Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1896 — TALMAGE’S SERMON. [ARTICLE]

TALMAGE’S SERMON.

SEASONABLE DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED PREACHER. Re Compares the Church to a Garden, Because It Is the Place of’ Cholpe Flowers, Select Fruits and of Thorough Irrigation. The Garden of God. As the parks in Washington are abldom yvith hyaeinths, and the gardens are being made, the simile dominant in this subject is very suggestive and practical. Dr. Talmage’s text was Isaiah lviii., 11, “Thou shall be like a watered garden.” The Bible isna-great tioem. We have in it faultless rhythm, and bold 'imagery, and startling antithesis, and rapturous lyric, and sweet pastoral, and instructive narrative, and devotional psalm—thought •expressed In style more solemn than that of Montgomery, ’more bold than that of Milton, more terrible that,that of Dante, more natural than that of Wordsworth, more impassioned, than that of Pollock, more tender 'hah‘that of Cowpcr, mure Weird than that of Spenser. This great poem brings all the gems of the earth into its coronet, and it weaves, the-flames of .judgment into its garlands and pours eternal harmonies in its rhythm. Everything this book totrehes-it makes beautiful, front the plain stones of the Summer thrashing floor to the daughters of Nnhor filling the trough fur the camels, from the fish pools of Heshbon up to the psalmist praising God with the diapason of storm and whirlwind and JobV.inmgery of Orion,-sAreturiis and the Pleiades. A Beautiful Garden. My sex t leads us into a scene of suminer rexloteTiee. The world has-hitd-t great many beautiful gardens. Charlemagne added to the glory of his reign by decreeing that they he established all through the realm, deciding even the names of the flowers to be planted there. Henry IV., at Montpelier, esta.uislied gardens of bewitching beauty ail luxuriance, gatheriug into them Alpine, Pyrenean and French plants. One of the sweetest spots on earth was tne garden of Sheiistone. the poet, flis writings have made but little" impression on the world, but his garden, “The Leasowea.” will be! immortal. To the natural advantage of that place was brought the perfection of art. Arbor and terrace and slope and rustic temple and reservoir and urn and fountain here had their crowning. Oak and yew and hazel put forth their richest foliage. There was no life more diligent, no soul more ingenious, than that of Sheustone, and all that diligence and genius he brought to the adornment of that one treasured sppt. He gave £3OO for it; he sold it for £17,000. And' yet I am to tell you to-day of a richer garden than airy 1 have mentioned. —It is the garden spoken of in my text, the garden of the church, which belongs to Christ. He bought it, he planted it, he owns it. and he shall have it. Walter Scott, in his outlay at Abbotsford,, ruined his fortune, and now, in the crimson flowers of those gardens, you can almost think or imagine that you see the blood of that old man’s broken heart, The payment Of the last £IOO,OOO, sacrificed him. But 1 have to tell you that Christ’s life and Christ’s death were the outlay of this beautiful garden of the church of which my text speaks. Oh, how many sighs and tears and pangs and agonies! Tell me, ye women who saw him hang! Tell mo, ye •executioners who lifted him and let him down! Toll me, thou sun that didst hide, ye rocks that fell! (Jlirist loved the church and ga,ve, himself for it. If the of the church belongs to Christ, certainly he has a right to walk in it. Conte, then, O blessed Jesus, to-day; walk up and down these aisles and pluck what thou wilt of sweetness for thyself. The church, in my text, is appropriately compared to a garden because it is the place of choice flowers, of select fruits , and of thorough irrigation. That would ~Rr a straiigtr prarden -tn which there were no flowers. If nowhere else, they would be along the borders or at the gateway. The homeliest taste will dictate something, if it be only the old-fashioned holly hock or dahlia or daffodil, but if there be larger menus then you will find the Mexican cactus and biasing azalea and clustering oleander. Well, now, Christ comes to his garden, and he plants there some of tile brightest spirits that ever flowered upon the world. Some of them are violets, inconspicuous, but sweet as heaven. You have to search and find them. You do •not see them very often-. -perhaps, but you find where they have been by the hrighteued face of the invalid and the sprig of geranium on the stand and the new window curtains keeping out the glare of the sunlight. They are perhaps more like the _ ranunculus, creeping sweetly along amid the thorns and briers of life, giving kiss for siting, and many a man who has had in his way some great black rock of trouble has found that they have covered it all over with flowery jasmise, running in and out amid the crevices. These flowers in Christ’s garden are not, like the sunflower, gaudy in the light, but wherever darkness soul tharnhbds to be Comforted there they stand, night blooming esreuses. But in Christ’s garden there are plants that may be better compared to the Mexican cactus —thorns without, loveliness within, men with sharp points of character. They wound almost every one that touches them. They are hard to handle. iMen pronounce them nothing but thorns, but Christ loves them notwithstanding all their sharpness. Many a man has had a [very hard ground to cultivate, and it has only been through severe trial he has raised even the smallest crop of grace. A very harsh minister was talking to a very placid elder, and the placid elder said to the harsh minister, “Doctor, I do wish you would control your temper.” “Ah,” •aid the minister to the elder, “I control more temper in five minutes than you do in five years.” Thorne in the Garden. It is harder for some men to do right than for other men to do right. The grace that would elevate you to the seventh heaven might not keep ypur brother from knocking a man down. I had a friend who came to me and said, “I dare not join the church.” I said, “Why?” “Oh,” he said, "I have such a violent temper! Yesterday morning I was crossing very early at the Jersey City ferry, and I saw a milkman pour a large quantity of water into the milk can, and I said to him, ‘I think that will do,’ and he Insulted me, and I knocked him down. Do you think •I ought to join the church?” Nevertheless that very same man, who was so harsh in his behavior, loved Christ and could not speak of sacred things without tears of, emotion and affection. Thorns without, sweetness within —thei best specimen of the Mexican cactus I ever saw. There are others planted in Christ’s garden who.are always radiant, always impressive, more like the roses of deep line that we occasionally find, called “Giants of Battle;’’ the Martin Luthers, St. Hauls, Chrysostoms,’ Wyellfs, Lntimers and Samuel Rutherfords. What in other men is a spark in them is a conflagration. IWhen they sweat, they sweat great drops of blood. When they pray, their prayer takes fire. When they preach, It Is a Pentecost. When tßey fight, it is a Thermopylae. When they die, it is a martyrdom. You And a great many roses in the •ardens, but only a few “Giants of Bat-, tie.” Men say, “Why don’t you have

