St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1902-03-22

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,
but you cannot cover the wrinkles. If
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 30. They
say they are 60, but they are 80.
Glorious old age if found in 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!
See that you do honor to the aged.
A philosopher stood at the corner OF
the street day after day, saying to the
| passerby: "You will be an old man;
you will be an old msn. You will be
an old woman; you will be an old
woman" People thought that he was
crazy. do not think that he was.
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. Plow
not up that face with any more wrin-
kles; trouble and care have marked
it full enough. Thrust no thorn into
that old heart; it will soon cease to
beat. ''The eye that mocketh its
father and refuseth to obey its moth
er the ravens of the valley shall pick
it out, and the young eagles shall eat
it." The bright morning and hot
MONDAY of life have passed with
many. It is four o'clock. five o'clock,
six o'clock! The shadows fall longer
and thicker and faster. Seven o'clock,
eight o'clock! The sun has dipped
below the horizon; the warmth has
gone out of the air. Nine o'clock, ten
o'clock! The heavy dews are falling;
the activities of life's day are all
hushed; it is time to go to bed.
Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock! The
patriarch sleeps the blessed sleep,
the cool sleep, the long sleep. Heav-
ems messengers of light have kindled
bonfires of victory all over the heav-
ems. At eventide it is light. Light.
Again, my text shall find fulfill
ment in the latter day of the church.
Only few missionaries, few
churches, few good men, compared
with the institutions leprous and
purified. It is early yet in the his
tory of everything good. Civilization
and Christianity are just getting out
of the cradle. The light of martyr
stakes, flashing up and down the
sky, is but the flaming of the MORN
ing, but when the evening of the world
shall come, glory to Gods conquering
truth, it shall be light. Wars sword
changing back in the scabbard; intern
perance buried under 10000 broken
decanters; the worlds impurity turn
ing it's flow heavenward for the bene-
diction: BLESSED are the pure in
heart;" the last vestige of selfishness
submerged in Heaven descending
charities and China worshiping DIR.
Abeel's Saviour; all India believing in
Henry Martyrs Bible; aboriginal SUI
perstition acknowledging David
Brainerd's piety; human bondage de-
ivered through Thomas Clarkson's
Christianity; vagrancy coming back
from it's pollution at the call of Eliza
beth Fry's Redeemer; the mountains
coming down; the valleys going up;
''holiness" inscribed on horses bell,
and silkworm's thread, and brown
thrasher's wing, and shells tinge,
and manufacturers shuttle, and
chemists laboratory, and kings scep-
ter, and nations Magma Charta. Not
a hospital, for there are no wounds;
not an asylum, for there are no or
phans, not 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 |
triumphal march of redeemed en-
pires, the forests harping it on vine
strung branches, the water chanting
it among the gorges, the thunders
drumming it among the hills, the
ocean giving it forth with its or
gans, 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 stopped |
hurting; 1 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
to shut the gate after it.
All the beauty Of cloud and leaf
swims in the lake. For star in the
sky, a star in the water; heaven
above and heaven beneath. Not q
leaf rustling or bee humming or q
chirping. Silence in the