St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1898-04-16

| lion. Snail sleep just uS Wcll III -
wrapping of sackcloth as in satin lined
with eagles down. But my soul, be-
fore this day passes, I 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
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 us, which John
Quincy Adams, 20 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
err 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 small,
dark. damp house for one large. beau-
tiful and capacions. 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: II move into the Light"
Pass ON now and will show you one
more picture, and that is Stephen
asleep. With n pathos and simplicity
peculiar to the Scriptures, the text says
of Stephen: He fell asleep" ''Oh,"
you say, what place that was to
sleep! A hard rock under him, stones
falling down upon him, the blood
streaming, the mob bowling.
What place it was to sleep!"
And yet my text takes that
symbol of slumber to describe
his departure, SO sweet was it, so
contented was it, SO peaceful was it.
Stephen had lived a very laborious life.
poor. How many loaves of bread he
distributed, how many bare feet he had
sandaled, how many cots of sickness and
distress he blessed with ministries of
kindness and love. / do not know, but
from the way he lived, and the way he
preached, and the way he died, 1 know
he was laborious Christian. But
that.s is alE over now. He has
pressed the cup to the last faint
ing lip. He has taken the last
insult from his enemies. The last
stone to whose crushing weight he is
susceptible has been hurled. Stephen
is dead! The disciples come. They
take him up. They wash away the
blood from the wounds. They
straighten out the bruised limbs. They
brush back the tangled hair from the
brow, and then thy pass around to
look upon the calm countenance of him
who had lived for the poor and died for
the truth. Stephen asleep!
have seen the sea driven with the
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 tho
tempest drop, and the waves crouch,
and everything become smooth and
FURNISHED as though a camping place
for the glories of Heaven. So have
seen II 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! l saw such an one.
lie fought all his days against poverty
and against abuse. They tradnced his
name. They ratified Mt 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 sigh. Not a
tear. Not struggle! Hush! Ste
phen asleep!
have not the faculty to tell the
weather. l can never tell by the set
ting sun whether there will be
drought or not. can not tell by the
blowing of the wind whether it will
be fair weather or foul on the NOR
row. But 1 can phrophesy, and
l will phrophesy what weather
it viii 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 yeuH soul, and at your bedside
will halt the chariots of the King. No
more rents to pay, no more agony be-
cause flour has gone up. no more strug-
gle with 1.-The world, the flesh and the
devil; but peacc-long, deep, eyerlast-
ing peace. Step hen asleep!
Asleep in Jesus. blessed sleep,
From which noie ever wake to weep;
A calm AMI uldiSturbei repose,
Uninjured by the last Of foes.
Asleep in Je sus. far from thee
Thy kin ir "a and their graves may b;
But there is still blessed sleep.
From which none ever wake to weep
You hav, seen enough for one morn
ing. No one can successfully examine
more than five pictures in a day.
Therefore we stop, having seen this
cluster o. divine Raphaels-Stephen
gazing into Heaven; Stephen looking at
Christ; Stephen stoned; Stephen in his
divine r.ra ror. Sfarh.v