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2 (770) THE]
evening fans the check with fragrant breezes.
The toil is over and it is the time of reward.
The day is ended, it is hour of rest. On the
western side of old Jerusalem, Solomon built
his palace, his home. Let the West in the New
Jerusalem represent for us the joy and peace
of Home. God has placed our human race in
families. It is the best, the highest condition
for the fully developed life of service and enjoyment
in the kingdom of heaven here on our
earthly pilgrimage.
But there are some who have no homes. Some
have gone out into the world to make their
way and fortune, and they are in the homes
of others, or in hotels and boarding-houses, or
traveling perhaps in strange and foreign lands.
Some who had happy homes have seen those
homes broken up by the ruthless hand of death,
as every home now so fair shall be broken up
unless the Lord shall come in His glory soon.
Let such carry the spirit of home wherever
they may journey. If the home-life cannot
be theirs now, let them look across the plains of
time to the mountains of glory and remember
that the mansions in heaven are all homes,
heaven itself is one vast home and God the
Father of llis people. If the City of Life lacks
here below, there will be nothing wanting on
the shores beyond.
In order to make the home side of our lives
what it ought to be and what it may be, there
is but one crystal of jasper pure enough for
the wall on the West, and that is love. Where
love is lacking there can be no home. There
may be a house of marble and furniture of
costliest form, there may be downy beds and
tempting foods on golden dishes, but if love is
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that shall protect the home from assault of
enemies, from blasts of fortune and from intrusion
of disturbance, must be built by all
who are in the home to have it of full height
and strength. Each must do his part, and offer
his portion. There must be love between husband
and wife, between children and parents,
between brothers and sisters. Nothing else can
take the place of Love. The home without love,
is not a picture of heaven, but of perdition.
The home with the greatest love is the best
home. Loving our own much does not prevent
loving others also. The mother has no less love
for her first born because there is another child
given into her arms to love also. There might
be a sort of idolatry in our love which would
shut God out and offer service only to our home,
but with the right love to God, there cannot be
too much love to those around us. Let no
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much. The fault in this regard with us all is
that we do not love our own enough.
But if love is to accomplish all that it is
capable of doing and giving, it must have its
three gates of pearl. There are means and ways
in working out good that cannot be omitted
without loss and injury. Attention to details is
the universal price of success, and it may not
be left out in love any more than anywhere else.
Some think it is enough to love; but love unexpressed
is a fire unkindled, and love half expressed
is a fire so small that we are halfwarmed
and our food half-cooked. Let us be
as ready to give attention and effort to make
the love of the home all that it can become,
as we are to build it a fina hnnsa Tha sniritrml
Hides of life are as real as the material.
The first gate in the wall of Love, on the
home side of life should be cheerfulness. Cloud
your love with gloom and sadness and you wrap
it in the shroud of death. Cheerfulness, it is
true, is needed everywhere. It is nature's
panacea. Cheerfulness helps business, aids in
recovery from disease, makes the religious work
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SC
er far more effective. But it is needed in the
home even more. Out on the field of life, we
sometimes find it a battlefield; but when we enter
the home, the one thing we long for is peace,
and cheerfulness can bestow this more readily
than almost any other characteristic. As the
outward peace of words and deeds comes from
cheerfulness, so does cheerfulness itself come
from the inner peace of religion, the peace of
God's indwelling Spirit. Cheerfulness is a gate
of purest pearl; we need it; we may have it;
the way to possess it is to refuse to be unpleasant
in any way. "Fret not thyself because of evil
doers" (Psa. 37:1). "Rejoice ever more," (1
Thes. 5:16).
The second gate needed in the wall of home
love is Patience. What can the home life be if
the father comes in from his daily tasks with
frowns and scowls and harsh words to wife and
children? Or what can the hnme life he if the
mother is a constant scold with her children
and a never ceasing, nagging faultfinder with
her husband? No man would dare be impatient
with his customers in the store, they would take
away their trade; nor with a machine in the
mill, it would tear itself to pieces; nor with a
mule in the field, the animal would be ruined.
Shall he then be impatient with those for whom
all the outer patience is exercised? No woman
would be impatient in her treatment of friends
in society, on the street, or at church. Shall she
be less careful of those whom she loves far
more? "Let patience have her perfect work."
(Jas.l :4).
The third gate on the side of home is Contentment.
Needed is this virtue in all things, it
gives strength to the arm and luster to the
eye. But nowhere is it needed more than in the
home. Discontented with our country we may
remove; discontented with our occupation we
may choose another; but the changes of death
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Then also our ability, privileges, talents,
position and environment are much the
same from year to year. We must be happy in
our homes or we shall be happy nowhere. Content
is not satisfaction; we shall not be satisfied
till we awake in the likeness of our Lord (Psa.
