen