St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1902-04-12

she is under the fence half dead. And
now sthe rain turns to snow, and it is
an awful night, and in the morning
the whiteness about the gills and the
| beak down in the mud show that the
mother is dead, and the young ones
| come out and cannot understand why
the mother does not scratch for them
something to eat, and they walk over
her wings and call with their tiny
voices, but there is no answering
cluck She took the storm for others
and persisted. Poor thing! Self-sacri.
ficing even unto death! And does it
not make you think of Him who en-
dured all for us? So the wings under
which we come for spiritual safety are
blood spattered wings, are night-shad-
owed wings, are tempest-torn wings
In the Isle Of Wight I saw the grave OF
Princess Elizabeth, who died while a
ger on an open Bible and pointing to
the words: 'Come unto Me all we
that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest" Oh, come under
the wings.
But now the summer day is almost
! past, and the shadows of the house and
barn and wagon shed have heightened.
The farmer, with scythe or hoe on
shoulder, is returning from the fields.
The oxen are unyoked. The horses are
crunching the oats at the full bin. The
air is bewitched of honeysuckle and
with brier. The milkman, pail in hand,
is approaching the barnyard. The
fowls. keeping early hours, are collect
ing their young. "Cluck!" 'Cluck!"
"Cluck!" And soon all the eyes of that
feathered nursery are closed. The
bachelors of the winged tribe have as
cended to their perch, but the hens, in
motherhood divinely appointed, take
| all the risk of a slumber on the ground,
! and all night long the wings will stay
outspread, and the little ones will not
| utter a sound. Thus at shutdown, low
ingly, safely, completely, the hen
! broods her young. So, if we are the
Lords, the evening of our life will
come. The heats of the day will have
passed. There will be shadows, and we
| cannot see as far. The work o. life
will be about ended. The hawks of
| temptation that lowered in the sky
will have gone to the woods and fold
come. The air will be redolent with
the breath of whole arbors of promises
sweeter than jasmine or evening prin,-
rose. The air may be little chill, but
Christ will call us, and we will know
the voice and heed the call, and we will
come under the wings for the night,
the strong wings, the soft wings, the
warm wings, and without fear and in
full sense of safety, and then we will
rest from shutdown to sunrise, "as a
hen gathereth her chickens under her
wing"
My text has it's strongest applica-
ton for people who were born in
the country, wherever you may now
live, and that is the majority of you.
You cannot hear my text without
having all the rustic scenes of the
old farmhouse come back to you.
Good old days they were. You knew
nothing much of the world, for you
had not seen the world. By law of
association you cannot recall the
brooding hen and her chickens with
out seeing also the barn and the
haymow and the wagon shed and the
house and the room where you
PLAYED and the freside with the big
backlog before which you sat and
the neighbors and the burial and the
wedding and the deep snowbanks
and hear the village bell that called
you to worship and seeing the horses
which, after pulling you to church,
stood around the old ciapboarded
meeting house and those who sat at
either end of the church pew and.
indeed. all the scenes of your first
IA years, and you think of what you
were then and of what you are now.
and all these thoughts are aroused
by the sight of the old hencoop.
Some of you had better go back and
start again. In thought return to
that place and hear the cluck and
see the outspread feathers and come
under the wing and make the Lord
your portion and shelter and warmth,
preparing for everything that may
come and so avoid being classed
among those described by the clos
ing words of my text, cas- hen gath
ereth her chickens under her wings,
and We would not" All, that throws
the responsibility upon us. I'VE
would not" Alas for the "would
nots!'' If the wandering broods OF
the farm heed not their mothers call
and risk the hawk and dare the
freshet and expose themselves to
the frost and storm, surely their
calamities are not the mothers
FAULT. eye would not!" God would.
but how many would not?
When a good man asked young
woman who had abandoned her home
and who was deploring her wretch
edness why she did not return, the
reply was: 81 dare not go home.
NV father is so provoked he would
not receive me home" "Then," said
the Christian man, II will test this"
And so he wrote to the father, and
the reply came back, and in a letter
marked outside ''Immediate'' and in
side saying: Let her come at once;
all is forgiven" So Gods invitation
for you is marked Immediate OH
the outside, and inside is written.
''He will abundantly pardon" Oh,
We wanderers from God and happi.
ness and home and Heaven, come un.
der the sheltering wing. A vessel III
the Bristol channel was nearing the
rocks called the Steep Holmes. Un-
der the tempest the vessel was I'M
manageable, and the only hope was
that the tide would change before she
struck the rocks and went down, and so
I. 4 IL