The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1896-08-14

when to the soul time ends and eter-
nifty begins. There is no roundabout
way, no by-path, no circuitous route.
Die we must; and il will be to us a
shameful occurrence or a time of admir-
able behavior. Our friends may stretch
out their hands to keep us back, but no
imploration on their part can hinder us.
They might offer large retainers, but
death would not take the fee. The
breath will fail, and the eyes will
close, and the heart will stop. You
may hang the couch with gorgeous
tapestry, but what does death care for
beautiful curtains? You may hang the
room with the finest works of art, but
what does death care for pictures2
You may fill the house with the wall
ings Of widowhood and orphanage,
does death mind weeping?
This ought not TO be a depressing
scene. Who wants to live here for
ever? The world has always treated
me well, and every day feel less and
less like scolding and complaining.
But yet would not want to make this
my eternal residence. / love to watch
the clouds, and battle my soul in the
blue sea of Heaven; but / expect
when the ornament is rolled away
as scroll to see new Heaven,
grander, higher and more glori-
Gus. You ought to be willing to ex-
change your body that has headaches
and sideaches and weaknesses innumer-
APPLE, that limps with the one-bruise,
or testers with the thorn, or flames on
the funeral pyre of fevers. for an incor-
ruptible body and an eye that blinks not
before the jasper gates and the great
white throne. But between that and
this there is an hour about which no
man should be reckless or toolhardy.
doubt not your courage, but tell
you that you will want something bet
ter than strong arm, good aim and
a trusty sword when you come to your
last battle. You will need a better
robe than any you have in your ward
robe to keep you warm in that place.
Circumstances do not make so much
difference. 1t may be bright day
when you push off from the planet, or
it may be a dark night and while the
owl is hooting from the forest. 1t
may be spring, and your soul may go
out among the blossoms, apple or
chards swinging their censers in
the way. 1t may be winter
and the earth in a snow shroud.
1t may be autumn, and the forests
set on fire by the retreating year;
dead nature laid out in state. 1t may
be with your wife's hand in your hand,
or you may be ina strange hotel with
servant faithful to the last. 1t may be
in the rail train, shot off the switch
and tumbling in long reverberation
down the EN- Northumberland crashl
know not the time; Il know not the mode;
but the days of our life are being sub
tracted away and we shall come down
to the time when we have but ten
days left, then nine days, then eight
days, then seven days, six days, five
days, four days, three days, two days,
one day. Then hours; three hours.
two hours, one hour. Then only
minutes left; five minutes, four
minutes, three minutes, two min
utes, one minute. Then only Sec
onds left; four seconds, three sec
Onds, two seconds, one second. Gonel
The chapter of life ended! The book
closed! The pulses at rest! The feet
through with the journey! The hands
closed from all work. No word on the
lips. No breath in the nostrils. Hair
combed back to lie undisheveled by
any human hands. The muscles
still. The nerves still The lungs still.
The tongue still. All still. You might
put the stethoscope to the breast and
hear no sound. You might put speak
trumpet to the ear, but you could not
wake the deafness. No motion; no
throb; no life. Still! Still!
So death comes to the disciple! What
if the sun of life is about to set? Jesus
is the day-spring from on high; the
perpetual morning of every ransomed
spirit. What if the darkness comes?
Jesus is the light of the
world and of Heaven. What though
this earthly house does crumble! Jesus
has prepared house of many man
sions. Jesus is the anchor that al
ways holds. Jesus is the light
that is never eclipsed. Jesus is the
fountain that is never exhausted.
Jesus is the evening star, hung up
amid the gloom of the gathering
night
You are almost through with the
abuse and bacl1biting of enemies. They
will call you no more by evil names.
Your good deeds will no longer be miss
nor your honor filched. The
troubles of earth will end in the felici-
tiesl Toward evening! The bereave-
ments of earth will soon be
lifted. You will not much longer |
stand pouring your grief in |
the tomb, like Rachel weeping |
for her children or David mourning
for Absalom. Broken hearts bound |
up. Wounds healed. Tears wiped |
away. Sorrows terminated. No more |
sounding of the dead march, Toward |
evening. Death will come, sweet |
as slumber to the eyelids of |
the babe, as full ratiohs to a
starving soldier, as evening hour
to the exhausted workman. The |
sky viii take on its sunset glow, every |
cloud fire-psalm, every lake CLASSY |
mirror; the forests TRANSPORTED; deli
cate mists climbing the air. Your
friends will announce it; your pulses
will beat it; your joys will ring it;
your lips will whisper it: Toward
evening" Z
Galleries In England.