The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1902-03-13

Goo love. Ihe night blooming aSSuf-
ances of Christ's sympathy filed all the
atmosphere with Heaven. The soul At
every step seemed to start up from its
feet bright winged joys, warbling
Heavenward. 'It is good that have
been afflicted?" crieo David. "The Lord
gave, and the Lord hath taken away!"
exclaims Job. "Sorrowful, yet always
rejoicing" says St. Paul. "And God
shall wipe away all tears from their
eyes!" exclaims John in apocalytic vi
sion. At eventime it was light. Light
from the crossl Light from promises!
Light from the throne! Streaming,
joyous, outgushing, everlasting light!
Again the text shall find fulfillment
in the time of old age. 1t is grand
thing to be young, to have the sight
clear and the hearing acute and the
step elastic and all our pulses marching
on to the drumming of a stout heart.
Midlife and old age will be denied many
of us, but youth-we all know what
that is. Those wrinkles were not al
ways on your brow; that snow was not
always on your head; that brawny mus
Gle did not always bunch your arm;
you have not always worn spectacles.
Grave and dignifed as you now are, you
once went coasting down to the hillside
or threw off your hat for the race or
sent the ball flying sky high. But youth
will not always last. 1t stays only long
enough to give US exuberant spirits and
broad shoulders for burden carrying
and an arm with which to battle our
way through difficulties. Life's path,
if you follow it long enough, will come
under frowning crag and cross trem-
bling causeway. Blessed old age, if you
let it come naturally! You cannot hide
it. You may try to cover the wrinkles,
the time has come for you to be old, be
not ashamed to be old. The grandest
things in all the universe are old-old
mountains, old rivers, old seas, old
stars and an old eternity. Then do not
be ashamed to be old unless you are
older than the mountains and older
than the stars.
How men and women will lie! They
say they are 40, but they are 60. They
say they are 20, but they are 80. They
say they are 60, but they are 80.
Glorious old age if found i'll the way
of Righteousness. How beautiful the
old age of Jacob, leaning on the top
of his staff; of John Quincy Adams,
falling with the harness on; of Wash
ington Irving, sitting, pen in hand,
amid the scenes himself had made
classical; of John Angel James. to
the last proclaiming the Gospel to the
masses of Birmingham; of Theodore
Frelinghuysen, down to feebleness
and emaciation devoting his illustri-
Gus faculties to the kingdom of God.
At eventide it was light!
I want to see John Howard when
the last prisoner is reformed; I want
to see Florence Nightingale when
the last saber wound has stopped
hurting; l want to see William
Penn when the last Indian has been
civilized: / want to see John Huss
when the last fame of persecution
has been extinguished; / want to
see John Bunyan after the last pill
grim has come to the gate of the
celestial city-above all, I want to
see Jesus after the last saint has
his throne and has begun to sing
his triumph.
You have watched the calm
ness and the glory of the evening
hour. The laborers have come from
the field; the heavens are glowing
with an indescribable effulgence. as
though the sun in departing had
forgotten to shut the gate after it.
All the beauty of cloud and leaf
swims in the lake. For a star in the
sky, star in the water; heaven
above and heaven beneath. Not a
leaf rustling or bee humming or a
grasshopper chirping. Silence in the
meadow, silence among the hills.
Thus bright and beautiful shall be
the evening of the world. The heats
of earthly conflict are cool; the
glory of heaven fills all the scene
with love, JOY and peace. At even
time it is ight-light!
Finally, my text shall find fulfill.
ment at the end of the Christians
life. You know how short winters
day is and how little work you can
do. Now, my friends, life is short
winters day. The sun rises at eight
and sets at four. The birth angel
and the death angel fly only little
way apart. Baptism and burial are
near together. With one hand the
mother rocks the cradle and with the
other she touches grave.
1 went into the house of one OF
my parishioners on Thanksgiving
day. The little child of the house
hold was bright and glad, and with
| it I bounded up and down the hall
Christmas day came, and the light oi
that household had perished. We
stood, with black book, reading ovel
the grave, "Ashes to ashes, dust tc
dust"
But I hurl away this darkness.
cannot have you weep. Thanks bt
unto God, who giveth us the victory
at eventime it shall be light! / have
seen many Christians die. | neve1