The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1896-09-04
CHILDREN OF GOD.
Rev. DR.. Ta1nage breaches or
Christianity in Children.
The Unspeakable Atfractireness OF UhilG
Under the Influence OF Gods
Grace-There is an Angel
I'm the House.


ers. And he said unto his father, my head, my
head And he said to a lad, carry 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.-u Kings w., 1s, 10
There is at least one happy home in
Shunem. To the luxuriance and
splendOr of great house had been
| given the advent of a child. Even
when the Angel of Life brings new
soul TO the poor mans hut, a star OF
| joy shines over the manger. Infancy,
with its helplessness and innocence,
had passed away. Days of bOyhoOd
had come-days of laughter and frolic,
| days of sunshine and promise, days of
strange questions and curiosity and
| quick development. l suppose among
| all the treasures of that house, the
brightest was the boy. One day there
is the shout of reapers heard afeld.
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
cleaning 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 head!"
And the father said Garry him to
his mother" just as any father would
have said; for our hand lis too rough,
and our voice is too harsh, and our
foot is too loud to doctor sick child,
if there be in our home gentler voice
and gentler hand and stiller foot
step. But all of no avail. While the
reapers of Shunem were busy in the
field, there came IL stronger Reaper
that way, with keener scythe and for
richer harvest. He reaped only
one sheaf, but o, what a golden
sheaf was that! L do not want
heartbreaking scene than what | see
in just 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
harvest-feld and then was brought
home and died on his mothers lap, the
story still thrills u.s. Indee d, child
hood has a charm always and every.
where. 1 shall now speak to you of
childhood; it's beauty, its susceptible
ity TO impression, its power over the
parental heart, and its blissful transit
ton from earth to Heaven.
The child's beauty does not depend
upon form or feature or complexion
or apparel. That destitute one that
you saw on the street, bruised with
unkindness and in rags, has a charm
about her, even under her destitution
You have forgot ten a great many per-
sons whom you met, of inely-cut fea-
lures and with erect posture and with
faultless complexion, while you will
always remem Der this poor girl who,
on a cold, moonlight 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 penny" All, how often we
have walked on and said: 80, that is
nothing but street vagabondism;" but
after we got block or two on, we
stopped and said: "Ah, that is
not right" and we passed
up that same way and dropped
n mite into that suffering hand, as
though it were not matter of second
thought, so ashamed were we of our
hard-heartedness. With what admira-
tion we look upon group of children
on the playground or in the school,
and we clap our hands almost invoI-
unfairly and say: How beautiful!
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
WEAKNESS and anxiety are gone as
when a child you bounded over the |
yourself. Tha father |
who stands rigid and unsympathetic
amid the sportfulness of chill |
dren ought never to have been |
out of crusty and |
unredeemable solitariness. 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 chiId's eye, no color like
that which blooms on a child's cheek, |
no music like the sound of a child's |
voice. Its face in the poorest picture |
any imperfection in art. |
When we are weary with toll, their |
little hands pull the burdens off our
back.
o, what a dull, stale, mean world |
this would be without the sportfulness |
of children. When 1 find people that
do not like children, l Immediately !
doubt their moral and Christian char
acter. But when the grace of God |
comes upon child, how unspeakably
attractive. When Samuel begins to
pray, and Timothy begins to read the
Scriptures, and Joseph shows himself
BILE to temptation-how beau
tiful the scenel 1 know that parents
sometimes get nervous when their
children become pious, because they |
have the idea that good children al
ways die. The strange questions
a bout God and eternity and the dead
excite apprehension in the parental
mind rather than congratulation.
Indeed there are some people
that seemed marked for Heaven.
This world is too poor a garden for
them to bloom in. The hues of Heav-
en- are in the petals. There is some
thing about their forehead that makes
you think that the hand of Christ has
been on it, asying: Let this one