The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1899-02-08

pleasant and all our surroundings are
agreeable, how difficult 1t Is for US to
appreciate the truth that we are mortall
And yet my text teaches that death does
! sometimes come to the summer house. He
Is blind and cannot see the leaves. he Is
deaf and cannot hear the fountains. Oh,
II death would ask us for victims we
could point him to hundreds Of people who
would rejoice to have him come. Push
back the door Of that hovel. Look at the
little child-cold, and sick, and hungry.
It has never heard the name OF God but In
blasphemy. Parents intoxicated, stag
gering around Its straw bed. Oh. death,
there Is a mark for thee Up with 1t into
the light! Before those little feet stumble
on llfe's pathway give them rest.
Here is an aged man. He has done his
companions OF his youth all gone, his
children dead, he longs to be at rest, and
YEARLY the days and the nights pass. He
says. "Come, Lord, Jesus, come quickly!"
| Oh, death, there is mark for thee Take
| from him the staff and give him the scep-
teri Up with him into the light, where
| eyes never grow dim, and the hair whitens
not through the long years Of eternity.
Al. Death will not do that. Death turns
back from the bed and from the aged
man ready for the sRlss comes 10 the
summer house. What doeA~t thou here,
thou bony, ghastly, monster, s~tnis
light I'S sitting, through the tree
branches' Children are at play.
How quickly their feet so and their
locks toss in the wind. Father and moth
er stand at the side OF the room looking
on, enjoying their glee. It does not seem
possible that the wolf should ever break
Into that fold and carry off lamb. Mean
while an old archer stands looking
through the thicket. He points his arrow
at the brightest OF the group-he Is q surs
marksman-the bow bends, the arrow
speedsl Hush now. The quick foet have
stopped and the locks toss no more in the
wind. Laughter has gone out OF the hall.
Death In the summer housel
Here Is father In mtdlIfe. His coming
home at night Is the signal for mirth. The
children rush to the door, and there are
books on the evening stand, and the hours
pass away on glad feet. There is nothing
wanting In that home. Religlon Is there
and sacrifices on, the altar morning and
night. You, look In that household and
say, ~ cannot think OF anything happier.
I do not really believe the world is 50 sad
place as some people describe 1t to be-"
The scene changes. Father Is sick. The
doors must be kept shut. The deathwatch
chirps dolefully on the hearth. The chill
dren whisper and walk softly where once
they romped. Passing the house late at
night, you see the quick glanelng of lights
from room to room. It is all overl Death
In the summer housed
Here Is an aged mother-ased. but not
infrm. You think you will have the Joy OF
caring for her wants good while yet. AS
she goes from house to house, to children
and grandchildren, her-ooming is a drop.
ping Of sunlight in the dwelling. Your
children see her coming through the lane,
and they cry, "Grandmother's comet?
Care for you has marked upon her face
with many deep wrinkle, and her back
stoops with carrying your burdens. Some
day she Is very quiet. She says she Is not
sick, but something tells you you will not
much longer have q mother She will sit
with you no more at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes out so gently you
do not exactly know tho moment OF its go
ing. Fold the hands that have done 80
many kindnesses for you right over the
heart that has beat with love toward you
since before You were born. Let the pill
grim rest. She Is weary. Death In the
summer housel
Gather about US what We will Of comfort
and luxury. When the pale messenger
comes, he does not stop to look at the
architecture OF the house before he comes
In, nor, entering, does he walt to ex-
anime the pictures We have gathered
on the wall, or, bending over your
pillow, he does not stop to see
whether there is color In tho cheek or
gentleness In the eye or intelligence In
the brow. But what OF that? Must We
stand forever mounting among the
graves Of our dead? Mol Mol The people
OF their dead, aud thenthey open the cages
and the birds 60 singing "heavenward. So
I would bring to the graves OF your dead
all bright thoughts and congratulations
and bid them sing Of victory and re.
demption. T stamp on the bottom OF
the grave, and 1t breaks through into
the light and the glory Of heaven. The
ancients used to think that the straits
entering the Red sea were very dan
wrecked that have gone through those
straits would be destroyed, and they were
in the habit OF putting on weeds OF mourn
ing for thoso who had gone on that voy.
uge, as though they wore actually dead.
Do you know what they called those
straits2 They called them the "Gats Of
Tears"
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from the shoulder OF southern
gale and puts its warm hand upon the
earth, and In its palm there comes the
grass, and there comes the flowers, and
.Godreats over thepoetry OF bird and'brook
and bloom and pronounces 1t very good.
What, my friends, II every winter had not
Its spring, and every night Its day, and
every gloom its glow, and every bitter now
It's sweet hereafter! II you have been on
the sea, you know, as the ship passes In the
night, there Is piosphorescent track left
behind It, and as the water rolls up they
toss with unimaginable splendor. Well,
across this great ocean OF human troubles
Jesus walks. Oh. that in the phospores-
cent track OF His feet We might all follow
und be illumtned!
There was gentleman In rail car who
saw In that same car threo passengers OF
very different circumstances. The first
was maniac. He was carefully guarded
by his attendants. His mind like u ship
dismasted, was beating against dark,
desolate coast, from which no help could
come. The train stopped and the man was
taken out into the asylum to waste away
perhaps through years Of gloom. The sec.
ond passenger WAS culprlt. The outraged
law had seized OF him. AS :he car jolted
the chains ratified. On his face were crime,
depravlty anil despair. The train halted and
he was taken out to tho penitentiary, to
which he had been condemned. There was
the third passenger, under far different
circumstances. She was bride. Every
hour was as gay as @. marriage bell. Life
gllttered and beokoned. Her companion
was taking her to her fathers house. The
train halted. The old man was there to
welcome her to her new home. and his
white locks showed down upon her as he
sealed bis word with a fathers kiss. Quick
ly we fly toward eternity. We will soon be
there. Some leave this life condemned cul-
prIts, and they refuse to pardon. Oh, may
It be with US that, leaving this feeting life
for the next, we may find our Father ready
to greet US to our new home with Him for.
everl That will be marriage banquet
Fathers welcomed Fathers bosom! Fathers
kJssI Hpaveni Henyenl