more of them in the church?” I say, “Why don’t jfou have in the world more Humboldts and Wellingtons?” God gives to some ten talents; to another, one. In thin garden of the church .which Christ has planted I also find the snowdrops, beautiful but cold looking,! seemingly another phase ol winter. I mean those Christians whoarepreeise in their tastes, unimpassioned, jiure as snowdrops and as cold. They never shed any tears, they never get excited, they never say anything rashly, they never do anything precipitately. Their pulses never “flutter, • their nerves never twitch, their indignation never boils over. They live longer than most people, but their life is in a minor key. They never run up to C* above the staff. In their music of life they have no staccato passages. Christ planted them in the church, and they must be of some service, or they would not be there. Snowdrops, always snowdrops. But' I have not told you of the most beautiful flower of all this garden spoken of in the text. If you see a century plant, your i emotions are started. You say, “Why, this flower has been 100 years gathering up for one bloom, and it will be 100 years more before other petals will come out.” But I have to tell you of a plant that was gathering up from all eteiMiiiy.„anu : that 1,000 years, ago put forth its bloom never to wither. It is the passion plant of the cross! Prophets foretold it, Bethlehem shepherds looked upon it in the bud, the rocks shook at its bursting, and the dead,got up in their winding sheets to see its full bloom. It is a crimson flower - blood at the roots, blood op the branches, blood on all the |eaves., Its perfume is to All all the nations. Its breath is heaven. Come, O winds, from tl > north, and winds from the south, and winds front the east, and winds from the west, and hear to all the earth the sweet smelling savor of Christ, my Lord! His worth if all the nations knew, Sure the whole earth would love him too. Fruit in the Garden. Again tin# church may be appropriately compared to a garden because it is a place of fruits. That would lie a strange garden which had in it no berries, no plums or peaches or apricots. The coarser fruits are planted in the orchard or they are set out on the sunny hillside, but the choicest fruits are kept in the garden. So, in the world outside the church, Christ has planted a great many beautiful things—patience, charity, generosity, integrityhut he intends the choicest fruits to be in the garden, and, if they are not there, then shame on the cliurch._ Religion is not a mere sentimentality. It is a practical, life-giving, healthful fruit—not posies, but apples. “Oh,” says somebody, “I don’t see what your garden of the Church has yielded.” In reply I ask, Where did yom asylums come from, and your hospitals, and your institutions of mercy? Christ planted every one ol them; he planted them in his garden. When Christ gave sight to Bartimeus, he • laid the primer stone to every blind asylum that has ever been built. When Christ soothed the demoniac of Galilee, be laid the corher stone of every lunatic asylum that has ever been established. When Christ said to the sick man, “Take Up'TEyljod and walk,” he laid the corner stone of every hospital the world has ever seen. When Christ said, “I whs in prison and ye visited me,” he laid the corner stone of every prison reform association that has ever been organized. The church of Christ is a glorious garden,-and it is full of fruit. I know there is some poor fruit in it. I know; there are some weeds that ought to be thrown over the fence., I know there are some crab apple trees that Ought to be cut down. I know there are some wild grapes that ought to be uprooted. But are you going to destroy the whole garden because of a little gnarled fruit? You will find worm eaten leaves in Fontainebleau, and insects that' sting in the fairy groves of the Champs Elysees. You do not tear down and destroy the whole garden because there are a few specimens of gnarled fruit. I admit there are men and women in the church who ought not to be there, but let us be just as frank and ad mit the fact that There are hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands of glorious Christian men and women —holy, blessed, useful, consecrated and triumphant. There is no grander, nobler collection in all the earth than the collection of Christinns.

