The Cloud of Witnesses [pp. 361]

GOD'S CHARiTY SERMON.
GOD'S CHARITY SERMON.
'T WAS a morning in May, like a noon in July:
No sound, save the chimes in the church-tower on high
And the pastor's slow tread down the naveAs he walked with bowed head, and a look in his eye
That said, "Thus the Sabbaths of harvest go by,
But no sheaves for my toil may I have."
In the heat of the day-in the dew and the rain
I spend and am spent, but't is vain, all in vain!
From the deep-cushioned pews came a rustle and
gleam,
For beauty and pride blended there like a dream,
And'neath it was pulsing a Pharisee's heart.
Little wonder the pastor turned leaf after leaf
Till the Master's own words, full of scorn yet of grief,
Fell with burning that caused the seared conscience
to start"Ye hypocrites! held by the serpent's old spell,
How can ye escape the damnation of hell!"
Cheeks grew ashen, but pride lifted calmly their forms;
See the sepulcher's whiting, unwashed by the storms,
Defying the terrible thunders of heaven.
There came peal after peal of stern, with'ring rebuke;
Then the old, gray-haired pastor closed sadly the
book
And sighed, for no heed to his words had theygiven;
So he silently prayed, and the burden of prayer,
Though voiceless, yet throbbed through the hot,
slumb'rous air.
By the stillness surprised into shimmering sheen,
An ocean of silks and of gems might be seen,
When lo! in their midst stood the answer to prayer;
For with wide, wond'ring eyes came a barefooted child
Through the aisles to the altar, where, resting, it
smiled,
And laid its bright head on the soft, cushioned stair.
God's own presence was claimed. He had sent in his
place
A poor drunkard's pale child, with its innocent face.
There was many a tear dashed from eyes that ne'er
wept,
Save, it might be, at thought of the cherub that slept,
And was laid'neath the marble's cold shade in
life's morn.
'T was a tremulous voice, and a white face upraised
As the pastor said slowly, "Jehovah be praised
That unto our lives little children are born,
For what, to our wisdom and prudence, is sealed
As it seemeth God good, unto babes is revealed."
And the old drunkard's child, with the deep, wistful
eyes,
Started up in a sweet and a fearless surprise,
As over her, weeping, the good pastor bent;
In her soft, tiny hand fell his tears, which she pressed,
'Mong the bright, woven hearts of the buds she
caressed,
Then smiling again, into dream-land she went.
O, none could forget, howe'er much had they striven,
The sweet words, "For of such is the kingdom of
heaven!"
The deep fire of God's love touched the old pastor's
lips;
Inspiration flowed out from his warmed finger tips,
Till strong men in their pride bowed as children
would bow,
Into tears of humility caste seemed to melt,
And the once frozen hearts a rare tenderness felt;
They were brothers, alike to the high and the low.
To their homes they went down with their old pride
forgiven,
And that Church was not far from the kingdom of
heaven.
THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES.
I LEANED upon a burial urn,
And thought how life is but a day,
And how the nations each in turn
Have lived and passed away.
The earth is peopled with the dead,
Who live again in deathless hosts,
And come and go with noiseless tread A universe of ghosts.
They follow after flying ships,
They flicker through the city's marts,
They hear the cry of human lips The beat of human hearts.
They linger not around their tombs,
But far from church-yards keep aloof,
To dwell in old, familiar rooms
Beneath the household roof.
They waken men at morniing light,
They cheer them in their daily care,
They bring a weary world at night
To bend the knee in prayer.
Their errand is of God assigned
To comfort sorrow till it cease,
And in the dark and troubled mind
To light the lamp of peace.
There is a language, whispered low,
Whereby to mortal ears they speak,
To which we answer by a glow
That kindles in the cheek.
0, what a wondrous life is theirs!
To fling away the mortal frame,
Yet keep the human loves, and cares,
And yearnings still the same!
0, what a wondrous life is ours!
To dwell within this earthly range,
Yet parley with the heavenly powers Two worlds in interchange!
O, balm of grief!-to understand
That whom our eyes behold no more
Still clasp us with as true a hand
As in the flesh before!
So, turning from the burial urn,
I thought how life was double worth,
If men be only wise to learn
That heaven is on the earth.
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