The Yale expositor., 1896-04-24

present, and, in one sense or the
other, that includes all of us. The
gates of this continent have been so
widely opened that there are here
many voluntary exiles from other
lands. Some of you are Scotchmen.
/ see it in your high cheek bones, and
in the color that illumines your face
when l mention the land of your ma
tivity. Bonnie Scotland! Dear old
kirk! Some of your ancestors sleeping
in Greyfriars churchyard, or by the
deep lochs filled cut of the pitchers of
heaven, or under the heather sometimes
SO deep of color it makes one think
Of the blood of the Covenanters who
signed their names for Christ, dipping
their pens into the veins of their own
arms opened for that purpose. How
every fibre of your nature thrills as
l mention the names of Robert Bruce,
and the Campbells, and Cochrane. l
bespeak for this royal exile of my text
the love and the service of all Scotch
eXiles. Some Of you are Englishmen.
Your ancestry served the Lord. Have
not read Of the sufferings OF the Hay
market? and lave l not seen in Ok
ford the very spot where Ridley and
Latimer mounted the red chariot?
Some OF your ancestors heard George
Whitefield thunder, or heard Charles
Wesley sing, or heard John Bunyan
tell his dream of the celestial city;
and the cathedrals under the shadow
OF which some of you were born had
in their grandest organ-roll the name
OF the Messiah. bespeak for the royal
exile OF my sermon, tho love and tho
service OF all English eXiles. Yes,
some or you came from the island of
distress over which Hunger, on a
throne of human skeletons, sat queen.
All efforts at amelioration halted by
massacre. Procession Of famines, pro-
cession of martyrdoms marching from
Northern Channel to Cape Clear and
from the Irish Sea across to the At
lantic. An island not bounded as
geographers tell us, but as every phil
anthropist knows-bounded on tho
north and the south and the east and
the west by woe which no human poll
tics can alleviate, and only almighty
God can assuage. Land CT Goldsmith's
rhythm, and Sheridan's wit, and
OConnells eloquence, and Edmund
Brrkes craftsmanship, and O'Brien's
sacrifice. Another Patmos with its
apocalypse Of blood. Yet you cannot
think of 1t today without having your
eyes blinded with emotion, for there
your ancestors sleep in graves, somo
of which they entered for lack OF
bread. For this royal exile Of my
sermon l bespeak the love and the
service of all Irish exiles. Yes, some
Of you are from Germany. the land Of
Luther, and some Of you are from
Italy, the land Of Garibaldi, and some
OF you are from France, the land Of
John Calvin, one OF the three mighties
or the glorious Reformation. Some Of
you are descendants of the Puritans,
any they were exiles; and some of you
| ere descendants of the Huguenots, and
they were eXilcs; and some of you are
descendants of the Holland refugees,
and they were eXiles. Some of you
were born on the banks of the Yazoo
or the Savannah, and you are now liv-
ing in this latitude. Some of you on
tho banks of the Kennebec, or at the
foot of the Green Mountains, and you
are here now. Some OF you on the
prairies OF the West, or the table
lands, and you are here now. OH,
now many CT us far away from home.
All o. US eXiles This is not our home.
Heaven is our home. Oh! | am so
glad when the royal exile went back
he left the gate ajar, or left it wide
open. Going homer That is the
dying exclamation Of the majority OF
Christians. l have seen many Chris
tiaps die. l think nine out of ten OF
them in the last moment say, Going
home.' Going home out CT Punishment
ana sin ond sorrow and sadness. Co
Ing nome to join in the hilarities Of
our parents and our dear children who
have already departed. Going home
to Christ. Going home to God. Co.
ing home to stay. Where are your
loved ones that died in Christ? You
pity them. All! they ought to pity
you. You are an exile far from home
will be for you when the gatekeeper
of heaven shall say: Take off that
rough sandal; the journeys ended.
Put down that sabre; the battles won.
Put off that iron coat of mail and
put on the robe of conqueror." At
that gate Of triumph leave you to-
day. only reading three tender cantos
translated from the Italian. If YOU
ever heard anything sweeter I never
dc. although 1 cannot adopt all its
theology:
was whispered one morning in heaven
low The little child-angel Nav
IN the shade of the great white Mortal
sat Borrowing night and day:
HOW she said TO the stately Warden
lie OF the key and bar
'Oh, angel, sweet angel, 1 pray Won
Set the beautiful gates ajar-
Only little, 1 pray you,
Set the beautiful gates ajar.
II can hear my mother weeping.
She is lonely, she cannot see
a. glimmer of light i'm the darkness
When the gates shut after me:
Oh, turn me the key, sweet angel