Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 August 1896 — TALMAGE’S SERMON. [ARTICLE]

TALMAGE’S SERMON.

THE PREACHER TELLS A TOUCHING BIBLE STORY. We Beauty of Childhood —lta Power Over the Parental Heart—lta Bliaaful Transition from Earth to Heaven— The Loved and Lost. A Harvest Shadow. While the reapers are busy in many Crts of the laud and the harvests are ing gathered the scene brought before t* in this subject is especially appropriate. The text is 11. Kings, iv., IS, 11), 20: “And when the child was grown it fell on d day that he went out to his father to the reapers And he said unto his father, ■*My head, my head!’ And he said to a lad, ’Carry him to his mother.’ And when he had taken hint and brought him to his mother he sat on her knees till noon and then died.” > There is at least one happy home in Sbuncm. To the luxuriance and splendor of a great house had been given the fidvent of a child. Even when the angel oi life brings.a new soul to the poor man's hut a star of.joy shines over the manger. Infancy, with its helplessness and innocence. had passed away. Days of boyhood had come, days of laughter and frolic, days of sunshine and promise, days of strange questions and curiosity and quick development. I suppose among all the treasures of that house the brightest was the boy. One day there is the shout of reapers heard afield. A boy's .heart always bounds at tjte sound of sickle or scythe. No sooner have the harvesters cut a swath across'flit field tlfan the lad joins them, and the swart?};? 'reapers feel young again ar they ffufk down ’at that lad. as bright and beautiful as was Ruth ill the harvest fields of Bethlehem gleaning after, the reapers. But the sun was too hot for him. Congesting of the brain seized on lfim,, . I see the laborers drop their sickles, and they rusl} out to see what is the matter, and they fan him, and they try to cool his brow, but* all is of no avail, •in the instant of consciousness lie puts his hands against his temples and cries out, “.My head, my head!” And the father said, “Carry him to his mother,” just as e.py father would iiave said, for our hand is too rough, and our ,yoioe is,, too harsh, and our foot is too loud to doctor a sick child if there lie in pu,r t home a gentler voice, and a geutler hand, and a stiller footstep. But all of no avail. While the reapers of Shunt m were busy in the field there came a stronger reaper that way. with keener scythe and for a richer liarevst. He reaped only one sheaf, but, oh, what a golden sheaf was thal! Ido not want to know any more about that heartbreaking scene than what 1 see in just this one pathetic sentence, “He sat on her knees tiil noon and then died.” Though hundreds of years have passed away since that boy skipped to the harvest field. and then was brought home and died on his mother’s lap, the story still thrills us. Indeed, childhood has a charm always and everywhere. 1 shall now speak to you of childhood —its beauty, its susceptibility to impression, its power over the parental heart, and its blissful transition from cartli to heaven. Child Life. The child's beauty does not depend upon form or feature or complexion or apparel. That destitute one that you saw on the street, bnrsed with unkiuducss and in rags, lias a charm about her even under her destitution. You have forgotten a groat mauy persons whom you met, of finely cut features and with erect posture and with faultless complexion, while you will always remember the poor girl who, on a cold, moonlight night, as you were passing late home, in her thin shawl and barefoot on the pavement, put out her band and said, “Please give me a penny V” All, how ofteu we have walked on and said. “Oh, that is nothing but street vagabondism!” but after we got a block or two on we stopped and said, “Ah, that is not right!” and we passed up that same way and dropped a mite into that suffering hand as though it were not a matter of second thought, so ashamed were we of our hard heartedness. With what admiration we all look upon a group of children on the playground or in the school, and wo clap our hands almost involuntarily and say, “How beautiful!” All stiffness and dignity are gone, and your shout is heard with theirs and you trundle (heir hoop, and fly their kite, and strike their ball, and all your weariness and anxiety are gone as when a child you bounded over the playground yourself. That father who stands rigid* and unsympathetic amid the sportfulness of children ought never to have been tempted out of a crusty and uredeemable solitariness. The waters leap down the roeks, but they lijive not the graceful stop of childhood. The morning comes out of the gates of the east, throwing its silver on the lake and its gold on the towers and its fire on the cloud, but it is not so bright aud beautiful as the lhorning of life. There is no light like that which is kindled in a child’s eye, no color like that which blooms on a child's cheek, no