The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1898-04-02

truth that I stand before so many I'm.
mortal spirits The probability is that
your body will at last find sepulcher
in some of the cemeteries that surround
your town or city. There is no doubt
but that your obsequies will be decent
and respectful, and you will be able to
pillow your head under the maple, or
the Norway spruce. or the cypress or
the blossoming fir; but this spirit about
which Stephen prayed, what direction
will that take? What guide will escort
it? What gate will open to receive it?
What cloud Will be cleft for it's path
way? After it has got beyond |
the light of our sun, will there be |
torches lighted for it the rest of |
the way? win the soul have to travel |
through long deserts before it reaches |
pathway, will there be castle at |
whose gate we may ask the |
way to the city? 1t has two wings, |
but it is in cage now. 1t is locked |
fast to keep it; but let the door of this
cage open the least, and that soul is off.
Eagles wing could not catch it. The |
lightnings are not swift enough to
take up with it. When the soul leaves
the body it takes fifty worlds at a
bound. And have no anxiety about
it? Have you no anxiety about it?
l do not care what you do with my
body when my soul is gone, or whether
you believe in cremation or inhuma-
ton. shall sleep just as well in a
wrapping of sackcloth as in satin lined
with eagles down. But my soul, be-
fore this day passes, | will find out
where it will land. Thank God for the
intimation of my text that when we
die Jesus takes us. That answers all
questions for me. What though there
were massive bars between here and
the City of Light, Jesus could remove
them. What though there were great
Saharas of darkness, Jesus could
illume them. What though get wea-
ry of the way, Christ could lift me on
His omnipotent shoulder What though
there were chasms to cross, His hand
could transport me. Then let Ste
phen's prayer be my dying litany:
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit" 1t may
be that in that hour we will be too
feeble to say a long prayer. 1t may be
in that hour we will not be able to say
the Lords Prayer" for it has seven
petitions. Perhaps we may be too
feeble even to say the infant prayer
our mothers taught u.s. which John
Quincy Adams, 70 years of age, said
every night when he put his head upon
his pillow:
| Now lay me down to sleep,
Ipray the Lord my soul to keep
We may be too feeble to employ eth
er of these familiar forms; but this
prayer of Stephen is so short, is so con-
else, is SO earnest, is so comprehensive,
we surely will be able to say that:
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit" Oh,
if that prayer is answered, how sweet
it will be to die! This world is clever
enough to us. Perhaps it has treated
us great deal better than we deserve
to be treated; but if on the dying pill
low there should break the light of
that better world we shall have no
more regret about leaving a small,
dark, damp house for one large, beau
tiful and capacious. That dying min
lister in Philadelphia, some years ago,
beautifully depicted it, when in the
last moment he threw up his hands
and cried out: Il move into the light"
have seen the sea driven with tn e
hurricane until the tangled foam
caught in the rigging, and wave rising
| above wave seemed as if about to storm
! the heavens, and then have seen the
tempest drop, and the waves crouch,
and everything become smooth and
FURNISHED as though camping place
for the glories of Heaven. So l have
seen man, whose life has been tossed
and driven, coming down at last to an
infinite calm, in which there was the
hush of Heavens lullaby.
Stephen asleep! saw such an one.
He fought all his days against poverty
and against abuse. They traduced his
name. They ratified at the door knob
while he was dying, with duns for
debts he could not pay; yet the peace
of God brooded over his pillow, and
while the world faded, Heaven dawned,
and the deepening twilight of earth's
night was only the opening twilight of
Heavens morn. Not a sigh. Not a
tear. Not struggle! Hush! Ste
phen asleep
l have not the faculty to tell the
| I tal1 h,, hn cat-
ting sun whether there will be
drought or not. l can not tell by the
blowing of the wind whether it will
be fair weather or foul on the NOR
row. But l can phrophesy, and
l will phrophesy what weather
it will be when you, the Chris
tian, come to die You may have it
very rough now. 1t may be this week
one annoyance, the next another an
noyance. 1t may be this year one be-
reavement, the next another bereave-
ment. Before this year has passed you
may have to beg for bread, or for
scuttle of coal or pair of shoes; but
at the last Christ will come in and dark
ness will go out. And though there may
be no hand to close your eyes, and no
breast on which to rest your dying
head, and no candle to lift the night,
the odors of Gods hanging garden will
regale your soul, and at your bedside
will halt the chariots of the King. No
more rents to pay. no more agony be-
cause -four has gone up, no more strug-
ole with the world. the flesh and the