Connecticut western news., 1896-10-22

up State street, down Pennsylvania ave- nue and up Pennsylvania avenue, until the whole land was torn to pieces as 1t had never been before. What followed the harrow? A great awakening, in which there were 500, 900 souls brought into the kingdom of our Lord. No har- row, no crop.
 The Reaping.
 Again I remark, in grace, as in the farm, there must be reaping. Many Christians speak of religion as though it were a matter of economics or insur- ance. They expect to reap in the next world. Oh, no! Now is the time to reap. Gather up the joy of the Chris tian religion this morning, this after noon, this night. If you have not as much grace as you would like to have, thank God for what you have and pray for more. You are no worse enslaved than Joseph, no worse troubled than was David, no worse scourged than was Paul. Yet, amid the rattling of letters and amid the gloom of dungeons and amid the horror of shipwreck, they tri- umphed in the grace of God. The weak est man in the house today has 500 acres of spiritual joy all ripe. Why do you not go and reap it? You have been grooming over your infirmities for 80 years. Now give one round shout over your emancipation. You say you have it 30 hard. You might have it worse You wonder why this great cold trouble keeps revolving through your soul, turning and turning with black hand on the crank. An, that trouble Is the grindstone on which you are to sharpen your sickle. To the fieldsl Wake upl Take off your green spectacles, your blue spectacles, your black spectacles Pull up the corners of your mouth as far as you pull them down. To the fieldsl Reap, reapl
 The Thrashing.
 Again remark, in grace, as in farm ing, there is time for thrashing. I tell you bluntly that is death. Just as the farmer with fail beats the wheat out of the straw, so death beats the soul out of the body. Every sickness is stroke of the fail, and the sickbed is the thrashing floor. What, say you, is death to a good man only taking the wheat
 
 man has fallen asleep. Only yesterday you saw him in the sunny porch playing with his grandchildren. Calmly he re- ceived the message to leave this world. He bade a pleasant goodby to his old friends. The telegraph carries the tid- ings, and on swift rail trains the kin dred come, wanting once more to look on the face of dear old grandfather. Brush back the gray hairs from his brow. It will never ache again. Put him away in the slumber of the tomb. He will not be afraid of that night Grandfather was never afraid of any thing. He will rise in the morning of the resurrection. Grandfather was al- ways the first to rise. His voice has al- ready mingled in the doxology of heav- en. Grandfather always did sing in church. Anything ghastly in that2 No. The thrashing of the wheat out of the straw. That is all.
 The Saviour folds lamb in his bos- om. The little child filled all the house with her music, and her toys are scat tered all up and down the stairs just as she left them. What if the hand that pluoked four o clocks out of the meadow is still? It will wave in the eternal tri- umph. What if the voice that made music in the home is still? It will sing the eternal hosanna. Put a white rose in one hand, red rose in the other hand and wreath of orange blossoms on the brow: the white flower for the victory, the red flower for the Saviour's sacrifice, the orange blossoms for her marriage day. Anything ghastly about that? Oh, mol The sun went down and the flower shut The wheat thrashed out of the straw. Dear Lord, give me sleep" said dying boy. the son of one of my elders; ''dear Lord, give me sleep" And he closed his eyes and awoke in glory. Henry W. Longfellow, writing letter of coincidence to those parents, said, "Those last words were beautifully poetic" And MT. Longfel- low knew what is poetic. Dear Lord, give me sleep"
 Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath,
 That the reaper came that day.
 Twas angel that visited the earth
 And took the flower away.
 So it may be with us when our work is all done. Dear Lord, give me sleep"
 The Garnering.
 have one more thought to present. have spoken of the blowing, of the sowing, of the narrowing, of the reap ing, of the thrashing. Imust now speak a moment of the garnering.
 Where is the garner? Need I tell youf Oh, no! So many have gone out from your own circles-yea, from your own family-that you have had your eyes on that garner for many year. What a hard time some of them had In Geth- semanes of suffering they sweat great drops of blood. They took the "cup of trembling" and they put it to their hot lips, and they cried, ''If it be possible, let this cup pass from me. }" With tongues of burning agony they cried, 70 Lord, deliver my soull' But they got over it. They all got over it. Garneredl Their tears wiped away; their battles all ended; their burdens lifted. Gar neredl The Lord of the harvest will not allow those sheaves to perish in the equinox. Garneredl Some of us remem- Der, on the farm, that the sheaves were put on the top rack which surmounted the wagon, and these sheaves were piled higher and higher, and after awhile the horses started for the barn, and these sheaves swayed to and fro i'll the wind, and the old wagon creaked, and the horses made struggle, and pulled so hard the harness came up in loops of leather on their backs, and when the front wheel struck the elevated door of the barn it seemed as if the load would go no farther until the workmen gave a great shout, and then, with one last tremendous strain, the horses pulled in the load; then they were unharnessed, and forkful after forkful of grain fell into the mow. Oh, my friends, our get ting to heaven may be pull, hard pull, very hard pull but these sheaves