Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1908-03-19

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Ebnf u II SyfS Sofoj10' Il 1rs Robert C0lyer
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G6GT6 Sunday nn0ruinS q i lerge
f6qG1e4 n tfon, Hin lubj HIT II q
q yookins T0Wafd Bunset, ana XII
lts texf ~ took The tWo paslngog III
Scripture: Timothy :8 1'lle
promise ofs the life that nov u ana 81
that which Ii to come, and III Cor
sinthians 1888: This mortal must
put on Immortality Or. Collyer
said:
1 think It Is no wonder, rs the
years como and 60. and we fare on
toward the sunset of the life that
now Is. the heart In US should feel q
touch OF dismay now and then when
we try to imagine ourselves out Of
the body, but the same man or wonn-
an, away from the world we live in,
yet still in q home which will be
'homelike and welcome, and OF day
when the seasons will be no more
what they have been or the sun and
stars, the streets on which we walk
or the homes In which we dwell. A
time when we can clasp hands no
more with friends; sit no more at the
table and join In the CHEEKY talk, go
to our work in the morning and when
the days stint is done go home. take
some book we love best to read and
then 60 to sleep through the silent,
shadowy hours to wake again in the
morning and 6nd that God has made
all things new. And think this
touch Of dismay may we'll be OF all
things natural and therefore right,
because we are in this body and find
that In the measure of our life Is our
loyalty to the things we can touch
and see. To the feeble aged this 10y
atty to the world he lives In Is no
more than an instinct to hold on, but
In those who are still hale and strong
It is loyalty for which they can give
good reason. They love the fra
GRANGE Of the opening spring that fills
them with the old delight, and the
summer with her fruits and flowers,
and the golden treasures of the au-
tumn, and the white glory of the win
ter. All this Is so dear and human
that 1t comes little hard to think Of
q time when all this can be no more
what 1t Is here and now. And so 1t
ought to be. II the option we're CIV
On to many of US while the tides Of
life run deep and full to exchange
this life for the splendors of the ce-
lestial city, to give up the fight for
the necessaries of life, for the white
robes, the harps and crowns. most OF
us would hesitate to say, we love this
best, after all, and do not want to
give It up. no matter what may be
waiting in the blessed life to come.
The gravitation of our being binds us
to our planet, and we cannot cry,
"Oh, that l had wings like dove;
then would I flee away and be at
rest"
Nor do ! think that Gods gift OF
life should be thought of as II it
were in quarantine and this world a
place to have done with, the sooner
the better. Some such conclusion, I
know, may come from brooding over
the ills of life, or to those who have
drained their life Of all its pleasant
ness. The men who have talked In
this strain are men who were either
out of sorts or else they did not prac-
tice what they preached. The men
who have done the most and best
were of an abounding human life.
and while they were on the way to
Join the saints they could go hunting
with st. Augustine or play or sing
with Luther. So of the men who
have no special claim to a place
among the saints. They loved their
own land like good Sir Walter Scott,
the waters and to 60 afishing like
Isaac Walton and Paley. who once
told friend that he could not think
of writing another word In his once
famous book on the evidences until
was over.
No one thing in this universe can
be of deeper moment to q whole and
sound man than his own proper per-
sonal life. You may talk to him for
ever about being lost In the Infinite.
he will still cling to himself as the
true factor and say, with very no.
BILE man I knew who has gone out of
the bed to Gods house: II prefer hell
to humiliation" The angels are we'll
enough, but he would not be an an
gel. Angels have had no mothers to
Groom over them, by what we can
make out, or fathers to romp with
them. They never fell In love when
the time came, wondering over their
rare fortune, or made homes where
the children clung about their knees,
or fought strong battles for the truth
and the right, or wept over graves.
Angels, then, must be poor where
such man IL rich, or rich In some
way he cannot as yet understand. He
has solved the problem so far of his
own personal identity and would not
have II resolved into the grandest
presence that ever trod the earth.
These years, with their clustering
memories, are his own years. They
stand out clear and reveal to the man
his own life. A poor thing, he may
say. but mine own; full of mistakes,
but mine own. want to keep
track Of myself. Send me where you
Will. but let me be sure that / am still
the man who Is now living this hu-
man life, as those are who have lived
human lives with me. The kind,
the true. the brave. the sweet who
walk with us no more. they will be
there IN the life TO come, not uIl-
clothed but clothed upon and then !
shall rest In hope for:
II il the dear belief
That on sofne solemn shore,
Beyond the reach Of grief, a
we find our own once more;
Beyond the sphere of time.
And sense and fate's control,
Serene ii changeless prime.
Dwells the immortal soul.
This faith lain. would keep,