The Monitor-register., 1897-03-05
Actual Potash.

JuSb uOW uIucu tuey WC1SIeu thoh anu
just how much they weigh now. "He
weighed the mountains in scales and
the hills in q balance" Oh, what God
to run against Oh, what God to dis
obey! Oh, what a God to dishonor Oh,
what God to defy! The brightest, the
mightiest angel takes no familiarity
with God. The wings of reverence are
lifted. "With twain he covered the
face"
Another seraphic posture in the text.
The seraph must not always stand still.
He must move and it must be without
clumsiness. There must be celerity and
beauty in the movement. with twain
he did fly" Correction, exhilaration.
Correction at our slow gait, for we only
crawl in the service when we ought to
fly at the divine bidding. Exhilaration
in the fact that the soul has wings as
the seraphs have wings, What is a
wing? An instrument of locomotion.
They may not be like seraphs' wing,
they may not be like birds wing, but
the soul has wings. God says so. He
shall mount up on wings as eagles.
We are made in the divine image, and
God has wings, The Bible says So
Healing in his wings. Under the
shadow of his wings. Under whose
wings hast thou come to trust" The
soul with folded wing now, wounded
wing, broken wing, bleeding wing,
Gagged wing. Aye, / have it now Gagged
within bars of bone and under curtains
of flesh, but one day to be free. hear
the rustic of pinions in Seagrave's poem
which we sometimes sing;
Rise, my SOUL and stretch thy wings.
hear the rustic of pinions in Alex
ander Pope's stanza, where he says:
Imount, fly.
death, where is thy victory2
On Wings to Eternity.
A dying Christian not long ago cried
out, Wings, wings, wings!" The air
is full of them, coming and going, COM
ing and going. You have seen how the
dull, sluggish chrysalid becomes the
bright butterfly; the dull and the stupid
and the lethargic turned into the alert
and the beautiful. Well, my friends, in
this world we are in the chrysalid state.
Death will unfurl the wings. Oh, if we
could only realize what a grand thing
it will be to get rid of this old clod of
the body and mount the heavens, neither
seagnll nor lark nor albatross nor falcon
nor condor pitching from highest range
of Andes SO buoyant or SO majestic of
stroke.
See that eagle in the mountain nest.
&c looks SO sick, SO ragged feathered. so
worn out and SO half asleep Is that
eagle dying? No The ornithologist will
tell you it is the molting season with
that bird. Not dying, but molting.
You see that Christian sick and weary
and worn out and seeming about to ex-
pire on what is called his deathbed. The
world says he is dying. I say it is the
molting season for his soul-the body
dropping away the celestial pinions
coming on. Not dying, but molting.
Molting out of darkness and sin and
struggle into glory and into God. Why
do you not shout? Why do you sit shiv-
ering at the thought of death and trying
to hold back and wishing you could stay
here forever, and speak of departure as
though the subject were filed with skel-
etons and the varnish of coffins, and as
though you preferred lame foot to swift
wing?
Oh, people of God, let us stop playing
the fool and prepare for rapturous flight.
When your soul stands on the verge of
this life, and there are vast precipices
beneath and sapphired domes above,
which way will you fy2 Will you
swoop, or will you soar? Will you fly
downward, or will you fly upward?
Everything on the wing this day bid
ding us aspire. Holy Spirit on the wing
Angel of the New Covenant on the
wing Time ON the wing, flying away
from US. Eternity on the wing, flying
toward us. Wings, wings, wings!
Live SO near to Christ that when you
are dead people standing by your life
less body will not soliloquize, saying;
''What disappointment life was to
him! How averse he was to departure
What a pity it was he had to diei What
an awful calamityp' Rather standing
there may they see a sign more vivid
| on your still face than the vestiges of
| pain, something that will indicate that
it was a happy exit, the clearance from
oppressive quarantine, the cast off chrys-
aid, the molting of the faded and the
useless, and the ascent from malarial
valleys to bright, shining mountain tops,
and be led to say, as they stand there
contemplating your humility and your
reverence in life and your happiness in
death, with twain he covered the feet,
| with twain he covered the face, with
twain he did fly" Wings, wings, wingsI