17:15). Nor should we be content with our
present condition and development; we should
earnestly desire and strive for growth and improvement
of health, wealth, knowledge and
spiritual life. But for highest happiness and
progress, we should be content with what God
gives us of strength, friends, privilege and opportunity.
Take life as we find it and make the
most of it. "Having food and raiment, let us
therewith be content." (Tim. 6:8).
But perhaps some one will say, "This is all
symbolical and allegorical; I would rather have
a real model after which to shape my life in all
its various departments.'' There are three ways
in which the inspired Scriptures show us how
to build our lives,?command, symbol ana example.
We do need a perfect model to follow.
There is but one, yet one our Father has given in
ms own json trom the throne at His side in
glory. Jesus Christ our Redeemer and our King
is our model of the perfect life, the ideal, wellbuilt
life. His life had the four sides we have
studied. Religion came first, "I must be about
my Father's business" (Luke 2:49). He gave
due time and toil to earthly avocation, a carpenter
in the shop of Joseph, sanctifying all honest
labor by his divine example,?"Is not this
the carpenter?' (Mark 6:3). He was a most true
and faithful friend, keeping his disciples from
evil, (John 17:12), bearing with their infirmities,
leading them out to higher aspirations and
better accomplishment, "I have called you
friends" (John 15:15). In the home life Jesus
was a dutiful son, a respectful, companionable,
IUTH [August 16, 1911
loving member of his family, using even the hour
of suffering on the cross to provide for the future
of his widowed mother, "Then said he to
the disciple, Behold thy mother" (John 19:27).
Build well the temple of life. Let naught be
lacking. Use only the purest and most solid of
material. Follow the plans of God's holy law
and let each day's labor be according to His
guiding grace and wisdom. Be filled with His
Spirit,?be conformed to the image of His Son.
Nearing the time when we shall be called to the
Heavenly City, may our lives continually reflect
more and more its holiness and beauties. "The
city lieth four-square."
Union Point, Ga.
"ELECTRO-MAGNETIC VOICES."
(a reminiscence.)
Y es, I am again in the old Church and a minister
from '' the City'' is proclaiming the same old
gospel of redeeming love; but I am a little child
looking up into the gallery, and old Mauni Sarey
is there in the corner seat, front, with her head
leaning against the wall. A snowy white handkerchief
is folded around her neck and a white
turban of great height adorns her head, with
wings pulled out behind the ears?a fashion peculiar
to Mauin Sarey. The kindly black face
bows forward when a Hashing word from the
great preacher penetrates her African brain, and
a soft "tank God" is breathed out.
But the day is warm and the sermon is long
and I begin to wonder if it is not time for the
minister to "shut the Bible." I look up at the
dear mother on one side; she sees the appealing
look, and softly whispers "most time." On the
other side the father looks straight ahead at the
pulpit, and gives no sign of weariness, but he
knows the last great argument has been rounded
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uui, a.Liu me ena is near, i am seeing through fast
winking eyes. Now the uplifted hand in the pulpit
means "Let us pray," and we all stand for
the short prayer after the sermon. I am inwardly
glad it is 'nt the '' long'' one. Maumer Sarey rises
promptly too and smooths out her white apron
over her black dress. The turban towers wonderfully
high, but then it is seen through a mist
of sleep, and I am holding my mother's hand.
The little rustle of sitting down over, I am
wide awake and see the father reach forward
and take the '' Psalraodist' from the shelf on the
back of the. bench in front of him, for he is the
Chorister. Listen! his tuning fork gives the kev
note, and his fine, far-reaching voice "raises the
tune." It is wafted to me across the years. Hear
the words?"Blow ye the trumpet, blow?"
Instantly he is joined by my sister with her
flute-like notes, then the music of voices rolls
and swells all over the church?for this is congregational
singing, and even I can join in the refrain?
"The year of Jubilee is come,
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home."
Maum Sarey looks as if she is being wafted
up on the wings of the hymn, and keeps time by
motions of her eyes and under lip. The last picture
on memory's wall slips away, and I become
sensible of present surroundings. The young lady
organist is playing the offertory, and Mr. H.
is standing in front of me with the "plate" *
ready for the collection for "Home Missions."
After the congregation is dismissed Mr. H.
shows me some "marks of war" in the interior
of the building and tells me of the tradition that
this old Mt. Pleasant church was used for a hospital
by the Federals, and later for a dance hall
by negro troops stationed in the town. "My people
have always worshipped here," he tells me;
Your father, Mr. Hibben Leland, used to "set the
tunes" before he moved away, and these walls