Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1902-02-13

pen In hand. amid the scenes himself
had made classical: of Theodore Ere
linghuysen, down to feebleness' ant
emaciation devoting his illustrious fac
ulties to the kingdom Of God. At even
tide 1t was light
See that you do honor to the aged
Smooth the way for that mothers feet;
they have not many more steps to take
Steady those tottering limbs; they will
soon be at rest. Thrust no thorn into
that old heart; 1t will soon cease &c
beat. "The eye that mocketh its father
and refuseth to obey its mother the
ravens of the valley shall pick 1t out
and the young eagles shall eat 1t.
The bright morning and hot MONDAY
Of life have passed with many. It Is
o'clock. s o'clock. 8 O'Clock! The
shadows fall longer and thicker and
faster. Seven o'clock. s o'clock! The
sun has dipped below the horizon: the
warmth has gone out of the air. Nine
o'clock. 10 o'clock! The heavy dews
are falling, the activities OF LIES day
are all hushed; it is time to go to bed.
Eleven o'clock, IL o'clock! The patri-
arch sleeps the blessed sleep. the cool
sleep, the long sleep. Heavens mes
sengers Of light have kindled bonfres
of victory all over the heavens. AT
eventime 1t is light. Light.
Again, my text shall find fulnllment
in the latter day of the church. Only
few missionaries. few churches, a
few good men. compared with the in
stitutions leprous and purified. 1t
is early yet in the history of every
thing good. Civilization and Christ
ianity are Just getting out of the
cradle. The light of martyr stakes,
flashing up and down the sky. is but
the flaming of the morning. but when
the evening of the world shall come,
glory to Gods conquering truth. 1t
shall be light. Wars sword changing
back In the scabbard; intemperance
buried under ten thousand broken de-
canters; the worlds impurity turn
ing its brow heavenward for the bene-
diction. blessed are the pure In
heart" the last vestige Of selfshness
submerged in descending
charities; vagrancy coming back from
its pollution at the call of Elizabeth
Fry's Redeemer; the mountains COM
ing down; the valleys going up; "holi-
ness" inscribed on horses bell. and
silkworm's thread. and brown thrash
er's wing, and shells tinge. and manu-
facturer's shuttle, and chemists la
boratory. and kings scepter. and ma
tons Magma Charter. Not hospital,
for there are no wounds: not an asy-
lum, for there are no orphans; not q
prison, for there are no criminals;
not an almshouse, for there are no
paupers: not tear, for there are no
sorrows. The long dirge Of - earth's
lamentations has ended in the trium-
phal march Of redeemed empires. the
forests harping It on vine-strung
branches. the water chanting 1t among
the gorges, the thunders drumming 1t
among the hills, the ocean giving 1t
forth with its organs. trade winds
touching the keys and Euroclydon's
foot on the pedal.
I want to see John Howard when
the last prisoner is reformed; want
to see Florence Nightingale when the
last saber wound has stobbed hurting;
want to see William Penn when the
last Indian has been civilized; want
to see John Huss when the last flame
of persecution has been extinguished;
want to see John Bunyan after the
last pilgrim has come to the gate Of
the celestial city-above all. want to
see Jesus after the last saint has his
throne and has begun to sing his tri-
umph.
You have watched the calmness and
the glory of the evening hour. The
laborers have come from the field; the
heavens are glowing with an indie
scribable effulgence. as though the sun
in departing had forgotten to shut the
gate after 1t. All the beauty of cloud
and leaf swim in the lake. For star
in the sky. star in the water; heav-
en- above and heaven beneath. Not
a leaf rdstling or q bee humming or a
grasshopper chirping. Silence In the
meadow. silence among the hills. Thus
bright and beautiful shall be the even
ing of the world. The heats of earthly
conflicts are cool; the glory of heaven
fills all the scene with love, Joy and
peace. At eventime 1t is light-light!
Finally my text shall find fulHllment
at the end of the Christians life. You
know how short a winters day Is.
and how little work you can do. Now,
my friends. life is a short winters day.
The sun rises at s and sets at 4. The
birth angel and the death angel fly
only little way apart. Baptism and
hand the mother rocks the cradle and
with the other she touches grave.
/ went into the house of one Of my
parishioners on Thanksgiving day.
The little child of the household was
bright and glad. and with 1t bounded
up and down the hall. Christmas day
came. and the light Of that household
had persisted. We stood, with black
book. reading over the grave. Ashes
to ashes, dust to dust"
But l huri away 'his uarkness. !
cannot have you weep. Thanks be
unto God. who giveth us the victory.
at eventime it shall be light! I have
seen many Christians die. ! never saw
any of them die In darkness. What
II the pillows Of death do rise above
our girdle. who does not love to battle!
What though other lights do go out In
the blast, what do we want Of them
when all the gates Of glory swing open
before US and from q myriad voices,
a myriad harps, myriad thrones. q
myriad palaces there dashes upon US
"Hosanna! Hosanna!" Throw back
the shutters and let the sun In" said
/ drinn Ccoxilla McCnllum ona Of n, =