Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1900-08-27
You swung on the

Waded into the brook. You thrashed
the orchard for apples, and the neigh
boring woods for nuts; and everything
around the old homestead is of interest
to you. tell you Of the old homestead
of eternity. I'm my Fathers house are
many mansions" When we talk Of
mansions, we think Of Chatsworth and
| it's park, nine miles in circumference,
| and its conservatory, that astonishes
| the world; it's galleries Of art, that con-
tain the triumphs Of Chantrey, Canova
and Thorwaldsen; Of the kings and the
| queens who have walked it's stately
halls, or, flying over the heather, have
| hunted the grouse. But all the dwell
! ing places Of dukes, and princes, and
, queens, are as nothing to the family
mansion that is already awaiting our
arrival. The hand of the Lord Jesus
| lifted the pillars and swung the doors,
| and planted the parks. Angels walk
there, and the good of all ages. The
poorest man in that house is a million
aire, and the lowliest king, and the
tamest word he speaks is an anthem,
and the shortest life an eternity.
It took a Paxton to build for Chats
worth a covering for the wonderful
flower Victoria regia, five feet in diam
eter. But our lily Of the valley shall
need no shelter from the blast, and in
the open gardens of God shall put forth
it's full bloom, and all heaven shall
come to look at it, and it's aroma shall
be as though the cherubim had swung
before the throne a thousand censers.
I have not seen it yet 1 am in a
p,1f Io%h ics r
ing for me to come home. I have
brothers and sisters there. In the
Bible I have letters from there, telling
me what fine place it is. 1t matters
not much to me whether l am rich or
poor, or whether the world hates me
or loves me, or whether I go by land
or by sea, if only I may lift my eyes
at last on the family mansion. It is
not a frail house, built in a month,
soon to crumble, but an old mansion,
which is as firm as the day it was
built. Its walls are covered with the
ivy of many ages, and the urnS at the
gateway are a-blOom with the century
plants of eternity. The queen of She
ba hath walked its halls, and Esther,
and Marie Antoinette, and Lady Hunt
ingdon, and Cecil, and Jeremy Taylor,
and Samuel Rutherford, and John Mil
ton, and the widow who gave two
mites, and the poor men from the
hospital-these last two perhaps out
shining all the kings and queens Of
eternity.
A Celestial Reunion.
A family mansion means reunion.
Some of your families are very much
1I,;l tod
went off to st. Louis, or Chicago, or
Charleston; but perhaps once q year
you come together at the old place.
How you wake up the old piano that
has been silent for years! Gather and
mother do not play on it, How you
bring out the old relics, and rummage
the garnet, and open old scrapbOoks,
and shout and laugh, and cry, and
talk over old times, and, though you
may be 45 years of age, act as though
you were 10. Yet soon it is goodby at
the car window, and gOOdby at the
steamboat wharf. But how will we act
at the reunion in the old family mansion
of heaven? 1t is a good while since
you parted at the door Of the grave.
There will be Grace, and Mary, and
Martha, and Charlie, and Lizzie, and
all the darlings of your hOusehOld-nOt
pale, and sick, and gasping for breath,
as when you saw them last, but their
eye bright with the luster of heaven,
and their cheek rOseate with the flush
of celestial summer.
What cIasping Of hands! What en-
bracings! What coming together OF
lip to lip. What tears of joy You say,
in
heaven There must be, for the Bible
says that God shall wipe them
away" and if there were no tears
there, how could he wipe them away?
They cannot be tears of grief or tears
of disappointment. They must be
tears of gladness Christ will come and
say: "What! Child of heaven, is it too
much for thee? Dost thou break down
under the gladness of this reunion?
Then 1 will help thee" And, with his
one arm around US and the other arm
around our loTed ones, he shall hold
us up in the eternal jubilee.
ProdigaIs at Home.
While l speak, some of you with
broken hearts can hardly hold your
peace. You feel as if you would speak
out and say: ooh, blessed day! speed
on. Toward thee L press with blister
ed feet over the desert way. My eyes
fail for their weeping. 1 faint from
listening for feet that will not come
and the sound of voices that will not
speak. Speed on, oh day of reunion!
And then, Lord Jesus, be not angry
with me If after I have kissed thy |
blessed feet, turn around to gather
up the long lost treasures Of my heart.
Oh! be not angry with me. One look
at thee were heaven. But all these re-