The Manning times. [volume] (Manning, Clarendon County, S.C.) 1884-current, 1899-03-08
child.cn? it is plain question, md
therefore ask it. In the tenth chap

out his fury upon the families that call
not upon his names. Oh, parents;
when you are dead and gone, au3 the
moss is covering the Inscription Of tie
tombstone, will your children look back
and think of father and mother at fami-
" rayer?: VIII they take the old
family Bible and open it and see the
mark Of tears Of contritiou and tears of
conSoling promise wept by eyes long
! before gone out into darkness? Oh, if
you do not inculcate Christian principle
in the hearts Of your childr l. and you
do not warn them against evil, and you
do not invite them to holiness and to
God, and they wander off into disSipa-
ton and infdelity and at last make
shipwreck Of their immortal soul, on
their deathbed and in the day of judy
ment they will curse you!
Seated by the register or the stove,
what if, on the wall, should come out
the history of your children? What a
history-the mortal and INN ortal life
of your loved ones! Every parent is
writing the history Of his child. He
is writing it, composing it into song,
or pointing it with groan.
My mind runs back TO one Of the
best of early homes. Prayer like aroof
over it. Peace like an atmosphere in
it Parents personifcations of faith
in trial and comfort in darkness. The
two pillars Of that earthly home long
crumbled to dust. Bat shall | ever
forget that early home? Yes, when
the flower forgets the sun that warmed
it. Yes, when the mariner forgets the
star that guided him. Yes, when love
has gone out on the hearts altar, and
memory has emptied itsturn into for
getfulness. Then, the home Of my
childhood, | VIII forget thee! The fam
lily altar Of fathers importantly and
mothers tenderness, the voices Of af-
fection, the funeral Of our dead, the
father and mother with interlocked
arms like INTERVENING branches Of trees
making perpetual arbor Of love and
kindness then I will forget thee
then, and only then You know, my
brother, that hundred times you have
been kept out of sin by the memory Of
such scene as l have been describing.
You have often had raging temptations,
but you know what his held you with
supernatural grasp. tell you man
who has had such good home as that
never gets over it, and a man who has
had bad early home never gets over
it.
Again, home is type of beavet. \
our best estate we are only pilgrin; and
strangers here. Heaven is our b &c.
Death will meyer knock at the d. r OF
that mansion, and in all that coa TRY
there is not single grave. How glad
parents are in the holidays to gather
their children home again. Butt have
noticed that there is almost always son
or adaughter absent-absent from home
perhaps absent from the country, per
haps absent from the world. Oh, how
glad our heavenly Father will be when
he gets all his children home with him
in heaven! And how delightful it will
be for brothers and sisters to meet after
long separation Once they parted at
the door of the tomb. Now they meet
at the door of Immortality. Once they
saw only through a glass darkly.
Now it is face to face, corruption, in
corruption, mortality, Immortality.
Where are now all their sins and sor-
rows and troubles? Overwhelmed in
the Red sea of death, Shile they pass
through dry shod. Gates of pearl, cap
stones Of amethyst, thrones of domin-
ion do not stir my soul so much as the
thought Of home. Once there, let
earthly sorrows howl like storms and
roll like seas. Home. Let thrones
rot and empires wither. Home! Let
the world die in earthquake struggle
and be buried amid procession of plan
cts and dirgc of spheres. Home, Let
everlasting ages roll in irresistible
sweep. Home! No sorrow. No cry
ing. No tears. No death. But home,
sweet home, beautiful home, evcrlast-
ing home, home with zach other, home
with angels, home with God.
One night, lying on my lounge when
very tired, my children all around about
me in full romp and hilarity and laugh
ter-on the lounge half awake and half
asleep-I dreamed this dream: | was in
far country. 1t was not Persia, al.
though more than oriental luxuriance
crowned the cities. 1t was not th'
tropics, although more than tropica
fruitfulness filed the gardens. 1t was
not Italy, although more than Italian
softness filled the air. And I wander
ed around looking for thorns and net
ties, but l found that none of them
grew there, and | saw the sun rise, and
| watched to sec it set, but it sank not.
And | saw the people in holiday attire,
and l said, when will they put of
this and put on workmens garb and
again delve in the mine and swelter a,
the forge?' But they never put off
the holiday attire.
And | wandered in the suburbs of the
city to find the place where the dead
sleep, and looked all along the line Of
the beautiful hills, the place where the
dead might most peacefully sleep, and
saw towers and castles, but not mau-
soleum or monument or white slab
could l see. And I went into the
chapel Of the great town, and l said.
where do the poor worship and where
are the hard benches on which they
sit?" And the answer was made me,
"We have no poorin this country
And then | wandered out to find the
novels of the destitute, and l found
mansions Of amber and ivory and gold,
but not tear could see, not sigh
could hear. And l was bewildered,
and l sat down under the branches Of
great tree, and l said, where am | aud
whence comes all this scene?" And
then out from among the leaves and up
! the Anunr1- moths and anrnss the broad