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•REV. tTR. TALMAGE
The Eminent Divine’s Sunday
Discourse.
Subject . The Garden of the Klnc—Christ
the Founder and Gardener—-The Flow
ers and Fruits or i:eli B lous Devotion
—The Beauty of lllght I.lvinß.
[Copyright lik'd.[
Washington D. C.-This sermon Dr.
Taimage sends from a halting place in
his journey through the valleys of Switz
erland. It seems to liave been prepared
amid the bloom and aroma of a garden
midsummer. The text is Song of Solo
mon v. 1. lam come into my garden ”
The Bible is a great noem. We have in
it faultless rjiythm and bold imagery and
startling anthithesis and rapturous lyric
and sweet pastoral and instructive narra
ti\e and devotional psalm; thoughts ex
pressed in style more solemn than that
of Montgomery, more bold than that
of Milton, more terrible than that, of
Darile, more natural than that of Words
worth, more impassioned than that of
Pollok, more tender than that of Cowpcr
more weird thjin 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 touches it makes
beautitUi, from the plain stones of the
summer thrashing floor to the daughters
of Nahor filling the troughs for the cam
els; from the fish pools of Heshbon up to
the psalmist praising God with diapason
of storm and whirlwind, and Job’s im
agery of Orion, Arcturus and the Pleiades.
lay text leads us into a scene of sum
mer redolence. The world has had a
great many beautiful gardens. Charle
magne added to the glory of his reign bv
decreeing that they be established all
through the realm—deciding even the
names of the flowers to he planted there.
Henry IV., at Montpelier, established
gardens of bewitching beauty and lux*-
riance, gathering into them Alpine. Py
renean and French plants. One of the
sweetest spots on earth was the garden of
Shenstonc, the poet. His writings have
made but little impression on the world,
but his garden, ‘‘The Leasowes,” will be
immortal. To the natural advantages 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
Shenstone, and all that diligence and ge
nius he brought to the adornment of that
one treasured spot. 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
any I have mentioned. It is the garden
spoken of in my text, the garden of the
church, which belongs to Christ, for my
text says so. He bought it, He planted it,
He owns it, and He shall have it.
Walter Scott, in his outlay at Abbots
ford, ruined his fortune, and now, in the
crimson flowers of those gardens, you can
almost think or imagine that you see the
blood of tha<, old man’s broken heart.
The payment of the last £IOO,OOO sacri
ficed him. But I have to tell you that
Christ’s love 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 me, ye executioners who
lifted Him and let Him down! Tell me,
thou sun that didst hide! ye rocks that
fell!- “'Christ loved the church and gave
Himself for it.” If the garden of the
church belongs to Christ, certainly He
has a right to walk in it. Come, 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 a
place of choice flowers, of select fruits
and of thorough irrigation.
That would be a strange garden in
which there were no flowers. If nowhere
else, they would he along the borders or
at the gateway. The homeliest taste will
dictate something, if it be only the old
fashioned hollyhock or dahlia or daffodil,
but if there he larger means, then you
will find the Mexican cactus and blazing
azalea and clustering oleander Well,
now, Christ comes to His Garden, and He
plants there some of the 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 tli-erri very of
ten, perhaps, but you find where they
have been by the brightened face of the
invalid and the sprig of geranium on the
stand and the new window curtains keep
ing out the glow of the sunlight. They
are, perhaps, more like the ranunculus,
creeping swiftly along amid the thorns
and briers of life, giving kiss for sting,
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 jasmine 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 hovers over a soul that
needs to be comforted, there they stand,
night blooming eereuses. But in Christ’s
garden there are plants that may be bet
ter 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. Men
pronounce them nothing but thorns, but
Christ loves them notwithstanding all
their sharpnesses. 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 scrap of grace.
