The Penn's Grove record., 1899-01-27

kings locks-there was nothing that spnke
of death, but there he diedl In the winter
when the snow is a shrond, 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 difficult It 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
II death would ask us for victims we
could point him to hundreds Of people who
would rejoice to have him come. Push
back the door Of that howell. Look at the
little child-cold, and sick, and hungry.
1t has never heard the name Of God but I'd
b~lasphemt. Parents ~intoxlcatedj stag
gering around Its straw bed. oh. death,
there is a mark for thee! Up with 1t into
the light Before those little feet stumble
on llfe's pathway give them rest.
Here is an aged man. He has done his
work. He has done it g~loriously. The
companions OF his youth all gone, his
children dead he longs to be at rest, and
wearily the days and the nights pass. He
says. Come, Lord, Jesus, come quicklyl''
On, death, there is a mark for theei Take
from him the staff and give him the seep-
teri Up with him into the light, where
eyes never grow dim, and the hair whiteDs
not through the long years of eternity.
All, Death will not do that. Death turns
back from the straw bed and from the aged
man ready for the skies and comes to the
summer house. What doest thou here,
thou bony, CHASTITY monster, amid this
waving grass and under this sun
light sitting through the tree
branches2 Children are at play.
How quickly their feet go and their
locks toss in the wind. Father and moth
er stand at the side OF the foom looking
on, enjoying their glee. II does not seem
possible that the wolf should ever break
into that fold and carry off u lamb. Mean
while an old archer stands looking
through the thieket. He points his arrow
at the brightest Of the %group-he is a sure
understandable bow bonds, the arrow
speedsl Hush now. The quick feet nave
stopped and the locks toss no more in the
wind. Laughter has gone out of the hall.
Death In the summer housed
Here is a father la midlife. 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, 81 cannot think Of anything happier.
l do not really beli.ve the world is so sad
q place as some people describe it to be-"
The scene changes. Father Is sick. The
NOOAS ito ~ hCBN oltAs dChbhhutAl
chirps dolefully on the hearth. TIE chill
dren whisper and walk softly where once
they romped. Passing the house late at
night, you see the quick CHANGING of lights
from room to room. 1t is all oyerl Death
In the summer housed
Here is an aged m~other-aged, but not
inHrm. You think you will nave the Joy Of
caring for her wants a good while yet. AS
she goes from house to house, to children
and grandchildren, her coming is q drop.
ping of sunlight in the dwelling. Your
children see her coming through the lane,
and they cry, "Grandmother's comet"
Care for you has marked upon her face
with many q 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 a mother. She will sit
with you no more at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes out so gently you
do not exactly know the moment OF its GO
ing. Fold the hands That have done SO
many kindnesses for you right over the
heart that has beat with love toward you
since before you were born. Let the pill
grim rest. She Is weary. Death In the
summer housed
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 ex-
anime the pictures We have gathered
on the wall, or, bending over your
PILLOW, he does not stop to see
whether there is color In the cheek or
gentleness in the eye or Intelligence in
the brow. But what OF that? Must we
stand forever mourning among the
graves of our dead2 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 h~eGvenward. SO
/ would bring to the graves of your dead
all bright thoughts and congratulations
and bid them sing OF victory and re-
demption. | stamp on the bottom OF
the grave, and 1t breaks through into
the light and the glory of heaven. The
a~ncients used to think that the straits
entering the Red sea were very dan
gerous places, and they supposed that the
wrecked that have gone through those
straits would be destroyed, and they were
in the habit of putting on weeds of mourn
ing for those who had gone on that yoy-
age, as though they were actually dead.
Do You know what they called those
straits? They called them the "Gate of
Tears"
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from the shoulder of a southern
gale and puts its warm hand upon the
earth, and in its palm there comes the
grass, and there comes the flowers, and
God reads over the poetry of bird and brook
and bloom and pronounces II very good.
What, my friends, If every winter had not
its spring, and every night its day, and
every gloom its glow, and every bitter now
Its sweet hereafter If you have been on
the sea, you know, as the ship passes inthe
night, there Is a phosphorescent track left
behind 1t, and as the water rolls up they
toss with unimaglnable ~splendor. Well,
across this great ocean OF human troubles
Jesus walks. Oh, that IN tho phospores-
cent track of His feet we might all follow
and be illumined!
There was q gentleman In a rail car who
saw in that same car three passengers Of
very different circumstances. Thu first
was a maniac. He was carefully guafded
by his attendants. His MIND like II ship
dismasted, was beating against a dark,
desolate coast, from which no help could
some. The train stopped and the mar was
taken out into the asylum to waste away
perhaps through years OF gloom. The sec
ond passenger was Il culprit. The outraged
law had seized on him. As the car jolted
the chains ratified. On his face were crime,
depravity and despair. The train halted, ard
he was taken out to the penitentiary, to
which he had been condemned, There was
the third passenger, under, far different
circumstances. She was a bride. Every
hour was as gay as a marriage bell. Life
gltttered and beckoned. Her companion
was taking her to her fathers house. The
train halted. The old man was there to
welcome her to her new home, and his
white locks showed down upon aer as he
sealed his word with a fathers kiss. Quick
ly we ny toward eternity. We will soon be
there. Some leave this life condemned cul-
prlts, and they refuse to pardon, oh, may
1t be with us that, leaving this heeting life
for the next, we may find our Father ready
to greet us to our new home With Him for.
everl That will be a marriage banquet
Fathers welcomed Fathers bJsoml Fathers
klssl Heaveni Heaven!