The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1899-01-27

death. How do you like it?" His men
stood before him for a 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. l 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"
learn from this subject that death
comes to the summer-house. Eglon
did not expect to die in that fine place
Amidst all the fiower-leaves that
drifted like summer snow into the
window; in the tinkle and dash of the
fountains; in the sound of thousand
leaves huting 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 a dirge, 1t is easy
to think of our mortality; but when
the weather is pleasant. and all our
surroundings are agreeable, how diff
cult it is for us to appreciate the truth
that we arc 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 its straw bed. oh, Death
there is mark for thee! Up with it
into the light! Before those little feet
stumble on LIES pathway. give them
rest
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, Il cannot think OF anything
happier. / 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 a good
while yet. AS she goes from house
TO house, to children and grandchil-
dren, her coming is a dropping Of sun
light in the dwelling. Your children
see her coming through the lane and
they cry, "Gradmother's comet" Care
for you has marked up her face with
many a 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
Ill - oh
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 summerhouse!
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! MOI 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. l 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
were very dangerous places, and they
supposed that every ship that went
through those straits would be de-
stroyed, and they we're in the habit
of putting on weeds of mourning for
those who had gone on that voyage,
as though they were actually dead. Do
you know what they called those