The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1898-06-27

eea. Aha" cry the mountains, "nC
rest herei We crumble to the plain. u
AHA" CRY tho towers, mo rest here
We follow Babylon and Thebes and Nine
web into the dust" No rest for the flow.
ers; they fade. No rest for the stars; they
die. No rest for man; he must work, toll,
suffer and slave
| Now for what have I said all thisi
Just to prepare you for the text, "Arise
70 and depart, for this Is net your rest "
! am going to make you o grand offer.
Some Of you remember that when gold
was discovered in California large COM
panies were made up and started of to get
their fortune, md o year ago, for the same
purpose, hundreds dared the cold Of Alas
ka Today want to make up party for
the land Of God. I hold in my hand q
deed from the proprietor Of the estate, in
which he offers to all who will join the
company 10000 shares of infinite value,
In city whose streets are gold, whose
harps are gold, whose crowns are gold.
You have read Of the crusaders-how that
many thousands Of them went of to con-
quer the holy sepulcher ask you to Join
grander crusade, not for the purpose of
conquering the sepulcher of dead Christ,
but for the purpose of reaching the throne
Of q living Jesus. When an army Is to be
made up, the recruiting officer examines
] the volunteers, he tests their eyesight, he
I sounds their lungs, he measures their
stature. They must be just right, or they
are rejected. But there shall be no par
TALLY In making up this army of Christ
Whatever your moral or physical stature,
whatever your designations, whatever your
crimes, whatever your weaknesses, ! have
commission from the Lord Almighty to
make up this regiment of redeemed souls,
and cry, ARISE ye and depart, for this
is not your rest" Many of you have late
ly Joined this company, and my desire Is
that you all may join 1t. Why noti You
know In your own hearts experience that
what have said about this world is true;
that 1t Is no place to rest in. There are
hundreds here wesry-oh, how weary
weary with sin, weary with trouble, weary
with bereavement Some Of you have been
pierced through and through You carry
tho scars Of score Of conflicts, In which
you have bled at every pore, and you sigh,
"Oh, that had the wings Of dove, that
might fly away and be ut rcstr' You
have taken the cup Of this worlds pleas
ures and drunk 1t to the dregs and still
the thirst claws at your tongue and the
fever strikes to your brain. You have
chased pleasure through every valley, by
every stream, amid every brightness and
under every shadow, but just at the mo-
ment when you were all ready to put your
hand upon the rosy laughing sylph Of the
wood she turned upon you with the glare
of flend and the eye Of satyr, her locks
adders and her breath the chill damp of a
grave. Out Of Jesus Christ no rest. No
voice to silence the storm. No light to
kindle the darkness. No drydock to re-
pair the split bulwark.
Thank God, can tell you something
better. II there is no rest on earth, there
is rest in heaven. Oh ye who are worn
out with work, your hands calioused, your :
backs bent, your eyes half put out, your !
fingers worn with the needle, that in this
world you may never lay down; 70 dis
Outraged ones, who have been waging
hand to hand fight for bread; ye to whom
the night brings little rest and the morn
ing more drudgery-oh, ye of the weary
hand and the weary side and the weary
foot hear Inc talk about rest!
The Work Is Done.
Look at that company Of enthroned
ones. 1t cannot be that those bright ones
ever TOLEDO Yes, yes! These packed the
Chinese tea boxes and through missionary
instruction escaped into glory. These
sweltercd on southern plantations, and
one night, after the cotton picking, went
up as white as II they had never been
black. Those died of overtoil in the Low
ell carpet factories and these in Manchester
mills, those helped build the pyramids and
these broke away from work on the day
Christ was bounded out of Jerusalem. No
more towers to build; heaven is done. No
more garments to weave; the robes are fin
ished. No more harvests to raise; the
gamers are full. Oh, sons and daughters
Of toll, arise ye and depart, for that is
your restl
Scovill McCallum, boy Of my Sunday
school, while dying, said to his mother,
Don't cry, but sing, sing:
"There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary"
Then, putting his wasted hand over his
heart, he said, "There is rest for me-"
But there are some of you who want to
hear about the land where they never
have any hcartbreaks and no graves are
dug. Where are your father and motherp
The most Of you are orphans. I look
III ouhNi uhtl W AclC oCC OIlC Iuuu WIN llHS |
parents living sec ten who are orphans
Where are your childrenp Where see one
family circle that is unbroken see three
or four that have been desolatcd. One
lamb gone out of this fold, one flower
plucked from that garland one golden
link broken from that chain here bright
light put out and there another and yon-
der another. With such griefs how are you
l. ~. |
can attunc that silent voice or kindle the
luster of that closed eye or put spring and
dance into that little foot? When we bank
up the dust over the dead is the sod never
TO BIO broken? Is the cemetery to hear no
sound but tho tire of the hcarsc wheel or
the tap Of the bell at the gate as the long
come in with their awful bur-
dens of grief? Is the bottom of the grave
gravel and tho top dust? No, no, no! The
tomb is only place where we wrap our
robes about us for pleasant nap on our
way home. The swellings of Jordan will
only wash off the dust of the way. From
the top Of the grave we catch glimpse of
the towers ginted with the sun that never
sets.
Oh, We whose locks arc wet with the
dcws of the night Of grief, ye whose hearts
arc heavy because those well known foot
steps sound no more at the doorway, yon-
der is your rest! There is David trium-
plant, but once he bemoaned Absalom.
There is Abraham enthroned, but once he
wept for Sarah. There is Paul cxultant,
but he once sat with his feet in the stocks.
There Is Paysor radiant with immortal
health, but on earth he was always sick.
No toll, no tears, no partings no strife,
no agonizing cough, no night, no storm
to ruffie tho crystal sea, no alarm to strike
from the cathedral towers, no drge throb-
bling from seraphic harps, no trcmor In
the everlasting song, but rest perfect rest,
rest!
A Glorious Reunion.
Into that rest how many loved ones
have gone! Some put down the work of
midlifc, feeling they could hardly be
spared from the store or shop for day,
but are to be spared from it forever. Some
vent in old age. One came tottering on
lis staff and used to sit ut tho foot of the
pulpit, his wrinkled face radiant with tho
light that falls from tho throne Of God.
A tbn, T.. M.