Putnam patriot., 1918-03-22

to the print of the nails, and thrust my
hand into His side, | will not believe.
But at last he had to believe. and con-
vineed beyond the possibility of doubt,
he exclaimed, My Lord and my God"
1t is to Christ then that we are indebted
for emancipation from an intolerahle
fear.
And not only does Easter give us the
fact of broken and lghtened grave, but
it also gives us rational and human ideas
of that to which the grave is the portal.
What a gruesome thing the future world,
as conceived by the Aneents, was. | can
not conceive how any one before Christ
would either dare or no matter how ter
rible the present experience might be,
would care to die. Even today men cling
ing to those old patrarchal notions that
are dark enough to give soul the shiv-
ers as II contemplates them. To many
Christian death is a monster and not the
dark faced but kind hearted usher sent
cut to lead us to our Fathers home. "Ev-
en- today as one has it, I'VE dress our
grief the ancients who lived before
life and Immortality were brought to
light dressed theirs. The color of our
mourning gives the lie to our faith. The
shepherd in his deep love stoops and
takes a little feeble lamb to his bosom;
and we knot Grape to our door. and fill
the house with lamentations. How might
the birds teach us. that sing their little
ones into the air when grown beyond
the accommodations of the nest They
have instructive faith in God.
Not long ago a passenger train was
moving on toward Chicago Among the
occupants of the coaches was an old man
whose careworn, haggard face showed
marks of recent trouble. The stranger by
his side noticing his evident sorrow
spoke to him about his business. Il am
gong to the city for the second time in
my life said the old man. Yes. the
second time" he repeated Thirty
years ago come June | went there for a
wedding suit, and | am going back there
today for a coffin and shroud for-the
little woman that-marred me-" His
voice broke here, and turning to the win
dow he looked out upon the dull, cold
landscape and was silent many minutes
Then he resumed: you don't know it,
Mr., you can't understand" and the tears
rolled down his face you don't know
what it is to live and work alongside a
woman for thirty years day in and day
out, to find her always patient and will
ling and working and then leave her
dead and cold with her worn out hands
crossed on her breast have been think
ing a good deal since last night when
Marge died. 1t was lust a little after the
turn of the night and nobody but me was
watching. When she aroused as if she
had been asleep and she said David, its
restful, so restful, and took hold of her
sand. Is that you singing. David, said
she? Go on, please. But hadn't sung
word, and couldn't have done it. Go
on, David, she continued, and I'll be rest
ing, for | am so tired And so she went
to sleep again and walked up in heaven
And do you know, stranger, those words
of hers have set me to thinking. Poor
tired soul! And | never though. how
much she needed rest. thought as | sat
there watching her breath going out last
night that maybe we had made mistake
of it all. We never thought of it while
we were working and saving trying to
make both ends meet and to lay up some
thing for the children, but it came over
me like flash last night as | sat watch
ing there for the last. She never had any
pleasure She never took any holidays,
nor went around like many She cared
for the children, looked after the house,
cooked for us all. | never knew nor
thought how she did it all until | saw
those poor, crossed hands with the little
white flowers in them. Some one of the
neighbors put them there, and it kind of
choked me when | looked | knew she
never had any time for flowers when she
might have smelled them She didn't
have time for anything but the thorns,
Mr., and that's what hurts me- After
moment he looked up through his tears
and said, "But somehow | feel that up
yonder there the good God will so ar
range the way that she can find in heav-
en- what she never realized in earth, rest.
rest OF which earth was only a dream