The Greenville times. [volume] (Greenville, Miss.) 1868-1917, 1900-04-07
the wall, said her little prayer and then

the wall, said her little prayer and ther
died"
Oh, IL / could gather up in one para
graph the last words of the little
ones who have gone out from these
Christian circles. and l could picture
the calm looks and the folded hands
and sweet departure, methinks it would
be grand and beautiful as one of Heav'
ems great doXologies! In my parish in
Philadelphia little child was depart
ing. She had been sick all her days and
a cripple. 1t was MONDAY when she
went. and, as the shadow of death
gathered on her eyelid she thought il
was evening and time to go to bed, and
so she said: Good night, papa. Good
night, mammal" and then she was
gone! 1t was goodnight" to pain
and goodnight" TO tears and good
night" to death and goodnight to
earth, but ii was good morning" to
Jesus - it was ''good-morning' to
Heaven. / can think of no cradle song
more beautiful than Jesus.
l next speak of Christ as the old
mans song. Quick music loses its
charm for the aged ear. The school
girl asks for schottsh or glee, but
her grandmother asks for "Balerma'
orthe Portuguese Hymn" Fifty years
of trouble have tanned the spirit, and
the keys of the music board must have
solemn tread. Though the voice may
be tremulous. so that grandfather 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 40 years ago in the old country
meeting house. Some day the choir
sings a tune so old that the young peo
pie do not know il, but it starts the
fears down the cheeks of the aged man,
for it reminds him of the revival scene
in which he participated and of the ra-
diant faces that long since went to
dust and of the gray-haired minister
leaning over the pulpit and sounding
the good tidings of great joy.
speak to you again of Jesus as the
night song. Job speaks of him who
giveth songs in the night. John
WEIGH, the old Scotch minister, used
to put a plaid across his bed on cold
nights, and some one asked him why
he put that there. He said: "Oh,
sometimes in the night l want to sing
the praise of Jesus and to get down
and pray. Then just take that plaid
and wrap it around me to keep my
self from the cold" Songs in the
night! Night of trouble has come
down upon many of you. Commercial
losses put out one star, slanderous
abuse puts out another star, domestic
bereavement has put out 1000 lights,
and gloom has been added to gloom
and chill to chill and sting to sting,
and one midnight has seemed to bor-
row the fold from another midnight
to wrap itself in more unbearable
darkness, but Christ has spoken peace
to your heart, and you sing:
Jesus. lover of my soul.
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the pillows near me roll
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, o my Saviour Hide
L III the SlOTID OI lie Is past
Safe into the haven guide;
Oh, receive my soul at last.
Songs in the night! Songs in the
night! For the sick, who have no one
to turn the hot pillow, no one to put
the taper on the stand, no one to put |
ice on the temples or pour out the |
soothing anodyne or utter one cheer
full word. Yet songs in the night! |
For the poor, who freeze in the win
ter's cold and swelter in the sum-
mer's heat and MUNICH the hard crusts |
that bleed the sore gums and SILVER
under blankets that cannot any long
er be patched and tremble because
rent day is come and they may be
set out on the sidewalk and looking
into the starved face of the child and
seeing famine there and death there,
coming home from the bakery and
saying in the presence of the little
famished ones: "Oh, my God, -four
has gone up!" Yet songs in the
night! Songs in the night! For the
widow who goes to get the back pay
of her husband, slain by the sharp
shooters" and knows it is the last
help she will have, moving out of a
home in desolation. death
turning back from the eXhausting
cough and the pale cheek and the
lusterless eye and refusing all relief.
Yet songs in the night Songs in
the night! For the soldier in The
field hospital, no surgeon to bind up
the gunshot fracture, no water for
The hot lips, no kind hand to brush
away the flies from the fresh wound.
no one to take the loving farewell,
The grooming of others poured into
his own groan, the blasphemy of
others blowing up his own spirit, the
condensed bitterness of dying away
from home among strangers. Yet
songs in the night! Songs in the
hight! "Ah!" said one dying soldier.
tell my mother that last night there
vas not one cloud between my soul
md Jesus!" Songs in the night!
songs in the night!
This Sabbath day came. From the
lltars of 10000 churches has smoked
Up the SAVIOR of sacrifice. Ministers
# the gospel preached in plain Eng
ish, in broad Scotch, in flowing Ital-
an, in harsh Choctaw. Gods people
assembled in Hindoo temple and Mo-
avian church and Quaker meeting
'ouse and sailors bethel and kings
hapel and high-towered cathedral.
They sang, and the song floated off
mid the spice groves or struck the
cebergs or 1oated off into the west
IN pines or was drowned in the