Connecticut western news., 1896-08-06

UeaCQ care TOT beautiful curtains! Ou may hang the room with the finest works of art, but what does death cars for pictures? You may fill the house with the wailings of widowhood and ,rphanage; does death mind weeping?
 This ought not to be depressing theme. Who wants to live here forever? The world has always treated me well, and every day l feel less and less like scolding and complaining. But yet would not want to make this my eternal residence. 1 love to watch the clouds and bathe my soul in the blue sea of heaven, but I expect when the firma- ment is rolled away as scroll to see Q new heaven, grander, higher and more glorious. You ought to be willing to exchange your body that has headaches and sideaches and weaknesses innumer- able, that limps with the stone bruise or testers with the thorn or flames on the funeral pyre of levers for an incorrupt- ible body and an eye that blinks not be. fore the jasper gates and the great white throne. But between that and this there is an hour about which no man should be reckless or foolhardy. doubt net your courage, but I tell you that you will want something better than a strong arm, a good aim and a trusty sword when you come to your last battle. You will need a better robe than any you have in your wardrobe to keep you warm in that place.
 The Gathering Night.
 Circumstances do not make so much difference It may be bright day when you push off from the planet, or it may be dark night and while the owl is hooting from the forest. It may be spring, and your soul may go out among the blossoms, apple orchards swinging their censers in the way. It may be winter and the earth in a snow shroud. It may be autumn and the forests set on fire by the retreating year-dead na- ture laid out ill state. It may be with make be in strange hotel with a serv- ant faithful to the last. It may be in the rail train, shot off the switch and tumbling in long reverberation down the embankment-crash, crash! I know not the time, I know not the mode, but the days of our life are being subtracted away and we shall come down to the time when we have but ten days left, then nine days. then eight days, then seven days, six days, five days, four days, three days, two days, one day. Then hours--three hours. two hours. one hour. Then only minutes left--five minutes, four minutes, three minutes, two minutes, one minute. Then only seconds left-four seconds, three sec onds, two seconds, one second. Conc The chapter of life ended. The hook closed. The pulses at rest The feet through with the journey. The hands closed from all work. No word on the lips. No breath in the nostrils. Hair combed back to lie undisheveled by any human hands The muscles still. The nerves still. The lungs still. The tongue still. All still. You might put the steth. oscope to the breast and hear no sound. You might put speaking trumpet to the ear, but you could not wake the deafness. No motion, no throb, no life. Still, still
 So death comes to tho disciplel What if the sun of life is about to set? Jesus is the day spring from on high, the per petual morning of every ransomed spirit, What if the darkness comes? Jesus is the light of the world and of heaven. What though this earthly house does crumble? Jesus has prepared house of many mansions. Jesus is the anchor that always holds. Jesus is the light that is never eclipsed. Jesus is the fountain that is never exhausted. Jesus is the evening star, hung up amid the gloom of the gathering night.
 You are almost through with the abuse and back biting of enemies. They will call you no more by evil names. Your good deeds will no longer be mis interpreted nor your honor filched. The troubles of earth will end in the felici- ties. Toward eveningl The bereave- ments of earth will soon be lifted. You will not much longer stand pouring your grief in the tomb, like Rachel weeping for her children or David mourning for Absalom. Broken hearts bound up. Wounds healed. Tears wiped away. Sorrows terminated. No more sounding of the dead march Toward eveningi Death will come, sweet as slumber to the eyelids of the babe, as full rations to . starving soldier, as .veaing hour to the exhausted workman. The sky will take on its sunset glow, every cloud fire psalm, every lake q slassy mirror, the forests transfgured, delicate mists climbing the air. Youl friends will announce it; your pulses will beat it; your joys will ring it; your ,, lips will whisper it, Howard eveningl"