The Dying Seeing Departed Friends

       There  is  one  more  reason  why  I  am  disposed  to  accept  this doctrine of future  recognition;  that  is,  so  many  in  their  last  hour  on  earth  have  confirmed  this  theory.  I  speak  not  of persons  who  have  been  delirious  in  their  last  moment  and  knew not  what  they  were  about,  but  of  persons  who  died  in  calmness and  placidity,  and  who  were  not  naturally  superstitious.  Often the  glories  of  heaven  have  struck  the  dying  pillow,  and  the  departing man  has  said  he  saw  and  heard  those  who  had  gone  away  from  him. How  often  it  is  in  the  dying  moments  parents  see  their  departed children  and  children  see  their  departed  parents.  I  came  down  to the  banks  of  the  Mohawk  River.  It  was  evening,  and  I  wanted  to go  over  the  river,  and  so  I  waved  my  hat  and  shouted,  and  after awhile  I  saw  some  one  waving  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  I  heard  him shout,  and  the  boat  came  across,  and  I  got  in  and  was  transported. And  so  I  suppose  it  will  be  in  the  evening  of  our  life.  "We  will  come down  to  the  river  of  death  and  give  a  signal  to  our  friends  on  the other  shore,  and  they  will  give  a  signal  back  to  us,  and  the  boat  comes and  our  departed  kindred  are  the  oarsmen,  the  fires  of  the  setting day  tingling  the  top  of  the  paddles.
       Oh,  have  you  ever  sat  by  such  a  deathbed ?  In  that  hour  you hear  the  departing  soul  cry.  "Hark!  look!"  You  hearkened  and looked.  A  little  child,  pining  away  because  of  the  death  of  its mother,  getting  weaker  and  weaker  every  day,  was  taken  into  the room  where  hung  the  picture  of  her  mother.  She  seemed  to  enjoy looking  at  it,  and  then  she  was  taken  away,  and  after  awhile  died  In the  last  moment  that  wan  and  wasted  little  one  lifted  her  hands,  while her  face  lighted  up  with  the  glory  of  the  next  world,  and  cried  out "Mother!"  You  tell  me  she  did  not  see  her  mother?  She  did.  So in  my  first  settlement  at  Belleville  a  plain  man  said  to  me, "What  do you  think  I  heard  last  night?  I  was  in  the  room  where  one  of  my neighbors  was  dying.  He  was  a  good  man,  and  he  said  he  heard  the angels  of  God  singing  before  the  throne.  I  haven't  much  poetry about  me,  but  I  listened  and  I  heard  them  too."  Said  I,  "I  have  no doubt  of  it."  Why,  we  are  to  be  taken  up  to  heaven  at  last  by  ministering spirits.  Who  are  they  to  be? Souls  that  went  up  from Madras,  or  Antioch,  or  Jerusalem?  Oh,  no,  our  glorified  kindred  are going  to  troop  around  us. Rev. T. Dewitt Talmage, D. D.

"Into Your Glorious Day!"

The Blessings of A Short Life

       We  all  spend  much  time  in  panegyric  of  longevity.     We  consider it  a  great  thing  to  live  to  be  an  octogenarian.     If  any one  dies  in  youth  we  say,  ""What  a  pity!"  Dr.  Muhlenbergh in    old    age,  said  that   the   hymn  written  by  him  in  early  life  by  his  own  hand,  no  more expressed  his  sentiment  when it  said:

" I  would  not  live  alway."

"I Am the resurrection and the life. He who
believes in Me, though he may die, he shall
live.'' John 11:25

       If  one  be  pleasantly  circumstanced  he  never  wants  to  go.  William Cullen  Bryant,  the  great  poet,  at  eighty-two  years  of  age  standing  in my  house  in  a  festal  group,  reading  "Thanatopsis"  without  spectacles, was  just  as  anxious  to  live  as  when  at  eighteen  years  of  age  he  wrote that  immortal  threnody.  Cato  feared  at  eighty  years  of  age  that  he would  not  live  to  learn  Greek.  Monaldesco  at  a  hundred  and  fifteen years,  writing  the  history  of  his  time,  feared  a  collapse.  Theophrastus writing  a  book  at  ninety  years  of  age  was  anxious  to  live  to  complete it.  Thurlow  Weed  at  about  eighty-six  years  of  age  found  life  as great  a  desirability  as  when  he  snuffed  out  his  first  politician.  Albert Barnes  so  well  prepared  for  the  next  world  at  seventy  said  he  would rather  stay  here.  So  it  is  all  the  way  down.  I  suppose  that  the  last time  that  Methuseleh  was out  of  doors  in  a  storm  he  was  afraid  of getting  his  feet  wet  lest  it  shorten  his  days.

       Indeed,  I  sometime  ago  preached  a  sermon  on  the  blessings  of longevity,  but  in  this,  the  last  day  of  1882,  and  when  many  are  filled with  sadness  at  the  thought  that  another  chapter  of  their  life  is  closing, and  that  they  have  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  less  to  live,  I propose  to  preach  to  you  about  the blessings  of  an  abbreviated  earthly existence.

