The Iola register., 1902-02-28

now they sit yonder in the martyrs
gallery For them the fires of perse-
cution 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
cannot keep still. They cry: "Cour-
agel The fire will not consume; the
/ floods cannot drown; the lions can
not devour. Courage down there in
the arena!"
/ look again, and / see another gall
| lery-that of eminent Christians.
/ What strikes me strangely is the
mixing in companionship of those
who on earth could not agree. There
is Albert Barnes and around him the
presbytery who tried him for hetero-
doxyl Yonder are Lyman Beecher
and the church court that denounced
himl Stranger than all, there are
John Calvin and James Arminius!
Who would have thought that they
would sit so lovingly togetherP
There are George Whitefield and the
ministers who would not let him
come into their pulpits because they
thought him fanatic. There are the
sweet singers Toplady, Montgomery,
Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts and Mrs.
Sigourney. If heaven had had no mu-
sic before they went up, they would
have started the singing. And there
the band of missionaries-Davi
Abeel, talking of China redeemed;
and John Scudder, of India saved;
and David Br&inerd, of the aborigines
evangelized; and Mrs. Adoniram Jud-
son, whose prayers for Burma took
heaven by violence! All these Chris
tians 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 trop-
les. Do we get fatigued? They faint
ed, with none TO care for them but
cannibals. Are we prosecuted? 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 address
ing 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?
Toplndy 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 Metho-
dist, breaks forth in words little
varied:
A charge to keep you have,
God to glorify,
A never dying soul to save
And fit II for the sky!
1 look again, and see the gallery OF
our departed. Many of those in the
other galleries we have heard of, but
these we knew. Oh, how familiar theil
facesl They sat at our tables, and we
walked to the house of God in com
pany Have they forgotten us? Thos,
fathers and mothers started us on tn,
road of life. Are they careless as tC
what becomes OF us? And those chill
dren-do they look with stolid indiffer
ence as to whether we win or lose thi:
battle of life? They remember the day
they left us. They remember the agony
of the last farewell. Though years il
Heaven, they know our faces. They
remember our sorrows. They speal
our names. They watch this fight fol
Heaven. Nay, | see them rise up anC
lean over and wave before us theiI
recognition and encouragement. Tha'
gallery is not full. They are keeping
places for us. After we have slain tn,
lion they expect the King to call us
saying: "Come up higher!" BetweeI
the hot struggles in the arena l wip,
the sweat from my brow and stand OF
tiptoe, reaching up my right hand t.
clasp theirs in rapturous handshaking
while their voices come ringing dow
from the gallery, crying: "Be tho,
faithful unto death, and you shall hav,
a crown!"
But here pause, overwhelmed will
the majesty and the joy of the scene
Gallery of the King! Gallery of an
gels! Gallery of prophets and apos
ties! Gallery of martyrs! Gallery o
saints! Gallery of friends and kindred
Throngs, throngs, throngs! How shall
= we stand the gaze of the universe
Myriads of eyes beaming on us Myri
ads of hearts beating in sympathy 70
l us! How shall we ever dare to sil
again? How shall we ever become dis
7 couraged again? How shall we eve
l feel lonely again? With God for us ant
t angels for us and prophets and apos
, ties for us and the great souls of tn
? ages for us and our glorified kindre,
t for us-shall we give up the fight ant
/. die? No, Son of God, who didst die t.
2 save us! No, ye angels, whose wing
e are spread forth to shelter us! No, y
prophets and apostles, whose warn
! ings startle us! No, ye loved ones
I whose arms are outstretched to receiv