The free press. (Poplarville, Miss.) 1890-19??, 1896-03-12

offers YOU money. You would rather live on
crust In q cellar and have your asparsuu
loved ones with YOU than live in palatial sur
roundings and they away. Suppose tne
world offers you its honors to console you.
What is the Presidency TO Abraham Lincoln
when little Willie lies dead In the "hite
House? Perhaps the world comes and says,
thine will cure 1t ALL" All, there are grieis
that have ragged on for thirty years ana are
raging yet. And yet hundreds have oeen
comforted, thousands have been comtor,ou,
millions have been conforted, and Christ had
done the work. Oh, what yo't want Is SYM
pathy, The worlds heart of sympathy peats
yery irresdlarly. Plenty OF sympathy when
we d6 not want IL. and often when we are In
APPALLING need of 1t, no sympathy. There are
multitudes of people dying for sympathy
sympathy iii their work, sympathy In tnelr
fatigues, sympathy in their tereavements,
sympathy in their financial losses, sympathy
in their physical ailments. sympathy in their
spiritual anxieties, sympathy ih the time OF
declining years-wlde, deep. high, everlast-
ing. almighty sympathy. We must have II,
and Christ gives It, That is the cord with
which He Is going to draw oil Nations TO
Him.
At the story OF punishment a mans eye
flashes, and his teeth set; and his INST
clinehes; and he prepares to do battle even
though 1t be against the heavens. Yet what
heart so hard but it will succumb TO the
story OF compassion! Even mans sym
pathy is pleasant and helpful. When we
have been in some hour of weakness, 10 have
a brawny man stand beside us and promise
to see us through, what courage it gives TO
our heart, and what strength it gives to our
arm. Still mightier Is wonan's sympathy.
Let him tell the story who. when all his for
tunes were gone and all the world was
against him, came home and found In that
home wife who could write on the top OF
the empty -four barrel. "The Lord VIII pro-
vide" or write on the door Of the empty
wardrobe: CONSIDER the lilies OF the field.
II God 30 clothed the grass OF the field, Will
He not clothe us and eurs2'
Or LET that young man tell the story VINO
has gone the whole round OF dissipation.
The shadow of tlc penitentiary is upon him;
and even his father says: 'Be of! Never
come home aganl" The young man finds
still his mothers arm outstretchei for him;
and how she will stand at the wicket OF the
prison TO whisper consolation or get down on
her knees before the governor begging for
pardon, hoping on her Maynard boy after
all others are hopeless. Or let her Tell the
story who, under villainous allurement ana
impatient OF parental restraint, has wan
dered off from a home of which she was the
idol into the murky and thunderous mid
night of abandonment, away from Gou, anu
further away until some time she is tossed
On the beach of that early home mere
splinter of d wreck. Who will pity her now?
Who will gather those dishonored locks into
her lap? Who will wash off the blood from
the gashed forehead Who will tell her OF
that Christ who came to save the lost? Who
will put that weary head upon the clean
white pillow and watch by day and watch
by night until the hoarse voice OF the sufferer
becomes the whisper. and the whisper be.
comes only a faint motion OF tho lips, and
the faint motion of the lips Is exchanged for
silent look, and the cut feet are still. and
the weary eyes are still, and the frenzied
heart is still, and all is still2 Who will have
compassion on her when no others have
com passion? Motherl Motherl
Oh, there is something beautiful in SYM
pathy-in manly sympathy, wifely sympathy,
mothefly sympathy, yea, and neighboriy
sympathy Why was 1t that q city was
aroused with excitement when q little child
was kidnapped from one of the streets? Why
we're whole columns of the newspapers filled
with the story of little child? 1t was be-
cause we are all one In sympathy, and every
parent said: "How IL 1t had been my Lizzie?
How If 1t had been my Mary2 How II it had
been my Maud? How If it had been my
child? How II there had been one unoccupied
pillow in our trundle bed tonight? How II
my little one-bone Of my bone and flesh OF
my fesh-were tonight carried captive into