Akron daily Democrat. [volume] (Akron, Ohio) 1892-1902, 1899-08-05

Howard; another philanthropic Ober-
lin; another Confucius; grand sub
ject for q painting; heroic theme for
a poem: q beautiful form for statue;
but TO those who have heard his voice
and felt his pardon and received his
benediction he is music. and light, and
warmth, and thrill, and eternal fra
grance-sweet as friend sticking TO
YOU when all else betray; lifting you
up while others try to push you down;
not so much like morning glories. that
bloom oniy when the sun is coming
up. nor like -four o'clecks," that bloom
only when the sun is going down, but
like myrrh. perpetually aromatic-the
same morning. noon and night, yester-
day. today, forever. Ii seems as If we
cannot wear him out. We put on him
all our burdens and affiict him with all
our griefs and set him foremost in all
our battles; and yet he is ready to lift
and to sympathize and to help. We
have so imposed upon him that one
would think in eternal affront he
would quit our soul; and yet today he
addresses us with the same tenderness,
dawns upon US with the same smile,
pities us with the same compassion.
There is no name like his for US. 1t
is more imperial than Caesars, more
musical than Beethoven's, more con-
quering than Charlemagne's, more elo-
uuent than Cicero's. 1t throbS with all
life. 1t weeps with all pathos. II
groans with all pain. 1t stoops with
all condescension. II breathes with all
perfume Who like Jesus to set 4
broken bone, to pity a homeless or
phan, to nurse a sick man, to take q
prodigal back without any scolding,
to illumine a cemetery all plowed with
ggivcs. to make Il queen unto God out
of the lost woman. to catch the tears
of human sorrow in lachrymatory
that shall never be broken? Who has
| such an eye to see our need, such lip
to kiss away our sorrow, such hand
to snatch us out of the fire, such a
foot to trample our enemies, such a
heart to embrace all our necessities?
I struggle for some metaphor with
which to express him. He is not like
the bursting forth of a full orchestra
That is too loud. He is not like the
sea when lashed to rage by the tenn
pest. That is too boisterous. He is
not like the mountain, its brow wreath
ed with the lightning. That is too soli-
tary. Give us a softer type, gentler
comparison. We have seemed to see
him with our eyes and to hear him
with our ears and to touch him with
our hands. Oh, that today he might
appear to some other one of our five
sensesi Aye, the nostril shall discover
his presence. He comes upon us like
spice gales from heaven. Yea, his gar
ments smell Of lasting and all perva-
sive myrrh.
AIoes of Bitterness.
Would that you all knew his sweet
nessl How soon you would turn from
all other attractions! If the philoso-
pher leaped out of his bath in frenzy
of joy and clapped his hands and rush
ed through the streets because he had
found the solution of mathematical
problem, how will you feel leaping
from the fountain of Saviour's mercy
and pardon, washed clean and made
white as snow, when the question has
been solved. How can my soul be
savedF' Naked. frost bitten, storm
lashed SOUL let Jesus this hour throw
around thee the garments that smell
of myrrh and aloes and cassia out of
the ivory palaces"
Your second curiosity is to know
why the robes of Jesus are odorous
with aloes. There is some difference
of opinion about where these aloes
grow, what is the color of the flower,
what is the particular appearance of
the herb. Suffice it for you and me to
know that aloes mean bitterness the
world over, and when Christ comes
with garments bearing that particular
Odor they suggest to me the bitter
ness of a Saviour's sufferings. Were
there ever such nights as Jesus lived
through-nights on the mountains,
nights on the sea, nights in the desert?
Who ever had such a hard reception
as Jesus had? A hostelry the first, an
unjust trial in oyer and terminer
another, foul mouthed, yelling mob
the last. Was there a space on his
back as wide as your two fingers
where he was not whipped? Was
there space on his brow an inch
square where he was not cut of the
briers? When the spike struck at the
instep, did it not go clear through to
the hollow of the foot? Oh, long, deep,
bitter pilgrimage! AIoes! Aloes!
Man Made Free.
John leaned his head on Christ, but
who did Christ lean on? Five thou
sand men fed by the Saviour; who fed
Jesus? The sympathy of Saviour's
heart going out to the leper and the
adulteress; but who soothed Christ?
He had a fit place neither to be born
nor to die. A poor babe! A poor lad!
A poor young man! Not so much as a
taper to cheer his dying hours. Even
the candle of the sun snuffed out. Was
1t not all aloes? Our sins, sorrows,
bereavements, losses and all the ago
nies of earth and hell picked up as in
one cluster and squeezed into one cup,
and that pressed to his lips until the
acrid. nauseating, bitter draft was
swallowed with a distorted counte-
nance and shudder from head to foot
and gurgling strangulation. Aloes,
aloes. Nothing but aloes. All this for
himself? All this to get the fame in
the world of being martyr? All this
in spirit of stubbornness, because he
did not like Caesar? No, no! All this
because he wanted to pluck me and