The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1896-05-01
SUBSCRIPTION: sl.Oo Per Year.

voluntary exiies from other lands.
Some of you are Scotchmen. ] see ID
In your high cheel-bones, and in the
colcr that illumines your face when
mention the land of your nativity.
Bonnie Scotlandi Dear old lxirlxl Some
of your ancestors sleeping in Grey
frairs churchyard, or by the deep
lochs filed out of the pitchers Of
Heaven, or under the heather some-
times so deep of color it makes ona
think of the blood of this Covenanters
who signed their names for Christ,
dipping their pens into tha Teins of
their own arms opened for that pur-
pose. How every fiber of your nature
thrills as l mention the name of Rob-
ert Bruce, and the Campbells. and
Cochrane. / bespeak for this royal exc
lie of my text the love and the services
of all Scotch exiles. Some of you ara
Englishmen. Your ancestry served
the Lord. Have / not read of the
sufferings of the Haymarket? and have
mot seen in oxford the very spot
where Ridley and Latimer mounted
the red chariot? Some of your ances-
tors heard George Whitefeld thunder,
or heard Charles Wesley sing, or heard
John Bunyan tell his dream of the
celestial city; and the cathedrals un-
der the shadows of which some of you
were born had in their grandest organ
roll the name of the Messiah. be-
speak for the royal exile of my SER
mon the love and service of all En-
glish exiles. Yes, some of you came
from the island of distress over which,
Hunger, on a throne of human slele-
tons, sat queen. All efforts at ameliora-
tionAhalted by massacre. Procession OF
famines, procession of martyrdomS
marching from North channel to Cape
Clear, and from the Irish sea across to
the Atlantic. An island not bounded
as geographers tell, us, but as every
philan nthropist knows-bounded on the
north and the south and the cast and
the west by wac which no human poll
tics can alleviate, and only Almighty
God can assuagG. Land of Goldsmith's
hythm, and Sheridans wit, and O'Con-
nells eloquence, and Edmund Burke's
craftsmanship, and O'Hrien's sncrifice.i
Another Patmos with its apocalypse of
blood. Yet you can not think of it to-
day without having your eyes blinded
with emotion, for there your ancestors
sleep in graves some of which they en-
tered for lack of bread.
For this royal exile of my sermon I
bcspeal5 the love and the service of all
Irish exiles. Yes, some of you are
from Germany, the land of LutherI
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
descendants of the Puritans, and they
were exiles; and some of you
are descendants of the Hugue-.
nots, and they were exiles; and
some of you are descendants OF
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 iatitude.'
Some of you on the banks of the Ken
nebec, or at the foot of the Green
and you are here now.
ohl how many of us far away from
home. All of us exiles. This is not
our home. Heaven is our home.
Oh! l am so glad when the royal
exile went back He left the gate
a Jar, or left it wide open. "Going
homeP' That is the dying ex-
of the majority of Chris
tians. have seen many Christians
die. l think nine out of ten in the last
say, "Going home" Going
out of banishment and sin and sorrow
and sadness. Going home to join I'M
the hilarities of our parents and cur
dear children who have already de-
-, OF
ing home to God. Going home to stay
Where are your loved ones that died
in Christi You pity them. Ali they
ought to pity you. You are an exile
far from home. They are homel
Oh! what a time it will be
for you when the gatekeeper of Heaven
shall say: "Take off that rough sam
dal; the journeys ended. Put down
that saber; the battles won. Put or
that iron coat of mail and put on tho
robe of conqueror." At that gate OF
leave you to-day, only read
Ing three tender cantos translated
from the Italian. If you ever heard
anything sweeter never did, although
| can not adopt all its theology:
Twas whispered one morning in Heaven
How the little child-angel May,
In the shade OF the great white poTtai
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 a little, pray you
Set the beautiful gates ajar.
II can hear my mother weeping.
She is lonely, she can not see
A glimmer 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: Il dare noe
Set the beautiful gates ajar;'
Spoke low and answered: II dare not
Set the beautiful gates ajar"
Then up rose Mary, the Blessed,
Sweet Mary, the mother Of Christi
Her hand on the hand Of the angel
She laid, and her touch sufJlced.
Turned was the key in the portal,
Fell ringing the golden bar,
And lol in the little child's fingers
Sto'd the beautiful gates atar.
In the little child's angel fingers
Stood the beautiful gates aJar.
------=--=
The Home.
The fdaa1 horne l,aUfna In yna1.rfaON.