Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1895-09-20


What though / 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 dying litany, Lord Jesus, receive
my spirit" 1t may be in that hour we
will be too feeble 10 say long prayer.
1t 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, 10 years Of age, said
every night when he put his head upon
his pillow:
Now lay me down to sleep.
l 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 u.s. 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 a 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, II
move into the lightp'
A Peaceful Sleep.
Pass on now, and l will show you one
more picture, and that is Stephen asleep.
With 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 sleep
A hard rock under him, stones falling
down upon him, the blood streaming,
the mob bowling. What place it was
to sleepW 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 a 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, l
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
Ihave seen the sea driven with the
hurricane until the tangled 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 aud bur
nished as though camping place for
the glories Of heaven. So l have seen
man whose life has been tossed and
driven coming down at last to an inf
mite calm in which there was hush Of
heavens lullaby. Stephen asleep!
l saw such a 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 bIooded 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 a sigh.
Not a tear. Not a struggle. Hush !
Stephen asleep
have not the faculty as many have
TO tell the weather. can never tell by
the setting sun whether there will be
drought or not. l cannot tell by the
blowing Of the wind whether it will be
fair weather or foul on the morrow. But
| can prophesy and / will prOphesy VIII t
weather it will be when you, the Chris
tian, come to die. You may have it very
rough now. 1t may be this week one
ANNOYANCE, the next another annoyance.
1t may be this year one bereavement,
the next another bereavement. But at
the last Christ will come in, and dark
ness will go ont. And though there may
be no hand to close your eyes, and no
breast on which to rest your dying head,
and no candle to lift the night, the
odors Of Gods hanging garden will re-
gale your soul, and at your bedside will
halt the chnriots Of the king. No more
rents to pay, no more agony because
-four has gone up, no more struggle with
1.-THE world, the flesh and the devil, "
but peace-long, deep, everlasting
peace. Stephen asleep
Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep,
From which none ever wake to weepi
A calm and undisturbed repose,
Uninjured by the last Of foes.
Asleep in Jesus, far from thee
Thy kindred and thy graves may ba
But there is still blessed sleep,
From which none ever wake to weep.
You have seen enough for one day.
No one can successfully examine more
than five pictures in a day. Therefore
we stop, having seen this cluster OF di-
vine Raphaels-Stephen gazing into
heaven Stephen looking at Christ,
Stephen stoned, Stephen in his dying
prayer, Stephen asleep.