Connecticut western news., 1896-08-27
THE HARVEST FIELD.
A SHADOW ON THE sPlENDoR OF
 A SRuNEM HOME.

A of7AOO" ON me SFlGNOoH UT
 A SHuNEM HOME.
 and the Power of Chiidhood-rrom a World of Sin and Suffering to a World of Peace and Joy.
 WAsHINGToN. Aug a3.-While the reapers are busy in many parts of the land and the harvests are being gathered the scene brought before us in this sub ject is especially appropriate The text is II Kings iv, IS, l9, go: And when the child was grown it fell on day that he went out to his father to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head. my headr And he said to a lad, Garry him to his mother. And when he had taken him and brought him to his mother he sat on her knees till noon and then died.
 There is at least one happy home in Shunem. To the luxuriance and splen- dor of great house had been given the advent of child. Even when the angel of life brings a new soul to the poor mans hut Q star of joy shines over the manager. Infancy, with its helpleSsness and innocence, had passed away. Days of boyhood had come, days of laughter and frolic, days of sunshine and prom ise, days of strange questions and curiosity and quick development I sup pose among all the treasures of that house the brightest was the boy. One day there is the shout of reapers heard afield. A boys heart always bounds at the sound of sickle or scythe. No sooner have the harvesters cut a swath across the field than the lad joins them, and the swarthy reapers feel young again as they look down at that lad. as bright and beautiful as was Ruth in the harvest fields of Bethlehem gleaning after the reapers But the sun was too hot for him. Congestion of the brain seized on him.
 see the swarthy laborers drop their sickles, and they rush out to see what is the matter, and they fan him, and they try to cool his brow, but all is of no avail In the instant of consciousness he puts his hands against his temples and cries out: My head, my headP' And the father said, "Carry him to his mother" just as any father would have said, for our hand is too rough, and our voice is too harsh, and our foot is too loud to doctor a sick child if there be in our home 8 gentler voice and a gen. tier hand and a stiller footstep But all of no avail. While the reapers of Shunem were busy in the field there came a stranger reaper that way, with keener scythe and for 8 richer harvest He reaped only one sheaf; but, oh. what . golden sheaf that wasi I do not want to know any more about that heart breaking scene than what see in just this one pathetic sentence: "He sat on her knees till noon and then died. |" Though hundreds of years have passed away since that boy skipped to the har- vest field and then was brought home and died on his mothers lap, the story still thrills us Indeed, childhood has a charm always and everywhere. I shall now speak to you of childhood, its beauty, it's susceptibility to impression, it's power over the parental heart and its blisgful transition from earth to heaven
 Beauty of Childhood.
 
 upon form or feature or complexion or apparel That destitute one that you saw on the street, bruised with unkind- ness and in rags. has Q charm about her, even under her destitution. You have forgotten a great many persons whom you met of finely cut features and with erect posture and with faultless com- plexion, while you will always remem- Der the poor girl who, on a cold, moon light night as you were passing late home, in her thin shawl and barefoot on the pavement, put out her hand and said: "Please to give me a penny. !" An, how often we have walked on and said. "Oh. that is nothing but street vagabondismP' but after we got block or two on we stopped and said, "Ah, that is not rightr' and we passed up that same way and dropped mite into that suffering hand. as though it were not 8 matter of second thought, so ashamed were we of our hard hearted ness.
 With what admiration we all look upon group of children on the play ground or in the school, and we clap our hands almost involuntarily and say, ''How beautifulp' All stiffness and dignity are gone, and your shout is heard with theirs, and you trundle their hoop and fly their kite and strike their ball. and all your weariness and anxiety are gone, as when a child you bounded over the playground yourself. That father who stands rigid and unsympa- thetic amid the sportfulness of children ought never to have been tempted out of a crusty and unredeemable solitari- ness The waters leap down the rocks, but they have not the graceful step of childhood The morning comes out of the gates of the east, throwing its silver on the lake and its gold on the towers and it's fire on the cloud, but it is not so bright and beautiful as the morning of life. There is no light like that which IS kindled in child,s eye, no color like that which blooms on child's cheek, no music like the sound of a child's voice Its face in the poorest picture re- deems any imperfection in art. When we are weary with toil, their little hands pull the burdens of our back. Oh, what dull, stale, mean world this would be without the sportfulness ot childrenl When find people that dc not like children, I immediately doubt their moral aud Christian character. But when the grace of God comes upor child, how unspeakably attractive When Samuel begins to pray and Tin Lthy begins to read the Scriptures and Joseph shows himself invulperable tC temptation, how beautiful the scenel know that parents sometimes get nery ous when their children become pious because they have the idea that gooe children always die. The strange ques tions about God and eternity and th' dead excite apprehension in the pa rental mind rather than congratulation Indeed there are some people that seen marked for heaven. This world is tot