The free press. (Poplarville, Miss.) 1890-19??, 1902-04-03

not get sanctifed. Your trial perhaps may
be childlessness. You are fond OF chill
dren. You say, "Why does God send
children to that other household, where
| they are unwelcome and are beaten and
| banged about when l would have taken
them n the arms of my affection" You
say, ANY other trial but this Your
| trial perhaps may be disfgured countee-
nance or a face that is easily caricatured,
and YOU say, 81 could endure anything If
only 1 was good looking" And your trial
perhaps is violent temper, and you have
| to drive it like six unbroken horses amid
the gunpowder explosions of a great holt
| day, and ever and anon it runs away with
you. Your trial is the asthma. You say,
| '1f it were rheumatism or neuralgia or
| ervsipelas, but it is this asthma, and it IS
such an exhausting thing to breathe"
Your trouble is husband, sharp, snap
| py and cross about the house and raising
a small riot because a button is off. How
| could YOU know the button is off? Your
trial is wife ever in contest with the SER
wants, and she is a sloven. Though she
was very careful about her appearance in
| your presence once, now she is careless,
because, she says, her fortune is made!
| Your trial is a hard school lesson you can
not learn, and you have bitten your finger
nails until they are a sight to behold.
They never cry in heaven because they
have nothing to cry about. There are no
| tears of bereavement, for you shall have
your friends all round about you. There
| are no tears of poverty because each one
sta at the Kings table and has his own
chariot of salvation and free access to the
wardrobe where princes get their array.
| No tears OF sickness, for there are no
pneumonias in the air and no malaral ex-
halations from the rolling river of life and
no crutch for the lame limb and no splint
for the broken arm, but the pulses throb-
bling with the health of the eternal God in
a climate like our June before the blossoms
fall or our gorgeous October before the
| leaves scatter.
In tuat land the souls will talk over the
different modes of thrashing. Oh, the
story of the staff that struck the fitches
and the rod that beat the cummin and the
| iron wheel that went over the corn! Dan
iel will describe the lions and Jonah levia-
THAN and Paul the elmwood whips with
which he was scourged, and Eve will tell
how aromatic Eden was the day she left
| it, and John Rogers will tell of the smart
of the flame and Elijah of the fiery team
| that wheeled him up the sky sleeps and
| Christ of the numbness and the paroxysms
and hemorrhages of the awful crucifxion.
| There they are before the throne of God
on one elevation all those who were
| struck of the rod, on the highest elevation
and amid the highest attitudes of heaven
will not ever be thrashing it.
Is there not enough salve in this text to
make plaster large enough to heal all
your wounds? When child is hurt, the
mother is very apt to say to it, Now, it
will soon feel better" Aud that is what
| God says when He embosoms all our trou-
bic in the hush of this great promise.
| joy cometh in the morning" You may
leave your pocket handkerchief sopping
wet with tears on your death pillow, but
| you will go up absolutely sorrowless They
will wear black, you will wear white; cy-
presses for them, palms for you. You will
| say: Is 1T possible that l am here? Is this
heaven! Am l SO pure now l will never
do o, ANYTHING wrong? Am 1 so well that 1
| VIII never be sick again? Are these COM
Partnerships so firm that they will never
again be broken? Is that Mary? Is that
John! Is that my loved one | put away
| into darkness? Can it be that these are
the faces of those who lay so wan and
emaciated in the back room that awful
night dying! Oh, how radiant they are
Look at them! How radiant they are
| Why, how unlike this place is from what
| thought when | left the world below.
Ministers drew pictures of this land, but
how tame compared with the reality! They
told me on earth that death was sunset
| No, no! 1t is sunrise! Glorious sunrise! !
| see the light now purpling the hills, and
the clouds flame with the coming day"
| Then the gates of heaven will be opened,
and the entranced soul, with the acuteness
and power of the celestial vision, will look
thousands of miles down upon the ban
nered procession, river of shimmerng
| splendor, and will cry out, "Who are
they? And the angel of God, standing
| close by. will say, 'Do you not know who
| they ate?" NO" says the entranced soul,
IrhA +hatr H.
will say, Il will tell YOU, then, who they
are. These are they who came out of great
| tribulation, or thrashing, and their robes
washed and made white in the blood of the
| lemb"
Would that could administer some of
| these drops of celestial anodyne to these
nervous and excited souls. If you would
pangs. The thought that you are going to
| get through with this after awhile, all this
sorrow and all this trouble.
We shall have a great many grand DAYS
| in heaven, but l will tell you which will be
| the grandest day of all the million ages Of
heaven. You say, "Are you sure you can
| tell me%' Yes, / can. 1t will be the dav
| we get there. Some say heaven is growing
more glorious. | suppose it is, but l do
not care much about that. Heaven now is
| good enough for me.
History has no more gratulatory scene
than the breaking in of the English army
upon Lucknow, India. A few weeks before
massacre had occurred at Cawnpur, and
26O women and children had been put in
room. Then five professional butchers went
in and slew them. Then the bodies of the
slain were taken out and thrown into a
well. AS the English army came into
Cawnpur they went into the room, and
OH what horrid scene!
Sword strokes on the wall near the floor,
showing that the poor things had crouched
when they died, and they saw also that the
floor was ankle deep in blood. The soldiers
walked on their heels across it, lest their
shoes be submerged of the carnage. And
on that floor of blood there were flowing
locks of hair and fragments of dresses.
Out in Lucknow they had heard of the
massacre, and the women were waiting for
the same awful death, waiting amid anguish
untold, waiting in pain and starvation, but
waiting heroically, when, one day, Have
lock and Outram and Norman and Sir
David Baird and Peel, the heroes of the
English army-huzza for them!-broke in
on that horrid scene, and while yet the
guns We're sounding, and while cheers were