Avery 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,” said the minister to the elder, “I
control more temper in five minutes than
you do in five years.” It is harder for
some men to do right than for other men
to do right. The grace that would ele
vate you to the seventh heaven might not
•keep your 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,” ho said, “I have
such a violent temper. Yesterday morn
ing 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 wa3 so harsh in his behavior,
loved Christ, and could not speak of sa
cred things without tears of emotion and
affection. Thorns without, sweetness
within—the best specimen of Mexican
cactus I ever saw.
There are, others planted in Christ's
garfien who are always radiant, always
impressive—more like the roses of deep
hue that we occasionally find, called
“giants of battle;” the Martin Luthers,
St. Pauls, Chrysostoms, Wycliffes, Lati
mers and Samuel Rutherfords. What in
other men is a spark in them is a confla
gration. When they sweat, they sweat
great drops of blood. When they pray,
their prayer takes lire. When they preach
it is a Pentecost. When they fight, it is a
Thermopylae. When they die, it is a
martyrdom. You find a great many roses
in the gardens, but only a few “giants of
battle.” Men say, “Why don’t you have
more of them in the church?” I say,
“Why don’t you have in the world more
Humboldts and Wellingtons?” God gives
to some ten talents, to others one.
Again, the church may be appropriately
compared to a garden, because it is a
place of fruits. That wouid be a strange
garden which had in it no berries, no
plums or peaches or apricots. The coarser
trmts are planted in the orchard or thev
aro set out on the sunny hillside, hut the
choicest fruits are kept in the garden. So
m the world outside the church Christ
has planted a great many beautiful things
patience, charity, generosity, integrity,
hut He intends the choicest fruits to lie
in the garden, and if they are not there,
then shame on the church.
Religion is not a mere flowering senti
mentality. It is a practical, fife giving,
■(ol ii u —not posies, hut apples.
‘Oh, says somebody. "I don’t see wbat
garden of the church has yielded.”
Where did your asvluma eoine from, and
your hospitals, and your institutions of
mercy? Christ planted every one of
them. He planted them in His garden.
Vv hen Christ gave sight to Bartimeus, He
laid the cornerstone of every blind asy
him that has ever been built. When
Christ soothed the demoniac of Galilee,
He laid the cornerstone of every lunatic
asylum that has ever been established.
” hen Christ said to the sick man. ‘‘Take
up thy bed and walk,” He laid the cor
nerstone of every hospital the world lias
ever seen. When Christ said. “I was in
prison, and ye visited Me,” He laid the
cornerstone of every prison reform asso
ciation 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 aro
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
Chamns Elysecg. You do not tear down
and destroy the whole garden because
there are g 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 frank and admit the fact
that there are hundreds and thousands of
glorious Christian men and women—holy,
blessed, useful, consecrated and triumph
ant. There is no grander collection in all
the earth than the collection of Christians.
There are Christian men in every church
whose religion is not a matter of psalm
singing and churchgoing. To-morrow
morning that religion will keen them just
as consistent and consecrated in their
worldly occupation as it ever kept them
at the communion table. There are wom
en with us to-day of a higher type of
character than Mary cf 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 drunken hus
band, who has exhibited more faith and
patience and courage than Ridley in the
fire. He was consumed in twenty min
utes. Hers has been a twenty years’
martyrdom. Yonder is a man who has
been fifteen years on his back, unrtfde to
feed himself, yet calm and peaeoful as
though he lay on one of the green banks
of heaven, watching the oarsmen dip their
paddles in the crystal river!
I have not told you of the better tree
in this garden and of the better fruit. It
was planted just outside Jerusalem a
good while ago. When that tree was
planted, it was so split and bruised and
barked men said nothing would ever grow
upon it, but no sooner had that tree been
planted than it budded and blossomed
and fruited, and the soldiers’ spears were
only the clubs that struck down 'that
fruit, and it fell into the lap of the na
tions, and the men began to pick it up and
eat it, and they found in it an antidote to
all thirst, to all poison, to all sin, to all
death, the smallest cluster larger than
the famous one of Esbeol, which two men
carried on a staff between them. If the
one apple in Eden killed the race, this
one cluster of mercy shall restore.
