The Progress. (Shreveport, La.) 1892-1900, 1897-01-30

the river, ana SO 1 waved my hat and
shouted, and after awhile l saw some ono
waving on tho opposite bank, and heard
him shout, and the boat came across, and
l got in and WAS transported. And sol
suppose 1t will be in the evening Of our
life. We will come down to the river Of
death and give u signal to our friends ON
the other shore, and they will give a signal
back to us, and the boat comes and our
departed kindred are the oarslnen, the fires
of the setting day tinging the tops Of tho
paddles.
Oh, have you never sat by such death
bed? In that hour you hear the departing
soul cry, "Hark! Look!' You bearkened
and you looked. A little child, pininR
away because of the death of Its mother,
getting weaker and weaker every day, was
taken into the room where hung the pic
ture of her mother. She seemed to enjoy
looking at 1t, and then she was taken
away, and after awhile died. In tho last
moment that wan and wasted little one
lifted her hands, while her face lighted up
with the glory of the next world and cried
out, "Mother!' DO you tell me she did
not see her mother? She did. So in my
first settlement at Belloville plain man
said to me: "What do you think heard
last night I was in the room where one
of my neighbors was dying. He was a
good man, and he said he heard the angels
of God singing before the throne haven't
I heard them too" Said /, Il have no
| doubt of it, Why, we arc to be taken up
| to heaven at last by ministering spirits.
| Who arc they to be? Souls that went up
from Madras, or Antioch, or Jerusalems
| Oh, no; our glorided kindred are going to
troop around us!
| An Idea of Heaven.
| Heaven is not u stately, formal place, as
I sometimes hear it described, a very fri
| gidity Of splendor, whore people stand on
| cold formalities and go around about with
| heavy crowns of gold on their heads. No,
that is not my idea of heaven. My idea of
heaven is moro like this: You are seated
in the evening tide by the fireplace, your
whole family there, or nearly NIL of them
there. While you are seated talking and
| enjoying the evening hour there is knock
at the door and tho door opens, and there
| comes In brother that has been long abb
sent. He has been absent, for years you
have not seen him, and no sooner do you
make up your mind that 1t is certainly he
than you leap up, and the question is who
shall give him the first embrace. That is
my idea of heaven-a great home circle
where they are waiting for us. Oh, will
you not know your mothers voice theref
She who always called you by your first
name long after othSra had given you the
formal mister" You were never any
thing but james, or John, or George, or
Thomas, or Mary, or Florence to her. Will
you not know your childs voiceS She of
the bright oye and the rudy cheek, and
the quiet step, who came in from play and
flung herself into your lap, a very shower
Of mirth and beautyf Why, the picture is
craven in your soul. 1t cannot wear out.
II that little one should stand on the other
side Of some heavenly hill and call to you,
you would hear her voice above the burst
Of heavens great orchestra. Know 1t!
You could rot help but know it
Now bring you this glorious consola-
ton of future recognition. If you could
get this theory into your heart, it would
lift great many shadows that are stretch
ing across it. When was q lad, used to
| go out to the railroad track and put my
ear down on the track, and I could hear
the OK press train rumbling miles away nnd
coming on, and today, my friends, X we
only had faith enough we could put out
ear down to the grave Of our dead and lis
ten and hear In the distance tho rum blinG
| give unanks To tnosu W WHOM we nre splrlt-