Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1902-03-27

is with us. His hand will deliver us.
blessed are they who put their trust in
Him."
| look again and see the gallery of the
martyrs. Who is that? Hugh Latimer,
sure enough He would not apologize for
the truth he preached, and so he died, the
night before swinging from the bedpost in
perfect glee at the thought of emancpa-
ton; Who is that army Of Ge66' They are
the Theban legion who died for the faith.
Here is larger host in magnificent array,
900, who persisted for Christ in the
prosecutions of Diocietian Yonder is a
family group, Felicitas, of Rome, and her
children. While they were dying for the
faith she stood encouraging them. One
son was whipped to death by thorns; an
other was flung from rock; another was
bebeaded: At last the mother became a
martyr. There they are together, family
group in heaven! 1onder is John Brad
ford, who said in the fire, eve shall have
9, merry supper with the Lord tonight"
Yonder is Henry Woes, who exclaimed as
all fall off for Christi" The great throng
of the martyrs! They had not lead poured
down their throats; horses were fastened
to their hands and other horses to their
feet, and thus they We're pulled apart;
they had their. tongues pulled out by red
hot pincers: they we're sewed up in the
skins of animals and then thrown to the
dogs; they were dauhed with combustibles
and set on fire! If all the martyrs stakes
that have been kindled could be set at
proper distances they would make the mid.
night all the world over bright as noon
day! And now they sit yonder in the mar
tyrs' gallery.
For them the fires of persecution have
gone out: the swords are sheathed and the
mob hushed. Now they watch us with an
all observing sympathy. They know all
the pain, all the hardship, all the anguish,
all the injustice, all the privation. They
ca eannot keep still. They cry: Courage!
not drown; the lions cannot devour. Cour-
age down there in the arena"
What! Are they all looking? This hour
we answer back the salutation they give
and cry, Hail, SONS and daughters of the
fret"
L look again and I see another gallery
that of eminent Christians. What strikes
me strangely is the mixing in companion
ship OF those who on earth could not agree
There is Albert Barnes and around him
the presbytery who tried him for hetero.
doxy! 4onder are Lyman Beecher and
the church court that denounced him.
Stranger than all, there are John Calvin
and James Arminius! Who would have
thought that they would sit so lovingly to.
gether? There are George Whitefeld and
the ministers who would not let him come
into their pulpits because they thought
him fanatic. There are the sweet sing.
ers TopladyI, Montgomery, Charles Yves.
ley, Isaac Watts and Mrs. Sigourney. If
heaven had had no music before they went
up, they would have started the singing.
And there the band of missionaries
David Abeel, talking of China redeemed;
| and John Scudder, of India saved; and
David Brainerd. of the aborigines evan.
selized; and Mrs. Adoniram Judsop
whose prayers for Burma took heaven IL
violence All these Christians are looking
into the arena. Our struggle is nothing to
theirs! Do we in Christ's cause suffer
from the cold? They walked Greenland's
icy mountains. Do we suffer from the
heat? They sweltered in tropics. Do we
get fatigued? They tainted, with none to
care for them but cannibals. Are we per-
secuted? They were mathematical. And
as they look from their gallery and see US
falter in the presence of the lions | seem
to hear Isaac Watts addressing us in his
old hymn, only little changed:
Must you be carried to the skies
On howery beds of ease
While others fought to win the prize
Or sailed through bloody seas!
Toplady shouts in his old hymn:
Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the praise of love divine
Bid every string awake.
While Charles Wesley, the Methodist,
breaks forth in words little varied:
charge to keep you have,
A God to glorify,
never dying soul to save
And fit it for the sky!
J. look again and | see the gallery of om
departed. Many of those in the other
galleries we have heard of, but these we
knew. Oh, how familiar their facesl They
sat at our tables, and we walked to the
house of God in company. Have they for
gotten us? Those fathers and mothers
started us on the road of life. Are they
careless as to what becomes of Is? And
those children-do they look with stolid
Indifference as TO whether we win or lose
this battle OF life? They remember the
agony of the last farewell. Though years
in heaven, they know our faces. They re-
member our sorrows They speak our
names They watch this fight for heaven.
Nay, | see them rise up and lean over and
wave before us their recognition and en-
couragement. That gallery is not full.
They are keeping places for us. After we
have slain the lion they expect the King
to call us, saying, Come up higher"
Between the hot struggles in the arena
| wipe the sweat from my brow and stand
on tiptoe. reaching up my right hand to
clasp theirs in rapturous handshaking,
while their voices come ringing down from
tiic RdleIS, Crying. Dc tHOu uulO
death, and you shall have crown"
But here / pause, overwhelmed with the
majesty and the joy of the scene! Gallery
of the King Gallery of angels! Gallery
of prophets and apostles Gallery of mar
tyrs! Gallery of saints! Gallery of friends
and kindred! o majestic circles of light
and love! Throngs, throngs. throngs!
How shall we stand the gaze of the uni
verse? Myriads of eyes beaming on us!
Myriads of hearts beating in sympathy for
us! How shall we ever dare to sin again?
How shall we ever become discouraged
again? How shall we ever feel lonely
again? With God for us and angels for US
and prophets and apostles for us and the
great souls of the ages for us and our glo-
rifed kindred for us-shall we give up the
fight and die? No, Son of God, who didst
are spread forth to shelter US! No, ye
prophets and apostles. whose warnings
startle us! No, We loved ones, whose arms