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POEM ON THE 23D PSALM.
By W. II. Williams.
Be Thou our Shepherd, Lord of light and love;
Lead us in pastures green, where streamle's meet;
Restore to strength our weary, world-worn souls,
And guide aright our tired, stumbling feet.
E'en though we walk down Death's dim, shadowy
vale,
With rod and staff our Guide and Guard still prove,
Till at Thy table, Thine anointed guests,
Wie drink from o'erflowing cups Thy boundless loveGoodness
and mercy guarding every step,
Let Thy twin messengers our consorts be,
The while we falter through this vale of tears,
Holding us in the path that leads to Thee.
Then when at last, Thy sunless splendor dawns,
WTiose dazzling beams e'en rocks and hill arouse,
Grant that we hear Thy welcome, rich in love:
"Rest! Dwell forever in this Father's house."
HEART POWER IN THE PULPIT.
One of the great preachers of our denomination,
now deceased, once said to a little group
of young ministers with whom he was chatting
on a campground: "1 always know in advance
when 1 am going to have liberty in preaching.
1 am likely to have a dry time unless my own
soul is moved beforehand. When 1 can find a
text which tixes itself like an arrow in my very
depths, and when 1 get out of that text a message
which fairly sizzles in my heart, then 1
know that Clod is going to help me reach and
stir the people with that discourse. Then it is
not the exposition, or the outline, or the illustrations,
or the dramatic touches, that 1 rely on,
but the message element. When that takes
ihold of me, then 1 feel convinced that it is going
also to take hold of others, and that conviction
comes even in advance of the hour for
preaching like fire shut up in my bones."
Does not this remind one of the Psalmist's
expression, "My heart was hot within me;
while I was musing the fire kindled; then spake
I with my tongue."
Many a sermon fails of its highest ministry
because it lacks this one element, of heartpower.
It may have an edifying text and
theme, it may be skillfully treated, it may be
amply illustrated, it may be convincingly
argued, and yet make little impression on the
heUrts of the congregation, because the preacher's
own heart was not moved in the case. It
may have been true in regard to him that the
environment was unfavorable, or his own body
was out of gear, or the room was ill-ventilated
?and without question that hindrance many
times effectively spoils a noble sermon; indeed,
the "prince of the power of the air" seems
habitually to be in league with the sexton or
the ushers who have charge of the task of
keeping the auditorium shut as tight as a drum
throughout the week and doubly so on Sun
day? or some other obstacle is in the way, so
that the message fails to get to the heart of the
hearer. Or, possibly, the preacher has lost his
evangelistic fervor, his passion for reaching
and saving men, his enthusiasm for getting hold
of souls. With fervor gone, preaching becomes
a lost art.
Many a minister, however, robs himself of a
chief means of moving people by adopting an
essay style, a purely literary form, a lecture
idea, or a secular topic, or by pursuing from
time to time religious socialism as a fad. Under
these circumstances it would be a wonder if a
tear, or a heart-throb, or an experience of penitence,
or a single feeling of alarm on account
of sin, or the warming influence of tender and
Christ-like sympathy, at any time hy the merest
chance should show itself in the congregation.
.
PRESBYTERIAN O F THE SO
leadings
The man who feels bound by special reasons
to follow at times, or habitually, one or another
of these methnrto nu?<lo i.a *
UVVVIP ?VJ uc lUUUglll IU Sl!t!
that he must find some way to stir his own
heart with the material that he is using before
he can stir other people's. The ancient maxim
may not be literally true: "If you would make
me weep, you must first shed tears yourself;"
but it is true, in the main, that there must be a
throb of sensitiveness, an ardor, a compassion,
a fervor, in the speaker's heart before he can
really get at the hearts of those who hear.
Some men, of a logical mind, find it difficult
to feel; others, perhaps, are almost ashamed to
show any feeling. The breaking of their voice,
the dropping of a tear, the tremor of the lip?
these signs of approaching emotion they repress
}lt t.llP stnrf wifli Unlf ..n. J 11 1 ' "
v, .lau-uneieu uiougni mat
any such sign of emotionalism is unmanly, almost
effeminate. Where would the church be
today had our fathers been ashamed of fervor
in prayer and tears and ejaculations and shouts
in connection with the sermon?
Is it, or is it not, a professional secret that an
argumentative, closely reasoned, skillfully constructed
sermon, which taxes the preacher to
prepare and deliver it, and the people perhaps
to follow it, specially needs as its crowning
feature the warming, quickening, illumining
power involved in a stroke of real pathos, a
tender incident, a graphic and thrilling story,
an impassioned .appeal, a sympathetic touch
which starts a tear and reaches for a little while
the emotional deeps of the hearer ? The
preacher who has not yet learned that he
should warm, thrill, rouse his hearers' hearts
in the closing moments of his sermon, and thus
leave them in a glow?startled into fear, or rapt
into joy, or uplifted with noble ideals, or all
a-throb with some tender emotion?has not yet
fairly started in to become a preacher. Above
all hf? eh mi lrl 1 * "
? ? ?.u.u a.v/1, xun-c me ciiiubiuiis 01 niinseii
or his congregation, nor should he aim to keep
himself and his audience so completely in spiritual
and mental equilibrium as to be ashamed to
cry, if occasion calls for tears.