music like the sound of a child's voice. Its face in the poorest picture redeems any imperfection in art. When we are weary with toil, their little hunds'pull the burdens oft our back. ..Oh, who* a.d till, stale, mean world this wouldtw Without the sportfulness of chilelre&j- Wheh I find people that do not life children, I immediately doubt their moral aud Christian character. But when the (fed comes upon,-a child howumspeakably attractive! AY'heii Sainu(H%egiuß to pray, and Timothy begins to read the Scriptures. and .!pju*pih shows himself iuvulnerable to temptajSou, bow beautiful the scene! I know that parents sometimes get nervous when their children become pious, because they have the idea that good children always die. The strange questions about Cod and eternity and the dead excite apprehension in the parental mind rather thaa congratulation. Indeed, ‘there are some people that seem marked for heaven. This world i.s taoqmor a garden for them to bloom in. The hues of heaven are in the petals. There is something about' their forehead that'makes yon think that the hand of Christ has been on it. saying. “Let this one t-ome to me. and let it come to me soon.’ AY bile ihat one tarried in the house you felt there was an angel in the room, and you thought that every, sickness would be the last, and when finally the winds of death did scatter the leaves ycu were no more surprised than to see a star come out aliove the cloud on a dark night, for you had often said to your companion. "My dear, we shall never raise that child." But I scout the idea that good children always die. Samuel the pious boy became Samuel the great prophet. Christian Timothy became a minister at Ephesus. Young Daniel, consecrated to God. became prime minister of all the realm, and there are in hundreds of the schools and families of this country to-day children who love God and keep hi> commandments, and who are to lie foremost among the Christians, and the philanthropists, and tlie reformers of the next century. The grace of God never kills any one. A child will be more apt to grow up with religion than it will be apt to grow up without it. Length of days is promised to the righteous. The religion of Christ does not cramp the chest or curve the spine or weaken, the nerves. Therearr no malarias floating up fr.ua the

river of life. The religion of Christ throws over the heart and life of a child a supernal beauty. “Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths arc peace.” Susceptibility of Childhood. I pass on to consider the susceptibility of childhood. Men pride themselves on their uncbangeability. They will make an elaborate argument to prove that they think now just as they did twenty years ago. It is charged to frailty or fraud when a man changes his sentiments in politics or in religion, and it is this determination of soul that so often drives back the gospel from a man’s heart. It is so hard to make avarice charitable, and fraud honest, and pride humble, and skepticism Christian. The sword of God's truth seems to glance off from those mailed warriors, and the helmet seems battle proof against God’s battleax. But childhood—how susceptible to example and to instruction!. You are not surprised at the record, “Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac l>ogat Jacob,” for when religiou starts in a family it is apt to go all through. Jezebel a murderess, you are not surprised ; to find her son Jehoram attempting assassination. Oh. what a responsibility upon the parent and the teacher! The musician 'ouches the keys, and the response of 'hose keys is away off amid the pities and the chords, and you wonder at the distance betwen the key and the chord. And so it is in life—if you touch a child the r. suit will coine back from manhood or old age, telling just the tune played, whether the dirge of a great sorrow or •he anthem of a great joy. The word that the Sababth school teaches will this afternoon whisppr.An the ear of the class will bo ,ecjtQ£d back, from everlasting ages of light or darkness. The home and the . school decide the republic or the despotism, the barbarism or the civilization, the upbuilding of an empire or the overthrowing of it. Higher than Parliament or Congress are the school and the family, end the sound of u child’s foot may mean more than the tramp of a host. What, then, are you doing for the purpose of bringing your children into the kingdom of God? If they are so susceptible, and if this is tne very best time to act upon their eternal interests, what are you doing by way of right impulsion? There were some harvesters in the fields of Scotland one hot day, and Hannah Lenond was helping them gather the hay. She laid her babe under a tree. While she was busy in the field there was a flutter of wings in the air, and a golden, eagle clutched the swaddling baud of the babe and flow away with it to the mountain eyrie. All the harvesters and Hannah Lemond started for the