The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1903-01-04
DR.. TALMAGE'S SERMON.
Blythe REV. FRANK DE WITT rALmAeE. D. D.

Chicago, December 2s--In the following
discourse, Appropriate to the last Sun
day Of theA year, the Rev. f. De Witt Tai
mage shows in how muny characters
tics the biblical comparison of life to
the creatio ms of the novetists genius is
justified. I he text is Psalm xc, 8, I'VE
spend our .Fears as a tale that is told"
How the years are flying away! Hem
ry Clay one e stood upon the top of the
Allegheny n fountains in an attitude of
listening. VIII ven some one asked him to
what he was listening, the great Ken
lucky statesm an in his deep, powerful,
resonant, orat prical voice answered, IT
am listening to the mighty tramp of
the coming gen erations!' Today we may
not have an I'M iginative ear keen enough
to hear the II underous echoes of the
moving feet VIII sch shall walk this earth
two centuries or "a thousand years hence,
but we can now hear the pattering feet
of the multitudesn of school children. We
may hear, too, the rumbling of the
hearses, which ball sooner or later car
ry out our dead Bodies to the newly dug
graves. We hear the memorable warning
that in few years or perhaps even
in the coming wear of 1905 we shall look
upon the rising sun for the last time.
Then our bedrooi ms, where we have often
slept and laugh ed and cried, shall be
called the chambers of death. Dear old
year of 1902 1t seemed only yesterday
that we welcomed Nthee into the world
In a few days, with thy snow white hair
and shriveled form and pallid cheek and
trembling limb, shall have to carry
thee out and lay thee away until we
meet thy condemning or approving face
at the Judgment seal of heaven.
The inspired psalmdst, considering the
passing of an. earthly life,. uses a beau
tful smile. Moses, To whom the psalm
is ascrbed, was not only a great leg
islator and a powe rful leader, but a
poet. He not only opened path across
the Red sea with his nod, but he cut
a sure path into the gratitude and af-
lection of all good men and women by
the sharp point of his, pen. Thus the
ancient author, who WIS n pioneer in
the making of books, compared the earth
ly existence of every human life Ito
a tale that is told" The seconds are the
letters. The minutes are the words. The
hours are the sentences. The days are
the paragraphs. The weeks are the pages.
The months are the chapters. The years
are the books. The whole number of diff
ferent books of the human story of life,
like the five different books of Victor
bound together in one big volume, with
a Stat from the cradh to serve for one
cover and tombstone used for the other
cover. May God help me on this last
Sabbath of the dying year to interpret
Alright how I'VE spend our years as
tale that is told"
The Beginning of the Tale.
Every tale, whether fictitious or no. has
a bright or a sad beginning. In almost
the first words which the narrator speaks
he introduces his isteners to the hero
or the heroine. Sometimes he rocks that
hero's cradle down among the planta-
tons of Louisiana Georgia, sometimes
among the SHOWS of the New England
hills or in a palace of Europe, where
the princes or princess was born. But,
though many heroes and heroines of
fictitious tales may have had unhappy
'aildhood influences, l do not believe 1t
twas thus with us. The brightest pes
sage of the tale of life" when applied
to our own biographies to be found
for the most part in those first days
which we spent in the old homestead. We
never had those huge monsters, the sons
of Tartarus and Terra, to storm our
nurseries, never had murderous
guardian, a King Richard. to incarcerate
us in a dungeon a fiendish Martha of
Goethes Faust for a nurse. Our In
fantile playground was more like the
Deectable mountains of .Bunyans "Pil-
grims Progress" Therefore, as most of
our lives have started amid such puri-
fled surroundings it Is no more than right
to expect that our stories OF life should
be pure and true and nozzle tales.
But alas, no sooner were we born and
grown into young manhood and woman
hood than the current of our lives led
us away from the purities of our youth
full home circle. They led us into the
tic of CT, tod
dark caverns of selfshness. You know
there are books numbered among the
masterpieces of literature which you, as
wise parent, would not allow in your
home You say to your wife: " Chlde
: Harold may be the most wonderful por-
tfaiture Lord Byron ever wrote, but it Is
a character of sin and infamy. 1t is a
character glowing with poetic magma
ton, but character with the worm that