The Yale expositor., 1898-07-01


This world for rest? "Aha!" cry the
waters, mo rest here-we plunge to the
sea-" "Aha!" cry the mountains, no
rest here-we crumble to the PLAIN.
"Aha!" cry the towers, mo rest here
we follow Babylon, and Theoes ana
Nineveh into the dust" No rest for the
flowers; they fade. No rest for the
stars; they die. No rest for man; ne
must work, toll, suffer and slave.
Now, for what have l said all this?
Just to prepare you for the text: ARISE,
we and depart; for this is not your rest.
am going to make you grand oner.
Some Of you remember that when gold
was discovered in California, large
companies were made up and started
of to get their fortune, and year ago
for the same purpose hundreds dared
the cold of Alaska. Today l want TO
make up a party for the land OF COLD.
| hold in my hand deed from the Pro-
prietor of the estate, in which he offers
to all who will join the company ten
thousand 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 OIL to
conquer the Holy Sepulchre. l ask you
to join grander crusade-not for the
purpose Of conquering the sepulchre
OF dead Christ, but for the purpose or
reaching the throne of living Jesus.
When an army is to be made up, the
recruiting officer examines the volun-
teers; he tests their eyesight; he sounds
their lungs; he measures their stature;
they must be just right, or they are re-
jected. But there shall be no Partially
in making up this army of Christ.
Whatever your moral or physical stat
ure whatever your designations, what
ever your crimes, whatever your weak
| nesses | have a commission from the
Lord Almighty to make up this regi-
ment of redeemed souls, and | cry,
Arise, ye, and depart; for this is not
your rest" Many of you have lately
Joined this company and my desire is
that you all may join it. Why not?
You know in your own hearts eXpe-
rience that what have said about this
world is true-that it is no place to rest
| in. There are hundreds here weary
oh, how weary-weary with sin; weary
with trouble; weary with bereavement.
Some Of you have been pierced through
and through. You carry the scars of
score of conflicts in which you have
| bled at every pore; and you sigh, "Oh,
that | had the wings of a dove that
| might fly away and be at rest!" You
have taken the cup of this worlds pleas
ures and drunk it 10 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 ever brightness,
and under every shadow; but just at
the moment 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 fiend and the eye
Of a satyr, her locks adders, and her
breath the chill damp Of a grave. Out of
Jesus Christ no rest. No voice to ST.
ence the storm. No light to kindle the
darkness. No dry dock to repair the
split bulwark.
Thank God, can tell you something
better. If there is no rest on earth,
there is rest in heaven. Oh, We who
are worn out with work, your hands
calloused, your backs bent, your eyes
half put out, your fingers worn with
the needle, that in this world you may
never lay down; ye discouraged ones,
who have been waging hand-to-hand
| fight for bread; we to whom the night
brings little rest and the morning more
| drudgery-oh, We of the weary hand
and the weary side. and the weary
foot, hear me talk about rest!
Look at that company of enthroned
ones. 1t can not be that those bright
ones ever toiled? Yes! yes! These
packed the Chinese tea boxes, and
through missionary instruction escaped
into glory. These sweltered on south
ern 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 Lowell 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 Je-
rusalem. No more towers to build;
heaven is done. No more garments 20
weave; the robes are finished. No more
harvests to raise; the gamers are full.
Oh, sons and daughters of toll! arise
We and depart, for that is your rest.
Scovill MCallum, boy of my Sun
day 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 us who want
to hear about the land where they
never have any heartbreaks, and no
graves are dug Where are your father
and mother? The most Of you are
orphans. l look around. and where l
see one man who has parents living, /
see ten who are orphans. Where are
your children? Where l see one fam
|