The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1896-10-19

I all ripe. Why do you not go and reap it?
/ You have been grooming over your innrml-
I ties for thirty years. Now give one round
shout over your emancipation. You say
/ you have il so hard; you might have 1t
worse You wonder why this great cold
trouble keeps revolving through your
soul. turning and turning with black
hand on The crank. All, that trouble IS
the prindstone on which you are to
sharpen your sickle. To the ieldsi Wake
up! 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 fields!
Reap! reap!
Again. l remark, in grace as in farming
there is a time for threshing. 1 tell you
bluntly that is death. Just as the farmer
with a fail beats the wheat out of the
straw, so death beats the soul out of the
body. Every sickness is a stroke of the
hau, and the sick-bed is the threshing
floor. What. say you, IS death to a good
man only taking the wheat out of the
straw? That is all. An aged man has
fallen asleep. Only yesterday you saw
him in the sunny porch playing with his
grandchildren. Calmly he received the
message to leave this world. He babe a
pleasant goodbye to his old friends. The
telegraph carries the tidings, and on swift
rail-trains the kindred 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 always the
first to rise. His voice has already min
gled in the doXology of heaven. Grand
father always did sing in church. Any
thing CHASTITY in that? No. The thresh-
ing of the wheat out of the straw. That
is AL
The Saviour folds a lamb in his BOSOM
The little child filled all the house with
her music, and her toys are scattered al!
up and down the stairs just as she left
them. What if the hand that plucked
four-o' clocks out of the meadow is still?
II will wave in the eternal triumph. What
If the voice that made music in the home
is still? 1t will sing the eternal hosanna.
Put white rose in one hand. a red rose in
the other hand, and a wreath of orange
blossoms on the brow; the white flower
for the victory, the red flower for the Sa.
viours sacrifice, the orange blossoms for
her marriage day. Anything CHASTITY about
thatE On, no! The sun went down ana
the flower shut. The wheat threshed out
OF the straw. Dear Lord, give me Sleep
said dying boy, the son of one of my ef-
ders, dear Lord, give me sleep" And he
closed his eyes and awoke in glory Henry
w. Longfellow, writing a letter of condo
lence to those parents, said, chose last
words were beautifully poetic" And Nj.
Longfellow knew what is poetic. Dear
Lord, give me sleep"
Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath
That the reaper came that day;
Twas an angel that visited the eartn
And took the flower away.
So it may be with us when our work is
all done. Dear Lord, give me sleep."
l have one more thought to present 1
have spoken of the blowing of the SOW
ing, of the narrowing, of the reaping. of
the threShing / must now sneak a mo-
ment of the garnering.
Where is the garner? Need I tell Won?
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 a 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 20 Lord, de-
liver my soul!'' But they got over it. They
all got over it.Garneredi Their tears wiped
away; their battles are ended; their bur
dens lifted. Garnered- The Lord of the
harvest will not allow those sheaves to
perish in the equinox. Garnered! Some
of us remember. on the farm, that the
sheaves were put on the top of the 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 in the wind and the old
wagon creaked, and the horses
made a 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
1t seemed as if the load would go no far
Their, until the workmen gave q great
shout, ana then with one last tremendous
strain, the horses pulled in the load; then
they We're Embarrassed, and forkful after
forkful of grain fell into the NOV. o my
friends, our getting to heaven may be
pull, hard pull, very hard pull; but
these sheaves are bound to go in The
Lord of the harvest has promised it. 1 see
the load at last coming to the door of the
heavenly garner. The sheaves of the
Christian soul sway to and fro in the wind
of death, and the old body creaks under
the load, and as the load strikes the floor
of the celestial garner, 1t seems as If 1t can
go no farther. It's the last struggle until
the voices of angels and the voices of our
departed kindred and the welcoming voice
of God shall send the harvest rolling into
the eternal triumph, while all up and down
the sky the cry is heard: Harvest home!
harvest homer