       If  I  were  an  agnostic  I  would  say  a  man  is  blessed  in  proportion to  the  number  of  years  he  can  stay  on  terra  firma,  because  after  that he  falls  off  the  docks,  and  if  he  is  ever  picked  out  of  the  depths  it  is only  to  be  set  up  in  some  morgue  of  the  universe  to  see  if  any  body will  claim  him.  If  I  thought  God  made  man  only  to  last  forty  or fifty  or  a  hundred  years,  and  then  he  was  to  go  into  annihilation,  I would  say  his  chief  business  ought  to  be  to  keep  alive  and  even  in good  weather  to  be  very  cautious,  and  to  carry  an  umbrella  and  take overshoes,  and  life  preservers,  and  bronze  armor,  and  weapons  of defense  lest  he  fall  off  into  nothingness  and  obliteration.

       But,  my  friends,  you  are  not  agnostics.  You  believe  in  immortality and  the  eternal  residence  of  the  righteous  in  heaven,  and  therefore  I remark  that  an  abbreviated  earthly existence  is  to  be  desired,  and  is  a blessing  because  it  makes  ones  life-work  very  compact. Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D. D.

Every Praise, Every Word of Worship is To Our God!

Published on Oct 17, 2013

Hezekiah Walker New Video "Every Praise"

      Something happened two thousand and 40 years ago in the gray light of the first Easter morning which transformed and transfigured the face of the earth. History began again. The world's heart beat with new and gladder thrill. Henceforth and forever, beneath the all-beholding sun, there is nothing which is "too good to be true." It has not entered into the heart of man to conceive a good which is better than the reality of things. But we are afraid of imagination. It is a vain thing, and must be yoked to a servile mass of matter lest it soar upward and outward, into the blue sky, above the mountain tops, toward the glorious sun, and lose itself in the eternal truth of God!

      O brother-man or sister-woman, are you afraid of your own prayers? He is God. He is the Father-God, the Mother-God, the God of the buttercups and daisies, of sunshine and spring, the God who cares for the sparrows and clothes the lilies, who spreads out the heavens as a curtain and calls all the stars by name, who longs for you as the child of his heart, and loves you with an everlasting love, so that sin and death cannot separate you from the might of His affection nor quench His hope in you. Morning light shames our midnight fears. And the shame is that in the darkness you were not sure of the coming dawn. You ought to have known that after midnight comes the morning; in the blackest night of the year you ought to have kept God's sunshine in your soul. Angels have rolled the stone away from the grave of your ascending Lord. Clouds turn to solid rock beneath your feet. And Christ is risen indeed. --Rev. C. F. Aked

       "When John Holland died, it was about five or six in the evening, the shadow of night was gathering around, and it was growing darker and darker. When near the last moment he looked up, and said to the family: "What is this? What is this strange light in the room? Have they lighted the candles, Martha?" "No," she said. He replied; "Then it must be heaven. Welcome, heaven." Talmage

The Man Who Personified My Grandparent's Generation

      George Beverly Shea (February 1, 1909 – April 16, 2013) was a Canadian-born American gospel singer and hymn composer. Shea was often described as "America's beloved Gospel singer" and was considered "the first international singing 'star' of the gospel world," as a consequence of his solos at Billy Graham Crusades and his exposure on radio, records, and television. Because of the attendance at Graham's Crusades, Shea has sung live before more people than anyone in history. Read more . . .

"George Beverly Shea, long-time friend and ministry partner to evangelist Billy Graham, passed away April 16, 2013 at age 104. This video looks back at his life and legacy.
For more memories visit: http://www.georgebeverlysheamemorial.org"

• George Beverly Shea at the Internet Movie Database
• "America's Beloved Gospel Singer"
• Song/Ministry links
• Obituary Press Release from the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, 2013.04.16

Folding The Lambs In His Bosom.

       The Savior folds a lamb in His bosom. The little child filled all the house with her music, and her toys are scattered all up and down the stairs just as she left them. What if the hand that plucked four o'clocks out of the meadow it still? It will wave in the eternal triumph. What if the voice that made music in the home is still? It will sing the eternal hosanna. Put a white rose in one hand, and a red rose in the other hand, and a wreath of orange blossoms on the brow; the white flower for the victory, the red flower for the Savior's sacrifice, the orange blossoms for her marriage day. Anything ghastly about that? Oh, no. The sun went down and the flower shut. The wheat threshed out of the straw. "Dear Lord, give me sleep," said a dying boy, the son of one of my elders, "dear Lord, give me sleep," And he closed his eyes and awoke in glory. Henry W. Longfellow writing a letter of condolence to those parents, said: "Those last words were beautifully poetic." And Mr. Longfellow knew what is poetic. "Dear Lord give me sleep."

"'Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath

That the reaper came that day;

'Twas an angel that visited the earth

And took the flower away."

       So it may be with us when our work is all done. "Dear Lord give me sleep." Talmage