The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1900-04-06

| Of it and bitter desolation and a sign
ing at nightfall with no one to put 10
bed. The heavenly shepherd will taKe
that lamb safely anyhow, whether you
have beer faithful or unfaithful. Dut
would it not have been ~pleasanter IL
| you could have heard from those lips
| the praises of Christ? | eve reau
anything more beautiful than thls
about a child's departure. The ac-
count said, she folded her HANDS
kissed her mother goodbye, sang her
hymn, turned her face to the wall, SAID
her little prayer and then died
Oh, II l could gather up in one para
graph the last words of the little ones
who have gone out from all these
| Christian circles, and l could picture
the calm looks and the folded hands
and sweet departure, methinks IL
would be grand and beautiful as n
of heavens great doxologies! In my
parish in Philadelphia a little child
was uCPdI ling. olC hdu bSSb
her days and a cripple. 1t was noon
day when she went, and, as the shad-
ow of death gathered IN her eyelld
she thought it was evening and time
to go to bed, and so she said, GOOD
night, papa! Good night, mamma"
And then she was gone! 1t was
good night" to pain and good night
to tears and good night to death
and good night" to earth, but it vas
| good morning" to Jesuit was good
morning" to heaven. l can think OF
no cradle song more beautiful than
Jesus.
Songs for the Old.
l next speak of Christ as the old
mans song. Quick music loses its
charm for the aged ear. The school
girl asks for a schottisch or a glee,
but her grandmother asks for "Baler-
ma" or the Portuguese Hymn" Fifty
years of trouble have tanned the spirit,
and the keys of the music board must
have a solemn tread. Though the
voice may be tremulous, so that grand
father will not trust it in church, still
he has the psalm book open before
him, and he sings with his soul. He
huns his %grandchild asleep with the
same tune he sang forty years ago in
the old country meeting house. Some
day the choir sings a tune 50 old that
the young people do not know it, but
it starts the tears down the cheek of
the aged man, for it reminds him of
the revival scene in which he partici-
pated and of the radiant faces that
long since went to dust and of the
gray haired minister leaning owe the
pulpit and sounding the good tidings
of great joy.
| was one Thanksgiving day in my
pulpit in Syracuse, and Rev. Daniel
Waldo, at So years of age, stood beside
me. The choir sang a tune. I said.
Il am sorry they sang that new tune;
nobody seems to know it," BLESS you,
my son." said the old man, u heard
that seventy years ago."
There was a song today that touched
the life of the aged with holy fire
and kindled a glory on their vision
that your younger eyesight cannot see.
1t was the song of salvation-Jesus,
who fed them all their lives long;
Jesus, who wiped away their tears;
Jesus, who stood by them when all else
failed; Jesus, in whose name their
marriage was consecrated and whose
resurrection has poured light upon the
graves of their departed. DO you
know me?" said the wife to her aged
husband, who was dying, his mind al
ready having gone out. He said, mo"
And the son said, Father, do you
know me?" He said, No" The
daughter said, Father, do you know
me?" He said, NO" The minister
of the gospel, standing by, said, do
you know Jesus?" "Oh, yes" he said,
Il know Him, chief among 10000, the
one altogether loyely!'" Blessed the
Bible in which specialized old age reads
the promise, Il will never leave you,
never forsake you!" Blessed the staff
on which the worn out pilgrim totters
on toward the welcome of his Redeem
er! Blessed the hymn book in which
the faltering tongue and the failing
eyes find Jesus, the old mans son3l
When my mother had been put away
for the resurrection, we, the children,
came to the old homestead, and each
one wanted to take away a memento
of her who had loved us so long and
loved us so well. l think 1 took away
the best of all the m~ementoes; it was
the old-fashioned round-glass specta-
cies through which she used to read
her Bible, and l put them on, but
they were too old for me, and l could
not see across the room. But through
them | could see back to childhood and
forward to the hills of heaven, where
the ankles that we're stiff with. age
have become timber again, and the
spirit, with restored eyesight, stands
in rapt ex~ultation, crying, This is
heaven"
Words of Peace.
l speak to you again of Jesus as the
night son .Joh SneakS of Him who