The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1896-10-23

Joy all ripe. Why do you not go Sis
reap it? You have been grooming e"er
your infirmities for thirty years. Now
give one round shout over your eplan-
cipation. You say you have II so hard;
you might have 1t worse. You wonder
why this great cold trouble keeps re-
volving through your soul, turning
and turning with a black hand on the
crank. All, that trouble is the grind
stone on which you are to sharpen your
sickle. To the fieldsl Wake up! Take
Off your green spectacles, your blue
spectacles. your black spectacles. Pull
up the corners Of your mouth as far
as you pull them down. To the heldsi
Reap! reapl
Again, / remark, in grace as in farm
Ing there is a time for threshing.
tell you bluntly that is death. Just as
the farmer with fail beats the wheat
out of the straw, so death beats the
soul out of the body. Every sickness
Is a stroke Of the fail, and the sick-bed
is the threshing- What, say you,
is death TO a good man only taking the
wheat out of the straw? That is all.
An aged man has fallen asleep. Only
yesterday you saw him in the sunny
porch playing with his grandchildren.
leave this world. He babe pleasant
goodbye to his old friends. The tele-
graph carries the tidings, and on swift
rail-trains the kindred come, wanting
once more to look on the face of dear
old grandfather Brush back the gray
hairs from his brow; II will never ache
again. Put him away in the slumber
of the tomb. He will not be afraid OF
that night. Grandfather was never
afraid of anything. He will rise in the
morning Of the resurrection. Grand
father was always the first 10 rise.
His voice has already mingled in the
doxology of heaven. Grandfather al
ways did sing in church. Anything
CHASTITY in that? No. The threshing
of the wheat out of the straw, that is
ALL
The Savior folds lamb in his bosom.
The little child filled all the house
with her music, and her toys are scat
tered all up and down the stairs just as
she left them. What II the hand that
plucked four o'clocks out of the mead
ow is still? 1t will wave in the eternal
| triumph. What If the voice that made
music in the home is still? 1t will sing
| the eternal hosanna. Put a white rose
| in one hand. a red rose in the other
hand, and wreath Of orange blossoms
on the brow; the white flower for the
victory, the red flower for the Savior's
sacrifice. the orange blossoms for her
marriage day. Anything CHASTITY about
that? Oh. no! The sun went down
and the flower shut. The wheat
threshed out of the straw. Dear Lord,
/ give me Sleep" said a dying boy, the
son of one Of my elders, Dear Lord,
give me Sleep" And he closed his
eyes and woke in glory. Henry w.
Longfellow, writing letter of condo
lence to those parents. said, "Those
last words were beautifully poetic"
And Mr.. Longfellow knew what Is
poetic. Dear Lord. give me sleep"
Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath
That the reaper came that day;
|
And took the flower away.
So may it be with us when our work
is all done. Dear Lord, give me
Sleep"
| have one more thought to present.
l have spoken of the blowing, of the
sowing, of the narrowing. of the reap
ing. of the threshing. ! must now
speak a moment of the garnering.
Where is the garner? Need l tell
you? Oh, no. So many have gone
out from your own circles-yea, from
your own family, that you have had
your eyes on that garner for may a
year. What a hard time some of
them had? In Gethsemanes of suffer-
ing, they sweat great drops of blood.
They took the cup Of trembling" and
they put it to their hot lips and they
cried, IF IL be possible, let this cup
pass from me-" With tongues of burn
ing agony they cried, 20 Lord, deliver
my soulv' But they got over it. They
all got over II. Garneredl Their tears
wiped away; their battles all ended;
their burdens lifted. Garnered! The
Lord of the harvest will not allow
those sheaves to perish In the equinox.
Garneredl Some of us remember, on
the farm, that the sheaves were put on
the top of the rack which surinounted
the wagon, and these sheaves were
piled higher and higher, and after
awhile the horses started for the barn;
and these sheaves swayed to and fro
in the wind, and the old wagon
creaked, and the horses made strug-
gle. and pulled so hard the harness
came up in loops Of leather on
their backs, and when the front wheel
struck the elevated door of the barn
Il seemed as IL the load would go no
farther, until the workmen gave a great
shout, and then, with one last tremen-
dous strain, the horses pulled in the
load; then they were embarrassed, and
forkful after forkful of grain fell into
the NOW. o my friends, our getting
to heaven may be pull, hard pull,
a very hard pull, but these sheaves are