The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1899-02-02


they said. We'll. general What are
YOU going to give us i tor alllI this Ri III
yell,'' he replied 81 dom know what
else you will get, but you N get
hunger, and cold, and wounds, and
death. How do you like IT ?''8s His men
stood before him for little while in
silence, and then they threw up their
hands and cried. 8 are the men! we
are the men !'' he Lord Jesus Christ
calls You to his service. do not
I promise you an easy time sin his
world. You may have prosecutions,
and trials and misrepresenta lions, but
afterWard ~ there comes IN eternal
weight At Of glory, and you can bear the
wounds. and the bruises, and the mis-
repre- sentatio ions. If you can have the
reward afterward Have you not
enntoug bent usiasm to cry out,rs''We are
the the men! We are the men 4"
zsYI learn from this subject that death
comes to the summer house. Eglon
Nd1d 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 tho sound Of a thousand
leaves 's's tiuting on one tree branch in
the 4 s'z cool % breeze that came UP to shake
feYerish trouble out Of the kings locks
there was nothing that spake of
death, but there he died! In the vim
ter, when the snow is a shroud, and
/ When the wind is a dirge, is easy
70 think al Of our mortality; but when
the weather is pleasant, and all our
surround ings are agreeable, how diff
cult it's 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
howell. Look at that little child
and sick, and hungry It has never
heard the name of God but in BIAS
phemy. Parents intoxicated, stagger-
ing around its straw bed Oh, Death
there is mark for thee! Up with it
into the light! Before those little feet
stumble on lifes pathway, give them
rest. ~ Fl
Here is a 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 on the altar morning and
night. You look in that household
and say, II cannot think of anything
happier. I do not really believe the
world is SO sad a 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.
It is all over! Death in the summer
house! .s=ss J.
rs Here is an aged mother 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, ssGradmother's comet" 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! A
| Gather about us what we viii of
comfort anu luxury. &Wlen 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 60 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. I 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