The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1896-04-24

l0chS filled out OF the pitchers OF
heaven, or under the heather some
times so deep of color that it makes
one think of the blood of the Covenant
ers, who signed their names for Christ,
dipping their pens into the veins OF
their own arms opened for that pur-
pose. How every fiber of your nature
thrills as l mention the names of Rob-
ert Bruce and the Campbells and Coch-
rane. bespeak for this royal exile of
my text the love and service of all
Scotch exiles. Some of you are English
men. Your ancestry served the Lord
Have not read of the sufferings of the
Haymarket, and have l not seen in Ok
ford the very spot where Ridley and
Latimer mounted the red chariot?
Some of your ancestors heard George
Whiteield thunder, or heard Charles
Wesley sing, or heard John Bunyan
tell his dream of the celestial city; and
the cathedrals under the shadow of
which some of you were born had in
their grandest organ roll the name OF
the Messiah. l bespeak for the royal
exile of my sermon the love and serv-
ice of all English exiles Yes, some of
you came from the island of distress
over which Hunger, on throne of hui
man skeletons, sat queen. All efforts
at amelioration halted by massacre.
Procession of famines, procession Of
martyrdoms marching from Northern
channel to Cape Clear. and from the
Irish sea across to the Atlantic. An
island not bounded as geographers tell
us, but as every philanthropist knows
bounded on the north and south and
the east and the west by woe
which no human politics can
alleviate, and only Almighty
God can assuage. Land of Gold
smiths rythm, and Sheridan's wit, and
OConnelPs clog uence, and Edmund
Burke's craftsmanship, and OBrien's
sacrifice. Another Patmos with its
apocalypse of blood. Yet you cannot
think of it to-day without having your
eyes blinded with emotion, for there
your ancestors sleep in graves, some OF
which they entered for lack of bread.
For this royal exile of my sermon
bespeak the love and the service of all
Irish exiles. Yes, some of you are
from Germany, the land of Luther,
and some of you are from Italy, the
land of Garibaldi; and some of you are
from France, the land of John Calvin,
one of the three mighties of the glori-
Gus Reformation. Some of you are de-
scendants of the Puritans, and they
were exiles; and some of you are de-
scendants of the Huguenots, and they
were exiles; and some of you are de-
scendants from the Holland refugees,
and they were exiles.
Some of you were born on the banks
of the Yazoo or the Savannah, and you
are now living in this latitude. Some
of you on the banks of the Kennebec,
or at the foot of the Green mountains,
and you are here now. Some of you
on the prairies of the west, or the
tablelands, and you are here now.
Oh! how many of us far away from
home. All of us exiles. This is not
our home. Heaven is our home. Oh!
1 am so glad when the royal exile went
back He left the gate ajar, or left it
wide open. Going home!" That is
the dying exclamation of the majority
of Christians. / have seen many Chris
tians die. / think nine out of ten of
them in the last moment say: 60
ing home" Going home out of ban
ishment and sin and sorrow and
sadness. Going home to join in the
hilarities of our parents and our dear
children who have already departed.
Going home to Christ Going home to
God. Going home to stay. Where are
your loved ones that died in Christ?
You pity them. All, they ought to
pity you. You are an exile far from
home. They are home. Oh! what a
time it will be for you when the gate
keeper of Heaven shall say: Take off
that rough sandal; the journeys
ended. Put down that saber, the bat
ties won. Put off that iron coat of
mail and put on the robe of con-
queror" At that gate of triumph L
leave you to-day, only reading three
tender cantos translated from the
Italian. If you ever heard anything
sweeter l never did, although cannot
adopt all its theology:
Twas whispered one morning in heaven
How the little child-angel May,
In the shade OF the great white portal
Sat sorrowing night and day.
| How she said TO the stately warden
| He OF the key and bar
'Ohi angel. sweet angel, pray you
Set the beautiful gates ajar-
Only little pray you,
Set the beautiful gates ajsr.
II can hear my mother weeping,
| She is lonely. she cannot see
glmmer Of light in the darkness,
When the gates shut after me:
Oh! turn me the key, sweet angel,
The splendor will shine so far"
But the warden answered, II dare noe
| Set the beautiful gates ajar."
Spoke low and answered, Il dare not
| Set the beautiful gates ajar."
Then up rsse Mary, the blessed,
Sweet Mary, the mother Of Christ;
Her hand on the hand Of the angel
| She laid, and her touch suficed,
Turned was the key in the portal.
| Fell ringing the golden bar,
And lOi in the little child's fingers
Stood the beautiful gates ajar.
In the little child's angel fingers
| Stood the beautiful gates aiar.
Mystery Cleared Up.