Christian herald and signs of our times . sion; I held my breath as thoughit were malodor ; I have been appalled at itsadvance ; I have said, if I have any religion atall, I want to have just as little of it as is pos-sible to get through with. Oh, what a mistakeyou have made, my brother. The religion ofChrist is a present and everlasting counteracts all trouble. Just put it on thestand beside the pillow of sickness. It catchesin the curtains, and perfumes the stifling air. Itsweetens the cup of bitter medicine, and throwsa glow on the gloom of the turned lattice. It isa balm for
Christian herald and signs of our times . sion; I held my breath as thoughit were malodor ; I have been appalled at itsadvance ; I have said, if I have any religion atall, I want to have just as little of it as is pos-sible to get through with. Oh, what a mistakeyou have made, my brother. The religion ofChrist is a present and everlasting counteracts all trouble. Just put it on thestand beside the pillow of sickness. It catchesin the curtains, and perfumes the stifling air. Itsweetens the cup of bitter medicine, and throwsa glow on the gloom of the turned lattice. It isa balm for the aching side, and a soft bandagefor the temple stung with pain. It lifted Sam-uel Rutherford into a revelry of spiritual de-light, while he was in physical agonies. It help-ed Richard Baxter until, in the midst of such acomplication of diseases as perhaps no otherman ever suffered, he wrote, The SaintsEverlasting Rest. And it poured light uponJohn Bunyans dungeon—the light of the shin-ing gate of the shining city. And it is good for. Entrance to the Taj Mahal. rheumatism, and for neuralgia, and for lowspirits, and for consumption ; it is the catholi-con for all disorders. Yes, it will heal all yoursorrows. Why did you look so sad to-day when youcame in? Alas ! for the loneliness and the heart-break, and the load that is never lifted fromyour soul. Some of you go about feeling likeMacaulay when he wrote : If I had anothermonth of such days as I have been spending, Iwould be impatient to get down into my littlenarrow crib in the ground like a weary factory-child. And there have been times in yourlife when you wished you could get out of thislife. You have said : Oh, how sweet to mylips would be the dust of the valley, and wish-ed you could pull over you in your last slumberthe coverlet of green grass and daisies. Youhave said : Oh, how beautifully quiet it mustbe in the tomb. I wish I was there. I see allaround about me widowhood, and orphanage,and childlessness ; sadness, d
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