The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1896-09-03
REV. DR.. TALMAGE.
tH& NOTED DIviNE's SUNDAY
DISCOURSE.


| OF great house had been given the ad
vent Of child. Even when the angel Of
| life brings new soul to the poor mans
hut star of JOY shines over the Manager.
| Infancy, with its helplessness and irno-
| cence, had passed away. Days of boyhOod
had come, days of laughter and frolic,
| days Of sunshine ard 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 harvestcrs cut 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 in the harvest
! fields Of Bethlehem cleaning after the reap
ers But the sun was too hot fcr him.
| Congestion Of the brain seized on him.
| see the swarthy lanorers drop their SIC
kles, and they rush ont to sec 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 cut,
| "My head, MY headr' And the father
said, Garry him to his mother" just as
any father would have said, for our hand
| is too rough, and our voice is too harsh,
| and our foot is too loud to doctor a sick
child if there be in our home gentler
| voice, and a gcntler hand, and stiller
| footstep. But all of 10 avail. While the
reapers Of Shunem were busy in the field
| there came a stronger reaper that way,
| with keener scythe and for a richer har-
vest He reaped only one sheaf, but oh,
| what golden sheaf was that! do not
want to know any more about That heart
| breaking scene than what l see in Just
| this 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 field, and
| then was brought homo and died on his
| mothers lap, the story still thrills Us. In
deed childhood has charm always aud
everywhere. I shall now speak to you of
| childhood-its beauty, its susceptibility to
impression, its power over the parental
| heart, and its blissful transition 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
| her restitution. You have forgotten a
great many persons whom you met, Of
| finely cut features and with erect posture
| and with feuitless complexion, while you
will always remember the poor girl who,
on 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 pen-
| hoy of tov bod
and said, ooh, 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 C. mite into that suffer
ing hand as though it were not matter
Of second thought, so ashamed were we Of
our hard heartedness.
With what admiration we all look upon
a group Of children on the playground or
! in the school, and we clap our hands al
most inToluutarily and say, Glow beau
| tiful'' All stiffness and dignity arc gone,
and your shout is heard with theirs, and
| you trundle their hoop, ard fly their kite,
and strike their ball, and al your wariness
and anxiety are gone as when child you
bounded over the playground yourself.
| That father who stands rigid and unsym-
|
ought never to have been tempted out of q
crusty and unredcemable solitariness The
| waters leap down the rocks, but they have
not tho graceful step of childhood. The
morning comes out OF the gates Of the east,
| throwing its silver on the lake and its gold
| on tho towers and its fire on the cloud, but
| it is not so bright and beautiful as the
| morning Of life. There is no light like
hat al sc, l.;
| color like that which blooms on a child's
| cheek, no music like the sound of q child S
| voice. Its face in the poorest picture re-
| deems any iInperfection in art. When we
are weary with toll, their little hands pull
| the burdens off our back. Oh, what a
| dull, stale, mean world this would be with
out the sportfulness Of children When I
| find people that do not like children, I i'm
mediately doubt their moral and Christian
character. But when the grace of God
comes upon child how unspeakably at
| traetive! When Samuel begins to pray,
| and Timothy begins to read the Scriptures,
| and Joseph shows himself invulnerable to
| temptation, how beautiful the scene! I
know that parents sometimes get nervous
when their children become pious, because
they have the idea that good children al
| ways dlc iHc Strange questions dDOuU
God and eternity and the dead excite ap-
prehension in the parental mind rather
| than congratulation. Indeed, there are
some people that seem marked for heaven.
This world is too poora garden for them to
! bloom in. The hues of heaven are in the
| petals
There is something about their fore
head that makes you think that the hand
OF Christ has been on it, saying, "Let this
one come to me, and let it come to me
| soon" While that one tarried in the house
| you felt there was an angel in the room,
and you thought that every sickness would
| be the last, and when finally tho winds Of
death did scatter the leaves you were no
more surprised than to see star come out
above the cloud on dark night, for you
! had often said to your companion, "My
| dear, we shall never raise that child" But
scout the idea that good children always
die. Samuel the pious boy became Samuel
the great prophet. Christian Timothy be-
came minister at Ephesus. Young Dan
| iel consecrated to God, became prime min.
| lister OF all the realm, and there are in
| hundreds Of the schools and families Of
this country today children who love God
| and keep his commandments and who are