St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1896-10-17

Christian, consecrated to God, keeping
His commandments. That is the kind
Of childish piety believe in. When
the days Of sickness came suddenly
and he was told that he could not
get well. he said: Jesus alone can
save me. Jesus will save me. He
has saved me. Don't cry, mamma.
shall go right straight mp to Heaven"
And then they gave him > glass Of
water to cool his hot lips and said:
Mamma, shall take . dfsught from
the water Of life after awhile. of which
II one drink he shall never get thirsty
again. Hay myself at Jesus feet and
l want Him to do just what He thinks
best to do with me-" In those days,
"Rest for the Weary" was new hymn.
and he had learned it; and In per-
feet ecstasy Of soul, in his last hour, he
cried out:
In the ChSistian's home in glory
There remains land Of rest;
There my Ssviour's gone before me-
To filfull my souls request:
There is rest for the weary.
There is rest for you.
Sing. o sing. yc heirs OF glory.
Shout your tyiumphs rs you 60:
lions gates are open for you.
You shall md an entrance through.
There is rest for the weary.
Only ten years old: And then no
said: NOW, wish you would just
turn this bed so l can look once moro
ON the foliage and see the sun Get. !"
And they turned the bed; and he said:
II do SO wish that Jesus would hurry
and come and take me-" They said to
him: s'Why. are you not willing to
await the Lords timer" YES" he
said: II am; but 1 would rather
Jesus would come and hurry and take
me-" And so. with peace indescrib.
able. he passed away
Oh. there is nothing sad about .
child's death save the grief in the par
ents' heart. You see the little ones go
right out from q world Of sin or suffer
ing to world of JOY. How many sor-
rows they escape, how many tempta-
tions, how many troubles! Children
dead ara safe. Those that live are in
peril. We know not what dark path
they may take. The day may come in
which they will break your heart; but
children dead are safe-safe for.
ever. Weeping parents, do not
mourn too bitterly over your child
that has gone There are two
kinds of prayers made alta child s sick
bed. One prayer the Lord likes; the
other prayer He does not like. When
q soul kneeis down at a child's sick
bed aud says: 80, Lord, spare thi s lit
tie one; he is very near to my hearts
l don't want to part with him, but
Thy will be done"-that is the kind
Of . prayer the Lord loves. There
il another kind of prayer which
have heard men make in sub
stance when they say: &C
Lord, this isn't right; it is hard to take
this child; you nave no right to take
this child; spare this child; can't give
him up, and won't give him up. y
The Lord answers that kind of a
prayer sometimes The child lives on
and lives on, and travels of in paths
of wickedness toperisb. At the end OF
every prayer for . .child's life say;
| xuy WILL, ", AOIus VIC 0OnOs
The brightest lights that can be
kindled Christ has kindled. Let us,
old and young, rejoice that Heaven d
gathering up DO much that Is attractive
In that far land we are not strangers,
There are those there who speak our
name day by day, and they wonder why
50 long we tarry. If could count nT
the names of all those who have gone
ont from these families into the King
dom of Heaven, it would take me all
day to mention their names. A great
multitude before the throne. You
loved them once; you love them nowi
and ever and anon you think you hear
their voices calling you Upward. All,
yes, they have gone out from al
these families, and you want nc
book to tell you of the dying
experience Of Christian children.
You have heard it; il it has been
whispered in your car. o father, @
mother, 0 brother, o sister. Toward
that good land all Christians are bear
ing. This swapping of heart strings,
this flight of years. this tread of the
uS0Ets IGuluuS uS tu0t VIC 0UV
passing away. Under spring bios.
SONS, and through summer har'
vests, and across autumnal leaves,
and through the wintry snow
banks, we are passing on. O, rejoice
at it, children of God, rejoice! How
we shall gather them up. the loved
and the lost! Before we mount our
throne, before we. drink of the foun.
tain, before we strike the harp of oul
eternal celebration, we will cry out;
where are our beloved and lost3'
And then, how we shall gather them
up! Oh. how We shall gather them up
In the dark world Of sin and pain
We only meet to part again;
but when we reach the Heavenly shore
We there shall meet to part NO more.
The hope that We shall see that day
Should chase our present griefs away:
When these short yes:rs Of pain are past
Wen meet before the throne u last