Connecticut western news., 1902-02-27


 Abeel, talking of China redeemed; and John Scudder, of India saved; and Da- vid Brainerd. of the aboriginess evan gelized; and Mrs. Adoniram Judson, whose prayers for Burma took heaven by 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 walk ed 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 persecuted? 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 a little changed:
 Must you be carried, to the skies
 On flowery 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 Method ist, breaks forth in words a little va ried:
 A charge to keep you have,
 A God to glorify
 A never dying soul to save
 And fit 1t for the sky!
 I 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 their faces! They sat at our tables, and we walked to the house of God in con- pany. Have they forgotten us? Those fathers and mothers started us on the road of life. Are they careless as to what becomes of us? And those chil- dren-do they look with stolid indiffer- ence as to whether we win or lose this battle of life? They remember the day they left us. They remember the agony of the last farewell. Though years in heaven. they know our faces. They remember our sorrows. They speak our names. They watch this fight for heaven. Nay, I see them rise up and lean over and wave before us their recognition and encouragement. 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 higherw Between the hot struggles in the arena l 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 the gallery, crying, Be thou faithful unto death, and you shall have a crownp'
 The Gaze of the Universe.
 But here I pause, overwhelmed with the majesty and the joy of the scene! Gallery of the King! Gallery of an gels! Gallery of prophets and apostles! Gallery of martyrs! 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 universe Myriads of eyes beaming on us! Myr- iads of hearts beating in sympathy for usI How shall we ever dare to sin again How shall we ever become discouraged again1 How shall we ever feel lonely
 
 for us and prophets and apostles for | us and the great souls of the ages for us and our gloriHed kindred for us shall we give up the fight and die? No, Son of God, who didst die to save us! No, ye angels, whose wings are spread forth to shelter us! No, ye prophets and apostles, whose warnings startle us! No, ye loved ones, whose | arms are outstretched to receive us! No; we will never surrender! Sure must light if would reign, Be faithful to my Lord, And bear the cross endure the pain, Supported by thy word. Thy saints in all this glorious war Shall conquer though they die; They see the triumph from afar And seize it with their eye. When that illustrious day shall rise 1 And all thine armies shine In robes of victory through the skies, The glory shall be thine. My hearers, shall we die in the arena or rise to join our friends in the gal lery? Through Christ we may come off more than conquerors. A soldier dying in the hospital rose up In bed the last moment and cried, Here, hereF His attendants put him back on his pill low and asked him why he shouted "Herev' "Oh, heard the roll call of | heaven, and I was only answering tC my namev' I wonder whether after this battle of this life is over ou names will be called in the muster roi of the pardoned and glorified and, with the Joy of heaven breaking upon oui souls, shall cry, Here, herer' l ICopyright, 1902, Louis Klopsch, N. VI