cliffs. It was two miles before they came to the foot of tha cliffs. Getting there, who dared mount tfce cliff? No human foot had ever trod it. There wore sailors there who had tone up the mast in the day of terrible tempest. They did not dare risk it. Hannah Lemond sat there for awhile and looked up and saw the eagle ia the eyrie, and theu she leaped to her feet, and she started up where no human foot had ever trod, crag above crag, catching hold of this root or that root until she reached the eyrie and caught her babe, the eagle swooping in fierceness ail around about her. Fastening the child to her back, she started for her friends and for home. Oh, what a dizzy decent, sliding from this crag to that crag, etching by that vine and by that root. com*?; down farther and farther to the most dangerous pass, where she found a gout mpd some kids. She said: “Now i’ll foltaw the goat. The goat will know just which is the safest way down.” And site was led by the animal down to the plain. When t he get there, all the people cried, “Thank God, thank God!” her strength not giving way until the rescue was effected. And they cried. "Stand hack, now. Give her air!” Oh, if a woman will do that for the physical life of her child, what will you do for the eternal life of your boy anil your girl? Let it not be told in the great day of eternity that Hannah Lemond put forth more exertion for the saving of the physical life of. her child than you, O parent, have ever put forth for the eternal life of your little one. God help you! Power of Childhood. I pass on to consider the power which a child wields over the parental heart. AA'e often talk about the influence of parents upon children. I never hear anything said about the influence of children upon their parents. You go to school to them. You no more educate them than they educate you. AVith their little hands they have caught hold of your entire nature, and you cannot wrench yourself .away from their grasp. You arc different men and women from what you were before they gave you the first lesson. They have revolutionized your soul. There are fountains of joy in your heart which never would have been discovered had they not discovered them. Life is to you a more stupendous thing than it was before those little feet started on the pathway to eternity. Oh, how many hopes, how many joys, how many solicitudes that little one nas created in your soul! You go to school every day, a school of self-denial, a school of patience, in which you are getting wiser day by day. and that influence ot the child over you will increase and increase, and, though your children may dte, from the very throne of God they will reach down an influence to your soul, .leading yd tiffin' and leading you up until ybu mingle with their voices and sit beside their thrones.

The grasp which Ihe child has over the parent’s heart is seen in wliat the parent will do lor the child. Storm and darkness and heat and cold are nothing to you if they stand between you and your child's welfare. A great lawyer, when yet unknown. one day stood in the courtroom and made an eloquent plea before some men of great legal attainments, and ajjeu'lonian said to him afterward, "How could you le so calm standing in that august presence?” "Oh,” said Erskine, "I felt my children pullim* at my Skirts iTying for bread.” What stream will yoilf not swim, what cavern will you not enter, what batlle will you not light, what hunger wili you not eudure for your children? Your children must have bread though you starve. Your children must he well clothed though you are in rags. You ray. "My children shall be educated, though I never had any chance.” What to you arc weary aching heads uid hands hardened” and callous If only the welfare of yobr children can he wrought out by it? Their sorrow is your sorrow, their joy your joy. their ,a lvancenient your victory* *' jAiid, oh, when the last sickness comes, how you tight back the inarch *>f disease. and it is only after a tremendous struggle that you surrender. And then when the spirit has l'e<l the great deep is broken up. end Itachil will mat lie comforted lie cause !•■ r children are not. aud David goes up the palace stairs, crying. *‘<) Absalom, my son, my son. would to God 1 had died for thee; O Absalom, my sou, my son!" The Loot Treasure. There is oot a large family, or hardly a large family, that has not bent over such a treasure aud lost it. In the family fold is there no dead lamb? 1 have seen many such cases of sorrow. There is one preeminent in my memory as pastor—Scoville Haynes McCollum. The story of his death has brought hundreds unto God. lie belonged to my parish in the West. A thorough boy, 0 or 10 years of age. Nothing morbid, nothing dull about him. llis voice loudest and his toot swiftest on the playground. Often he has come into my house aud thrown himself down on the floor in an exhaustion of boisterous mirth, aDd yet he was a Christian, consecrated to God, keeping his commandments. That