Again, the church in my text is appro
priately called a garden because it is
thoroughly irrigated. No grrden could
prosper long without plenty of water.
It has seemed as if Jesus Christ topic
the best. From many of your households
the best one is gone. You know that she
was too good for this world. She was the
gentlest m her ways, the deepest in her
affection, and when at last the sickness
came you had no faith in medicines. You
knew that the hour of parting had come,
and when, through the rich 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.
The heaven of your little ones will not
be fairly begun until you get there. All
the kindnesses shown them by finmor
tals will not make them forget you. 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 has a
sound foot now. A little lime child says,
“Ma, will I be lame in heaven?” “No, roy
darling, you won’t be lame in heaven."
A little sick child says, “Ma, will I be
sick in heaven?” “No, my dear, you
won’t be sick in heaven.” A little blind
child says, “Ma, will I be blind in heav
en?" “No, my dear, you won’t be blind
in heaven.” They are all well there.
I notice that the fine gardens some
times have high fences around them, and
I cannot get in. It is so with a king’s
garfien. The only glimpse you ever get of
such a garden is when the king rides out
in his splendid carriage.
It is not so with this garden, this
King’s garden. I throw wide open the
gate and tell you all to come m. No
monopoly in religion. Whosoever will,
may. Choose now between a desert and
a garden. Many of you 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 hi3 festivities he confronted
a looking glass, and ho saw himself and
said: “There, that is true. I look just
as I am, 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 hap
piness. I am angry and envious and
frantic and despise everything around me
just as it becomes a madman to do.”
0 ye weary souls, come into Christ’s
garden to-day and pluck a little hearts
ease! Christ is the only rest and the only
pardon for a perturbed spirit. Do you
not think your chance has almost come?
You men and women who have been wait
ing year after year for some good oppor
tunity in which to accept Christ, but
have postponed it live, ten, twenty, thirty
years—do you not feel as if now yom? hour
of salvation had come? O man, what
grudge hast thou against thy poor soul
that thou wilt not let it be saved?
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 had
foundered and was sinking deeper and
deeper, and that one boat could not take
the passengers very swiftly. A little girl
stood on tne deck waiting for her turn
to get into the boat. The boat came and
went, came and went, but her turn did
not seem to come. After awhile she could
wait no longer, and she leaped on the
taffrail and then sprang into the sea, cry
ing to the boatman: “Save me next! Save
me next!” Oh, how many have gone
ashore into God’s mercy, and vet you are
clinging to the wreck of sin. Others have
accepted the pardon of Christ, but 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 me next!
Save me next!" Now is the day of salva
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All In the golden sumnior-time
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h “Well, I say that the very
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Wife—“l told the man to some and
tune the piano ut eleven o’clock.”
Husband—“You must be a ru id
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“Why?”
“Because that Is the hour I had set
to finish the last chapter of my book.”
-—Harper’s Bazar.
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Arrangements have been effected by
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Generous Impulse Thwarted.
“What a lovely fan, Clara!”
“Isn’t It sweet? I bought It for
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well that I kept It myself.”—Chicago
Record.
Prescription for Chills
end Fever to a bottle of (iKOVK’B Tasteless
l hill Tonic. It is simply iron and quinine in
tasteless form. No cure—no pay. Price 50c.
IIIn Arrogance.
“I understand that Mr. Grimm has a very
tyrannical slid overbearing way with his win?.”
“Yes; he habitually treats her with as much
arrogance as if .-he was h:s partner in a game
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Sweat nod fruit acids will Dot dlsoolor
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dold by ail druggists.
A Tax O/T HU Mind.
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“No: I’d expected to lose it so loner that I was
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Miss Wunder—“O, captain, do men oversee
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Captain Bobstay—Not nnleea they gets drunk
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“You’re got your candidate billed for short
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“Yes: what he says always brings c4t such
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Pino’s Cure for Consumption Is an Infallible
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—Chicago Record.
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Cratituda.
Young Lady—Give me one yard of—
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Young Lady (warmly)—Why, of
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