There are Christian men in this house whose religion is not n matter of psalm singing and church going. To-morrow morning that religion will keep them just as consistent and consecrated in their worldly occupation as itever kept them at the communion table. There are women here to-day of a higher type of character than - Mary-es Bethany. They not only sit at the feet of Christ, but they go out into the kitchen to help Martha in her work that she may sit there too. There is a woman, who has a drunkard husband, who has exhibited more faith and patienccand courage than Ridley in the fire. He was consumed in twenty minutes. Hers has been a twenty years’ martyrdom. Yonder is a mau who has been fifteen years oh his back, unable to feed himself, yet calm and peaceful as though he lay on one of the green banks of heaven watching the oarsmen dip their paddle in the crystal riw*r.-k- seems t® me this moment as if St. Paul threw to us a pomologist’s catalogue of the fruits growing in thiFgreat garden of Christ—love, joy, peace,"patience, charity, brotherly kipdness, gentleness, mercy—glorious fruit, enough all the baskets of earth and heaven. The Watered Garden, Again) the church in my text is appropriately called a garden because it is thoroughly irrigated. No garden could prosper long without plenty of water. I have seen a garden in the midst of a desert, yet blooming and luxuriant. All around us were death and barrenness, but there were pipes, aqueducts, reaching from this garden up to the mountains, and through those aqueducts the water came streaming down and tossing up into beautiful fountains, until every root and leaf and flower was saturated. That is like the church. The church is a garden in the midst of a great desert of sin and suffering, but it is well irrigated, for “our eyes are unto the hills from whence Cometh our help.” From the mountains of God’s strength there flow down rivers of gladness. “There Is a river the stream whereof shall make glad the city of our God.” Preaching the gospel is one of the aqueducts. The Bible is another. Baptism and the Lord’s supper are * aqueducts. Water to slake the thirst, water to wash the unclean, water tossed high up in the light of the Sun 6t Righteousness, showing us the rainbow around the throne. Oh, was there ever a garden so thoroughly irrigated!, You know that the beauty of Versailles and Chats Worth depends very much upon the great supply .of J water. I came to the hitter place, (ffiataworth, one day when strangers are not t<f be admitted, but by an inducement which always seemed as potent with an Englishman as an American I got in, and then the gardener wont far up above the stairs of stone and turned on the water. I saw it gleaming on the dry pavement, coming down from step to step until It came so near I could hear the musical rush, and nil over the high, broad stairs it came, foaming, flashing, roaring down, until sunlight and wave in glecsome wrestle tumbled at my feet. 80 It is with the church of God. Everything comes from above —pardon from above, joy from above, ‘ adoption from above, sanctification from above. Hark! I hear the latch of the garden

