Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1899-05-26

floor. Oh, if you could, with your
strong, stout hand, have wrenched that
child from the Destroyer You went
to your room, and you said: God. save
my child! God. save my child" The
world seemed going out in darkness.
You said: 81 can't bear it; can't bear
it." You felt as if you could not put
the long lashes over the bright eyes,
never to see them again sparkle. II
you could have taken that little one in
your arms and with it leaped the grave,
how gladly you would have done it, II
you could let your property go, your
houses go, your land and your store
house go. how gladly you would have al
lowed them to depart if you could only
have kept that one treasure!
But one day there came up a chill
blast that swept through the bedroom
ard instantly all the lights went out.
and there was darkness-thick, murky
impenetrable, shuddering darkness
But God did not leave you there. Mercy
spoke. As you took up the bitter cup
to put it to your lips God said: Let il
pass" and forthwith, as by the hand OF
angels, another cup was put into your
hands. 1t was the cup of Gods con.
lifted the head of wounded soldier and
poured wine into his lips, so God puts
His left arm under your head and with
His right hand He pours into your lips
the wine of His comfort and His con
ISOLATION, and you looked at the empty
cradle and looked at your broken heart,
and you looked at the Lords chastise-
ment, and you said: Even so. Father,
for so it seemeth good in Thy sight"
All, it was your first trouble. How did
you get over it? God comforted you
You have been a better man ever since
You have been a better woman ever
since. In the jar of the closing gate OF
the sepulcher you heard the changing OF
the opening gate of Heaven, and you
felt an irresistible drawing Heaven
ward. You have been spiritually better
ever since that night when the little one
for the last time put its arms around
your neck and said: "Good night, papa;
good night, mamma. Meet me in
Heaven"
But L must come to your latest sor-
row. What was it? Perhaps it was
sickness. The child's tread ON the stair
or the tick of the watch on the stand
disturbed you. Through the long
weary days you counted the figures IN
the carpet or the flowers in the wall pa
per. Oh, the WEAKNESS of exhaustion!
Oh, the burning pangs! Would God it
were morning, would God it were night,
was your frequent cry. But you are
better, or perhaps even we'll. Have you
thanked God that to-day you can come
out in the fresh air; that you are in
your place to hear Gods name and to
sing Gods praise and to implore Gods
help and to ask Gods forgiveness?
Bless the Lord who healeth all our dis
eases and redeemeth our lives from de-
struction.
Perhaps your last sorrow was finan-
cial embarrassment. [ congratulate
some of you on your lucrative profess
sion or occupation, on ornate; apparel.
on commodious residence-every-
thing you put your hands on seems to
turn to gold. But there are others of
you who are like the ship on which
Paul sailed where two seas met, and
you are broken by the violence of the
waves. By an unadvised Endorsement,
or by a conjunction of unforeseen
events, or by fire or storm, or a sense
less panic, you have been flung head
long, and where you once dispensed
great charities you now have hard
work to win your daily bread. Have
you forgotten to thank God for your
days of prosperity and that through
your trials some of you have made in
vestments which will continue after the
last bank of this world has exploded
and the silver and gold are molten in
the fires of a burning world? Have you,
oil
ments, forgot that there was bread on
your table this morning and that there
shall be a shelter for your head from
the storm, and there is air for your
lungs and blood for your heart and
light for your eye and glad and glo-
rious and triumphant religion for your
soul?
Perhaps your last trouble was be-
reavement. That heart which in child
hood was your refuge, the parental
heart, and which has been a source of
the quickest sympathy ever since, has
suddenly become silent forever. And
now sometimes, whenever in sudden an
noyance and without elaboration you
say: 81 will go and tell mother the
thought flashes on you: 81 have no
mother" Or the father, with voice less
tender, but with heart as loving, watch
full of all your ways, exultant over
your success without saying much, al
though the old people do talk it over
by themselves, his trembling hand on
that staff which you now keep as a
family relic, his memory embalmed in
grateful hearts-is taken away for
ever. Or there was your companion in
life, sharer of your joys and SORROWS,
taken, leaving the heart an old ruin.
where the i'll winds blow over wild will
derness of desolation, the sands of the
desert driving across the place which
once bloomed like the garden of God.