The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1899-01-27

| else you Will get, but you VIII get
hunger, and cold, and wounds, and
death. How do you like it?" His men
stood before him for little while in
silence, and then they threw up their
hands and cried, 1--WE are the men! we
are the men" The Lord Jesus Christ
| calls you to his service. do not
promise you an easy time in this
world, You may have prosecutions,
and trials, and Misrepresentation but
afterward there comes an eternal
weight of glory, and you can bear the
wounds, and the bruises, and the mis-
representations, If you can have the
reward afterward. Have you not
enough enthusiasm to cry out, 1--WE are
the men! We are the men," p"
learn from this subject that death
comes to the summer-house. Eglon
did not expect to die in that fine place.
Amidst all the flower-leaves that
drifted like summer snow into the
window; in the tinkle and dash of the
fountains; in the sound of thousand
leaves f1uting on one tree-branch in
the cool breeze that came up to shake
feverish trouble out Of the kings locks
there was nothing that spake Of
death, but there he died In the win
ter, when the snow is a shroud, and
when the wind is dirge, it is easy
to think Of our mortality; but when
the weather is pleasant, and all our
surroundings are agreeable, how diff
cult 1t is for us to appreciate the truth
that we are mortal! 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, if death would ask us for victims,
we could point him to hundreds of peo-
pie who would rejoice to have him
come. Push back the door of that
hovel. Look at that little child-cold
and sick, and hungry. 1t has never
heard the name of God but In BIAS
phemy. Parents intoxicated, stagger-
ing around it's straw bed. Oh, Death
there Is mark for thee! Up with it
into the light! Before those little feet
stumble on life's pathway, give them
rest
Here is father in mid-life; 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. Religion is there, and
sacrifices Oh the altar morning and
night. You look in that household
and say, 81 cannot think Of anything
happier. l do not really believe the
world is so sad place as some peo-
pie describe it to be-" The scene
changes. Father is sick. The doors
must be kept shut. The death-watch
chirps dolefully on the hearth. The
children whisper and walk softly
where once they romped. Passing the
house late at night, you see the quick
glancing of lights from room to room.
1t is all over! Death in the summer
house!
Here is an aged mother-aged, but
not infirm. 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 grandchil-
dren, her coming is dropping of sun
light in the dwelling. Your children
see her coming through the lane and
they cry, "Gradmother's GOMEZ" Care
for you has marked up 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
mother. She will sit with you no more !
at the table nor at the hearth. Her
soul goes out so gently you do not ex-
actly know the moment of its going
Fold the hands that have done so
many kindnesses for you right over
the heart that has beat with love for
you since before you were born. Let
the pilgrim rest She is weary. Death
in the summer-house!
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 wait to examine the pictures we
have gathered on the wall; or, bend
ing over your pillow, he does not stop
to see whether there is color in the
cheek, or gentleness in the eye, or in
telligence in the brow. But what Of |
that? Must we stand forever mourn
ing among the graves Of our dead?
No! No! The people in Bengal bring
cages of birds to the graves Of their
dead, and then they open the cages,
and the birds go singing heavenward. |
So would bring to the graves of your
dead all bright thoughts and congrat-
ulations. and bid them sing of victory
and redemption. 1 stamp on the bot
tom of the grave, and it breaks
through into the light and the glory
Of heaven. The ancients used to think
that the straits entering the Red Sea
we're very dangerous places, and they
that every ship that went
through those straits would be de-
stroyed, and they were in the habit
If putting on weeds of mourning for
hose who had gone on that voyage,