Middletown transcript., 1901-03-16

L lOUlpt0Q bilC
! Mother, thou knowest well
That thou hast blessed me since my nata
hour u
DR.. Oliver Wendell Holmes, wheI
eighty one years of age, wrote to his ole
comrade and friend, John C. Whittier
who was then past eighty-four, saying,
'fWe were on deck together, as we began
the voyage of life, two generations ago.
The life of whole generation passed and
found us in the cabin, with goodly
company of eoevals. Then the craft
which held us began going to pieces,
until few of us were left on the raft
pieced together Of It's fragments. and
now the raft has at last parted and you
and are left clinging to the solitary spar,
which is all that still remains afloat of
the snnken vessel" These words indi-
cate feeling Of unspeakable loneliness,
which often comes over the mind of the
aged. Truly, one of the saddest sights
in the world is to behold an aged person
without faith in God or hope for the
future, having no secure dwelling place
here and none beyond. But how beauti-
full to have the wrinkled brow illumined
with light from the eternal world. With
one hand holding those Of loved ones and
the other grasping the bleeding fingers
of the blessed Saviour, while all that is
earthly is passing out of sight, the richer
residence is coming into view. It is like
shock Of corn, golden and beautiful for
the garner. Some of you have seen those
wonderful paintings, entitled 'The Voy-
age of Life" The first is the babe in
the cradle, coming out from the mystic
cave, with an argel holding the tiller in
the hand; the second, the young man
standing in his boat, holding the tiller
himself, while before him there is that
impossible castle in the air which his
imagination has built, toward which he
is looking; the third, the man in middle
life, coming to the very edge of great
cataract, the clouds above black and the
lightning flashing out of them, while he
stands firm and strong, with a courageous
hand upon the tiller; and, last of all, the
boat upon the smooth bosom of the
river, as child rests its head upon the |
bosom Of its mother, and before him, not |
the dreams of childhood, but, through |
the rift of clouds, the angels calling him
up and onward. As the aged voyager
gazes upward, along the cleaning beams
of light that flash down upon him from
the city Of God, how often he exclaims:
Beautiful heaven where all is light,
Beautiful angels clothed in white,
Beautiful strains that never tire,
Beautiful harps through all the choir,
There shall join the chorus sweet,
Worshipping at the Saviour's feet"
Our beloved mother Vail often ex-
pressed herself as anxious to go home
Life in some measure bad become a
burden, the body clog, holding down
her beautiful spirit, which, like bird of
Paradise, longed to spread its pinions,
that it might fly away and be at rest.
She delighted in her loved ones; these
were the only cords that seemed to hold
her, but, at last, they could hold her no
longer. A voice called her, a divine
voice, to come to that home of the soul,
where the weary rest, where separations
are unknown, where night and shadows
flee away, where unfading flowers bloom,
where the river means life, where the
leaves Of the trees are for healing, where
light and love and beauty are every
where. That is the only real home,
never to be dismembered.
1t is beautiful thought that Jesus,
after the resurrection, sought
or place where he might meet the
beloved disciples and the dear friends of ,
lis ministry. So it will be with the {
ones in this household, when 7
you go home, like the Master, you will +
ook quickly for mother and the loved .
mes and they will look Tor you. Oh, q
What meeting that will be-what a y
up of severed friendships: Not v
n Galilee's shores, nor on Olivet's gentle h
lopes, but on the golden sands of the c
hore of the sea of glass, before the Y
Iternal Throne. T
Then weep not, if you love her, that C
her tedious toll is done, 2
weep not, if you love her, that her r
holy rest is won. =
here should be gladness in your thoughts L
and smiles upon your brow; IL
or will she not be happy there? Is she o,
not happy now? 2,
nd you will learn to talk of her; and, m
after many years, nc
he tears which you shall shed for her
will not be bitter tears; el
Fhen you shall tell each other, with q
fond and thankful pride,
4 what purity she lived and in what
peacefulness, she died"
Her eyes are no longer dull, but see
early the King in His beauty. Her ears la
e attuned to the most sensitive sounds pr
heavenly music. Her soul is in the he
ime of unweariableness. Her sky will G,
ways be cloudless. Her home will re- pc
ain unbroken through eternal years. sic
e. friends will always be friends, with
} possibility of separation by death or an
! misunderstanding and misrepresenta- Sc
IN. She will never hear words spoken kn
depreciation, insinUation or defama- tn
IN; the sins of the tongue are shut out ch
heaven, ''for without are whosoever att
veth and maketh lie" m,
OF let us think of mother in the MANY he
home She has found hers tn
d it is sweet rest in hesven. Truly, Gig
me is flying away to heaven. Our th'
me is not here. Here is solitude, here fla
and change and decay; yon-
r, where she is, is home: How she will
ss you till you come; as Jesus says,
That where am, there may ye be also." =
Iomeward the swift-winged sea-gull D,
takes its flight, u"
le ebbing tide breaks softly on the Nh
sand, ho
ie sun-iit boats draw shoreward for the cro
night.