» % *li f gate, and I look to see who is coming. T hear the voice of Christ, “I am my garden.” I say: “Gome In, O Jesusf We have been waiting for thee. Walk all -through the paths. Look at the, flowers :J look at the fruit; pluck thalt which tFou. wilt for thyself.” Jesus comes into the garden and up to that • old man and -touches hiirrand says: “Alfnost home, father; not many more aches for thee. I will never leave thee; take courage a little longer, and I will'steady thy tottering steps, and I will soothe thy troubles and give thee rest. Courage, old man.” Then Christ goes up another garden path, and ho comes to a soul in trouble and says: “Peace! All is well. I have seen thy tears. I have heard thy prayer. The sun shall not smite thee by dayAor the moon by, night. The Lord shalf preserve thee from all evil; he will preserve thy soul. Courage, Ojtroubled spirit!” Then I see Jesus going up another garden path, and I see great excitement among the leaves, and I hasten up that garden path to see what Jesus is doing* there, and, lo! he is breaking ou flowers, sharp and clean, from the stem, and I say, “Stop, Jesus; don’t kill those beautiful flowers.” He turns.to me and says, “I have come into my garden to gather lilies, and I mean to taae these up to a higher terrace. for the garden around my palace, and there ,l will plant them, and in better soil and in better air they shall put forth "brighter loaves and sweeter redolenee. and no frost shall touch them forever.” And I looked up into his face and said: “Well, it is his garden, and he has a right to do what he will with it. Thy will be done” —the hardest prayer ever man made. It has seemed as if Jesus Christ took She lw>st. From many of your households the best one is gone. You know tnat she was foo good for this world; she was the gentlest in her ways, the deepest in her afreetions, and when at last the sickness came you had no faith in medicines. You knew that the hour of parting had come, "7i]HT"Vvh’ch, thrbugh 'the rtelr grace of-'the Lord Jesus Christ, you surrendered that treasure you said: “Lord Jesus, take it. It is the best we have; take it. Thou art worthy!” The others in the household may have been of grosser mold. She was . of the finest. . , v ’■

The heaven of your little ones will not lie fairly begun until you get there. All the kindnesses shown them by immortals will not make them forget yqu. There they are, the radiant throngs that wenT out from your homes. I throw a kiss to the, sweet darlings. They are all well now in the palace. The crippled child a SouAd foot notv. A little lame ch;ld says, “Ma, will I be lame in hedven?” “NOr my darling; you won’t be lame in •heaven.” A little sick child says, “Ma. will Ihe sick in heaven?” “No, my dear; you won’t be sick in heaven.” A little blind child says, “Ma, will I be blind in heaven?” “No, my deal; you won’t be blind in heaven. They are all well there.” I notice that the fine gardens sometimes have high fences around them and you cannot get in. It is sb with a king’s garden. The only glimpse yon ever get of such a garden is when the king rides out in his splendid carriage. It is not so with •ihis garden, this King’s garden. I throw wide open the gate and tell you all to come in. No monopoly in religion. Whosoever will, may. Choose now between, a desert and a garden. Many of ydu have tried the garden of this world’s delight. You have found it has been a chagrin. So it was with Theodore Hook. He made all the world laugh. He makes us laugh now when we read his poems, but he could' not make his own heart-laugh. While in the midst of his festivities he confronted a looking glass, and he saw himself and said: “There, that is true! I look just as I aih—done up in body, mind and purse.” So it was of Shenstone, of”whose garden I -told you at the beginning of my sermon. He sat down amid those bowers and said: “I have lost my road to happiness. lam angry and envious,and frantic and despise everything around me, just as it becomes a riiadman to do.”

Heartsease. O ye weary souls, come into Christ’s garden to-day and pluck a little heartsease. Christ is the only rest ami the only pardon for a perturbed spirit. Do you not think your chance has almost come? You men and women who have been waiting year after year for some good opportunity in which to accept Christ, but have postponed it five, ten, twenty, thirty years, do you not feel as if now your hour of deliverance and pardon and salvation had come? O man, wnat grudge hast thou against thy poor soul that thou wilt not let it be saved?- I feel as if salvation must come to-day in some of your hearts. Some years ago a vessel struck on the rocks. They had only one lifeboat. In that lifeboat the passengers and crew were getting ashore. The vessel hdtl foundered and was sinking deeper and deeper, and that one boat could not take the passengers very swiftly. A little girl stood on the deck waiting for her turn to get into the boat, The ooat came and went, came and went, but her turn did not seem to come. After a while she could wait no longer, and she leaped on the taffrall and then sprang into the sea, crying to Jhe boatman: “Save me next! Save me next!” Oh, how many have gone ashore into God’s mercy, and yet you are clinging to" the wreck of svtt f . £ Ottwrv. have accepted the pardon of Christ, you are in peril. Why not this moment make a rush for your immortal rescue, crying until Jesus shall hear you and heaven and earth ring with the cry: “Save mo next! Save me, next!” Now is the day of salvation! Now! Now! This Sabbath is the last for some of you. It is about to sail away forever. Her bell tolls. The planks thunder back in the gangway. She shoves off. She floats out toward the great ocean of eter-j nity. Wave farewell to yourdast chancel for heaven. “Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered thee ps a hen gatheretb her brood under her wings, and ye would not! Behold your house is left unto you desolate!” Invited to revel in a garden, you die in a desert! May God Almighty, before it is too late, break that infatuation.