The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1896-09-03
the days of sickness came suddenly and he

heaven" And then they gavo him glass
of water to cool his hot lips, and he said:
Mamma, shall take draft from the
water of life after awhile, OF which If one
drink he shall never get thirsty again. I
lay myself at Jesus feet, and want him
to do just what ne thinks best to do with
me-" In these days Rest For the Weary"
was a new hymn, and he had learned it,
and in perfect ecstasy of soul in his last
hour he cried out:
ain the CT -istian's home in glory
There re lains lard of rest.
There my Savionc's gone before me
To fulfill my souls request.
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for yon
"Sing oh, sing. ye heirs of glory,
Shout yolr triumphs you gol
lions gate are open for you,
You shall find entrance through.
There is rest for the weary.
"There is rest for you, papa; there Is rest
for you, mamma" And then putting
his hands Ger his heart, he said, Eyes,
there Is rest for me- And then, he asked
them to read The Lord is my Shepherd
l shall not want. He maketh me to lie
down in green pastures and leadeth me be-
side still waters, " and he cried out: 80
death, where is thy Eting9 o grave, where
is thy victory"
Only 10 years old. And then he said,
"Now / wish you would just turn this
bed so l can look once more on the foliage
and see the sun set" 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, why, are you not will
ing to await the Lord s timer" Yes" he
said, 81 am; but l would rather Jesus
would come and hurry and take me-" And
so, with peace indcscribable, he passed
away.
Oh, there is nothing SD about child's
death save the grief in the parents heart!
You see the little orCs 20 right out from
world of sin and suffering to world Of
joy. How many sorrows they escape, how
many temptations, how many troublesl
Children dead are safe. Those that live
are in peril. We know not what dark path
they may take. The day knay come in
which they will break yCtr heart, but
children dead are safe-safe forever. Weep
ing parents, do not mourn too bitterly
over your child that has gone There are
two kinds OF prayers made at child's
sick bed. One prayer the Lord likes; the
other prayer he does not like. When soul
kneels down at q childs sick bed and says:
80 Lord, spare this little one. He is very
near to my heart ! don't want to part
with him, but thy will be done"-that is
the kind of prayer e-Lord loves. There
is another kind Of prayer which have
heard men make in substance when they
say: 80 Lord, this isn't right. 1t is hard
to take this child. You have no right to
take this child. Spare this child. l can't
give him up, and l won't give him up"
The Lord answers that kind of a prayer
sometimes. The child lives on and lives on
and travels off in paths Of wickedness o
perish. At the erd Of every prayer for
childs life say, THY will, o Lord, be
done"
The brightest lights that can be kindled
Christ has ki2dled Let us, old and young,
rejoice that heaven is gathering up 50
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 so long we tarry. If
! could count up the names of all those
who have gone out from these families in
to the kingdom CT heaven, it would take
me all day to mention their names A
great multitude before the throne. You
loved them once, you love them now, and
ever and anon you think you hear their
voices calling you upward. All, yes, they
have gone out from all these families, and
you want no book to tell you of the dying
experience of Christian children. You have
heard it. 1t has beer whispered in
your ear o father, o mother, 0 brother,
o sister. Toward that good land all
Christians are bearing. This swapping Of
heartstrings this flight of years, this tread
of the heart reminds us that we are pass
ing away. Under spring blossoms and
through summer harvests and across au-
turmal leaves and through the wintrJ
snowbanks we are passing on. Oh, rejoice
at it, children Of God, rejoice at it! How
we shall gather them up, the loved and
the lost Before we mount our throne, be-
fore we drink Of the fountain, before we
strike the harp of our eternal celebration,
we will cry out "Where are our loved and
losts' And then how we shall gather
them upl Oh, how we shall gather them
up!
In this 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 years Of pain are past
Well meet before the throne at last.