The Princeton union., 1895-07-11


sealed, and world without end you
will be CHASED by the ana themas Of
an incensed God. rally you to a, be-
siegement Of the gates Of hell. We
want in this besieging host no soft
sentimentalists, but men who are will
ing to take and give hard knocks. The
gates OF GAIA We're carried off; the
gates Of Thebes We're battered down;
the gates of Babylon were destroyed,
and tho gates Of hell are going to be
prostrated. tt 81 M ,#,
| 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 as
| sailing fortresses, and Gods red-hot
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 gates" and
the explosion beneath will be answer
ed by all the trumpets Of God on high,
celebrating universal victory.
But there may be one wanderer that
would like to have kind word call
ing homeward. I have told you that
society has no mercy. Did hint, at
an earlier point on this subject that
God will have mercy upon any wan
derer who would like to come back to
the heart of infinite love?
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 moth
er sits at the stand knitting. She
says to him. '.Do you remember it is
the anniversary tonight ?"The father
is angered. He never wants any allu-
sion to the fact that one had gone
away, and the mere suggestion 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 child comes
up and puts his head on the old mans
knee, but he roughly repulses the dog.
lie wants nothing to remind him Of
the anniversary day.
A cold winter night in city church
1t is Christmas night They have
been decorating the sanctuary. A lost
Wanderer Of the street, with thin
shawl, about her, attracted by the
warmth Ind light, comes and sits near
the door, The minister of religion is
preaching OF Him who was wounded
for our transgressions and bruised for
Our lniquities, and the poor soul by the
door said: 'Why, that must mean me;
mercy for the chief of sinners; bruis-
ed for our iniquities; wounded for our
transgressions' y #
The music that night in the sane
tuary brought. back the old hymn
which she used to sing when, with ia
ther and mother, she worshiped God
IN the village church. The service
over, the minister went down the aisle
She said to him, "Were those words
for me? Wounded for our transgres-
sions.' Was that for me?' The man
of God understood her not. He knew
not how to comfort a shipwrecked
soul, and he passed on and he passed
out. The poor Wanderer followed in
to the street y
What are you doing here, Meg?"
said the policeman. s'What are Won
doing here tonight? 2" ooh" she re-
piled, Il was in to warm myself:,, = ia
then the rafting cough came. and she
held to the railing until the ,paroxysm
was r over. She passed on down
the street, falling from exhaustion ro.i
covering herself again, until after
awhile she reached the outskirts Of,
the city. and passed on into the coun-
try 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
every 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 in childhood. She came to the
steps and looked in at the fire on the
hearth. Then she put her fingers to
the latch. Oh If that door had been
locked she would have perished on the
threshold, for she was near to 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 a bundle of rags
on the hearth; but when the face was
uplifted, she knew it, and it was no
hAOAC oAO 1ACS VI Lie street. Throwing
her arms around the returned prodigal
she cried, "Oh, Maggie!' The child
threw her arms around her mothers
neck and said, "Oh, mother'' ant,
while they were embraced a rugged
form lowered above them. It was the
father. The severity all gone out Of
his face, he stopped and took her up
tenderly and carried her to mothers
room and laid her down on mothers
bed, for she was dying. Then the lost
one, looking up into her mothers face,
sail, wounded for our transgres-
sions, and bruised for our iniquities'
Mother, do you think that means me?''
"Oh, yes, my darling" said the moth
er. IF mother is SO glad to get you
back, don't you think God is glad to
get you back?' n
And there she lay dying, and all
their dreams and all their prayers
were filled with the words, ''Wounded
for our transgressions, and bruised
for our iniquities,'' until just before
the moment Of her departure her face
lighted up, showing the pardon Of God
had dropped upon her soul. And there
/ she silent aWAV on thn hosnm nf q mar