AVe have seen notable evangelists who were
afraid to urge decision when a congregation
was deeply moved, lest perchance some one
might take a step toward the kingdom "under
the influence of mere emotion." That precaution
seems to us to be a morbid outbreak of
prudence, in this age when there seems no
danger of anything like overemotionalism anywhere
in sight. Rather than mere literary performances,
or coldly intellectual efforts, or able
but stilted sermons, without fervor in them, we
feel like praying for messages which will stir
men's fears, arouse them to feel their danger,
recall the memnrips nf oliiliUiftAil *??
w? vAKiuiiwu axiu iiiutUCI
love, remind them of broken vows, startle them
from their inertness, and break in on their
perilous decorum like a crash of thunder from
the sky. Brother preacher, give your heart a
chance! Let it speak to other hearts! Find a
message which sizzles within your own soul,
then give it hot from the heart to those who
wait to hear!?Zion's Herald.
Thank God every morning when you get up
that you have something to do that day which
must be done, whether you like it or not. Being 1
e j a- 1- ? ? *? i
urueu n? woik, HJia iorceu to ao your best,
will breed in you temperance and self control,
diligence and strength in will, cheerfulness and
content, and a hundred virtues which the idle
never know.?Charles Kingsley.
U TH [ October 18, 1911.
NEUMARCK'S VIOLIN.
80011 after the ending of the Thirty Years
war on the continent, there lived a young man
in Hamburg who gained his living by playing
the violin.
Alter a while he fell sick and wes reduced to
great poverty, till, at last, he had nothing left
but his violin,and lie went to a Jew to do what is
called pledge it, that is, to raise money on it,
which if he could repay he could have his fiddle
back again. It was a great pain to him to have
to part with his fiddle, and he hoped, sometime
and somehow, to get it back again. Having
got what money he could for it, he was coming
away, when, looking back at his dear old violin,
he said to the shopkeeper, "You don't know
how hard it is to part with that instrument!
For ten years it has been my only companion
and comfort. When I was in trouble and low
spirited, it always sang back to me and made
me less sad." His voice grew thick; then, taking
up the violin again very lovingly, and
tenderly, he began to play upon it, singing as
he did so, one of his own hymns. Then laying
it down on the counter again, he tore himself
away, and rushed out of the shop.
As he did so, he happened to stumble against
a person who had been listening in the doorway.
He then drew himself aside, and would
have passed the stranger with, "I beg your
pardon," but the stranger stopped him and
asked him, "Where can I get a copy of that
hymn? I will give a gold piece for it." "I
can give you that," said Neumarck, "with
pleasure, if you care for it."
The person Neumarck had stumbled against
was a great man?the Chamberlain to the
Swedish Ambassador?and he happened also
to be a godly man and a lover of hymns and
music. And, having been greatly pleased by
the piece Neumarck had played, he brought him
to his master. There he was liked; his face, his
manners and his education all pleased the ambassador,
so he was appointed to certain duties,
which he performed so well that he was in the
ena appointed to be the ambassador's secretary.
From Secretary, by the great satisfaction which
his work,his honesty, his industry, and his spirit
gave to his master, lie rose to be librarian and
keeper of the archives of Weimar.
When the first money came to him Neumarck
posted off to the shop where in his poverty he
had left the violin, and, getting the dear thing
back again, lje called his poor neighbors into
his old room and sang and played his hymn, ^
which had so wonderfully opened up his way
in life, as a farewell to them.
"Did you make that hymn yourself,
George?" they inquired. "Well," lie replied,
"I was the voice but it was God that taught
it to me. All I know is, that these words,
"Who trusts in God's unchanging love," lay
like a great sweetness-burden in my heart. I
went on saying them to myself again and again,
till they shaped themselves ipto a song; how,
I cannot tell; and I played and sang for joy.
The Lord blessed my soul and the lines followed
word after word like water from a fountain."
The hymn was this:
"Leave God to order all thy ways,
And hope in him whatever betide,
Thoul't find in him in evil days,
Thy all-sufficient strength and guide,
Who trust in God's unchanging love,
Builds on the rock that cannot move.
"He knows when joyful hours are best,
He sends them as he sees it meet,
When thou hast borne the fiery test,
And art made free from all deceit,
He comes to thee all unaware,
And makes thee feel his loving care.