The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1901-10-03

from the Crimean battlefelds forgotten
Florence NightingaleY
IL ia not half as well on earth known
that Christopher Wren planned and built
st. Paul's as IL will be known in all heaven
that you were the instrumentality Of
building a temple for the sky. We teach
a Sabbath class, or put a Christian tract
in the hand of a passer-by, or testify for
Christ in prayer meeting, or preach q
sermon and go home discouraged, as
though nothing had been accomplished,
when we had been character building with
a material that no frost or earthquake or
rolling OF the centuries can damage or
bring down.
Another defeat Of Oblivion will be
found in the character of those whom we
rescue, uplift or save. Character is eter-
nal. Suppose by right influence we aid
in Transforming bad man into q good
man, dolorous man into happy man,
disheartened man into courageous man,
every stroke of that work done will be i'm
mortalized. There may never be SO much
as one line in newspaper regarding it or
no mortal tongue may ever whisper it into
human ear, but wherever that soul shall
60 your work upon it shall go. wherever
that soul rises your work on it will rise,
and so long as that soul will last your
work on it will last. Do you suppose
there will ever come such an idiotic lapse
in the history of that soul in heaven that
it shall forget that you invited him to
Christ; thai, you, by prayer or gospel
way to the right way? No such insanity
will ever smite heavenly citizen.
Oh, this character building. The struc-
ture lasting independent OF passing cen
turies, independent of crumbling mauso
leums, independent Of the whole planetary
system. Aye, if the material universe,
which seems all bound together like one
piece of machinery. should some day meet
with an accident that should send worlds
crashing into each other like telescoped
railway trains. and all the wheels of con-
stellations and galaxies should stop. and
down into one chasm of immensity all the
suns and moons and stars should tumble
like the midnight express at Ashtabula,
that would not touch us and would not
hurt God, for God is a spirit, and charac-
ter and memory are immortal, and over
that grave of wrecked material universe
might. truthfully be written, "The righte-
GUS shall be held in everlasting remem-
brance." o time, we defy thee o death,
we stamp thee in the dust of thine own
sepulchers! o eternity, roll on till the last
star has stopped rotating and the last sun
is extinguished on the sapphire pathway,
and the last moon has illumined the last
night, and as many years have passed as
all the scribes that ever took pen could
describe by as many figures as they could
write in all the centuries of all time, but
thou shalt have no power to efface from
any soul in glory the memory of anything
we have done to bring it to God and
heaven!
There is another and a more complete
defeat for oblivion, and that is in the
heart of God Himself. You have seen a
sailor roll up his sleeve and show you his
arm tattooed with the figure of a favorite
ship, perhaps the first one in which he
ever sailed. You have seen a soldier roll
up his sleeve and show his arm tattooed
with the figure of fortress where he was
garrisoned or the face of great general
under whom he fought. You have seen
many hand tattooed with the face Of a
loved one before or after marriage. This
custom of tattooing is almost az old as the
world. II is some colored liquid pune
tured into the flesh so indelibly that moth
ing can wash it out. IL may have been
there fifty years; but when the man goes
into his, coffin that picture will go with
him on hand or arm. Now, God says that
He has tattooed us upon His hands. There
can be no other meaning in the forty-ninth
chapter of Isaiah, where God says, Be
hold, l have craven thee on the palms of
My hands" It was as much as to say,
81 cannot open My hand to help but I
think of you. ! cannot spread abroad My
ever go up or down the heavens 1 take
these two pictures of you with Me. They
are SO inwrought into My being that I
cannot lose them. AS long as Ny hands
last the memory Of you will last. Not on
the back of My hands. as though to an
of My hands for Myself to look at and
study and love. Though hold the winds
in My fist, no cyclone shall uproot the in
scription of your name and your face, and
though l hold the ocean in the hollow of
My hand its billowing shall not wash out
the record of My remembrance. Behold,
hands,"
! What joy, what honor, ean there be
comparable to that of being remembered
by the mightiest and most affectionate
being in the universe? Think of ito
hold an everlasting place in the heart OF
God! The heart OF God! The most beau
'tiful palace in the universe. Let the arch
angel build some palace as grand as that
il he can. Let him crumble up all the
stars of yesternight and tomorrow night
and put them together as mosaics for such
a palace floor. Let him take all the sun
rises and sunsets of all the days and the
auroras of all the nights and hang them
as upholstery at its windows. Let him
take all the rivers and all the lakes and
all the oceans and toss them into the foun-
tains Of this palace court.
Oh, where is oblivion now! From the
dark and overshadowing word that it
seemed when began it has become some-
thing. which no man or woman or child
who loves the Lord need ever fear. OBJ
livion defeated. Oblivion dead. Oblivion
sepulchered. But / must not be so hard
on that devouring monster, for into its
grave go all our sins when the Lord for
Christ's sake has forgiven them. just
blow a resurrection trumpet over them
when once oblivion has snapped them
down. Not one Of them rises. Blow
again. Not a stir amid all the pardoned
iniquities of lifetime. Blow again Not
one of them moves in the deep grave
trenches. But to this powerless restrrec-
ttion trumpet voice responds half hu-
man, half divine, and it must be part man
and part God, saying, Their sins and
their iniquities will remember no more.'
Thank God for this blessed oblivion. So
you see / did not invite you down into a
cellar, but up on q throne; not into the
graveyard to which all materialism is des-
tined, but into a garden all abloom with
everlasting remembrance. The frown OF
my first text has become the kiss of the
second text. Annihilation has become
coronation. The wringing hands Of
great agony have become the clapping
hands OF great Joy. The requiem with
which we began has become the grand
march with which we close. The tear of
sadness that rolled down our cheek has
struck the lip on which sits the laughter
of eternal triumph.