Is the kind of childish piety I believe in. AA’hen the day* of sickness came suddenly aud he was told that he could not get well, he said: "Jesus alone can save me. •lesus will save me. He has saved me. Don’t cry, mamma. I shall go right straight up to heaven.” Aud then they gave him a glass of water to cool his hot lips, and he said- “Mamma. I shall take a draft from the water of life after awhile, of which if one drink he shall never get thirsty again. 1 lay myself at Jesus' feet, and 1 want him to do just what be thinks best to do wuh me.” In those days “Rest for the AA’eary” was a new hymn, and lit had learned it. and in a perfect ecstasy of soul in his las: hour he cried out: "In the Cl»rist : an's home in glory There remains u laud of rest. There my Savior's gone before me To fulfill my soul's request. There is rest for the weary, There is rest for you. “Sing, oh, sing, ye heirs of glory, Shout your triumphs as you go! Zion's gales nre open for you. You shall, find an entrance through. There is rest for the weary.” “There is rest for you, papa; there is refit fur you. mamma.” And then patting his hands over his heart, he said, "Yea, there is rest for me.” Aud then, he asked them to read “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketli me to lie down in green pastures and leadeth me beside still waters,” and he cried out: “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory ?” Only 10 years old. And then he said, “Now 1 wish you would just turn this bod so I can look once more on the foliage and see the sun set.” And they turned the bed. And he said. “I do so wish that Jesus would hurry and come and take uie." They said to him, “AVhy, arc you not willing to await the Lord’s time?” “Yes,” he said, “1 am; but I would rather Jesus would come and harry and trfke me.” And so, with a peace, indescribable, he passed away. The Lord’s Will. Oh, there is nothing sad about a child's death save the grief iu the parent’s heart! You see the little ones go right out from a world of sin and suffering to a world of joy. How many sorrows they escape, how many temptations, how many troubles! Children, dead are safe. Those that five are in peril. AVe know not what dark path they may take. The day may come in which they will break your heart, but children dead nre safe—safe forever. AVeeping parents, do not mourn too bitterly over your child that hus gone. There nre two kinds of prayers made at A child's sick bed. One prayer the Lord likes; the other prayer he dens not like. AVhen a soul kneels down at n child’s stbk bed and says: “O Lord, spare this little one. He is very near .to my heart. I don’t want to part with him. but thy will be done”—that is tlm kind of a prayer the Lord loves. There is another kind of prayer which I .have heard men make in substance when they say: “O I-ord, this isn’t right. It is hard to take this child. You have no right to take this child. Spare this child. 1 can’t give him up, and 1 won’t give him up.” The Lord answers that kind of a prayer sometimes. The child lives-on and lives on and travels off in paths of wickedness to perish At the end of every prayer for a child's fife say, "Thy will, O Lord, be done.” The brightest lights that can be kindled Christ has kindled. Let us, old and young, rejoice thnt heaven is gathering up so much thnt is attractive. In that far land we nre not strangers. There are those there who speak our name day by day, and they wonder why so loug we ferry. If 1 could count up the names of psi those who have gone out from these families into the kingdom of heaven, it would take me all day to mention their names. A great multitude before the throne. You loved them once, you love them now, nnd ever and anon you think you hear their voices calling you upward. Ait, yet, they hnvd gone out from all these families, and you want no book to fell you of the dying experience of Christian childri-n. You have heard it. It has been whispered in your ear, O father, O mother, O brother, O sister. Toward that good land nil Christians are bearing. This snapping of heartstrings, this flight ot ypars, this triad of the heart reminds us that we nre passing iiway. Under spring blossoms nnd through summer harvests and across autumnal leaves and through the wintry snowbanks we are passing on. Oh, rejoice at it, children of God, rejoice at it! How we shall gather them up, the loved and the lost! Before we mount our throne, before we drink of the fountain, before we strike the harp of our eternal celebration, we will cry out, “Where are our loved and lost?” And then how we shall gather them up! Oh, how wo shall gather them tip! In this dark world of sin and pain AVe cnly meet to pnrt again, But when we reach the henvenly shore AVe there shall meet to part no more. The hope that we shall see that day Should chase our present griefs away. When these short years of pain are past AA’e'll meet before the throne at last.