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withstanding all the change that time and sin
had made. He knew him because he loved
him, and it was love that revealed him to him.
lie had arisen to annoimce his text, but be
holding the answer to his prayer, he com
menced immediately to tell, as he had never
told before, the story of his conversion, and
as lie talked the people wept. Suddenly the
speaker stopped, and seemed to offer a silent
prayer, and then speaking to the audience
said : (
"Friends, the man whose prayer and influ
I once did so much for me in the years gone by
is in this house tonight, and I feel I cannot go
on with this service until he comes forward
and gives me a shake of his hand."
And the man came forward, and great was
the astonishment of the people when they
saw who it was, and great was their rejoic
ing, too, when the man said as he still wept:
"Brother Smith, I give not only my hand to
you, but I also give my heart once more to
God, and by His help will never fall from
grace again."
/ Then a great hallelujah went up from the
congregation, and after a while new shouts
of victory followed; several others found the
Lord that very night. ? Selected.
HIS NEIGHBOR.
By Charles M. Sheldon, D. D.
"Who are the people next door?" Deacon
S. asked his wife one evening.
"Really, I don't know," she said. "I have
been too busy to call. They seem quite re
spectable."
"I notice the man never goes to church,"
said the deacon.
"How do you know?"
"Well, he's out on the porch reading the
Sunday paper when we go to church and he's
there when we come home. It looks as if he
had been there all the time."
"I don't know what we can do about it,"
the deacon's wife said. "People in big cities
like ours live pretty independent lives. Of
course, I meant to call soon. I want to be
neighborly."
"I wonder, sometimes," the deacon mused,
"what the word 'neighbor' means in a big
city," as he prepared for church.
As he and his wife went past their neigh
bor's house, the man was sitting on the porch
reading the morning paper. He looked up
and nodded to the deacon and the deacon
nodded at him. They had a nodding acquaint
ance, whatever that is, but no more.
That morning the deacon's minister had for
his text "Who then was neighbor to him?"
The deacon was a good listener and was
specially interested this morning as he listened
to these points made by his minister.
"The word neighbor comes from two Anglo
Saxon words, neah, which means near, and
gebur, which means farmer or dweller. In
other words, it means the 'near farmer.'
"In a city like ours the neighbor is any one
who lives near us.
"It means any one who is near our thought
as a possible brother to be helped or saved.
"I have been calling on some of the men
in this church Sunday afternoons. I find most
of them spend the afternoon reading the Sun
day papers, sleeping, riding out for pleasure,
or calling on their friends.
"Next door to many of these members who
are so spending their time are people who
never go to church, never send their children
to a Bible school, and do not care for religious
things.
"I ask the men of thii church to aak the
1
question, 'Who is my neighbor ?' Is the man
next door or in the same block your neighbor 1
Does he need your help and in what way are
you helping him?
"I suggest that this Sunday afternoon in
stead of reading, sleeping, visiting or automo
bile riding, the men of this church see what
they can do for their neighbors who are not
Christians." .
The deacon's minister was brief and prac
tical. He made many men feel very uncom
fortable by his sermon that morning, which is
a great thing in a sermon when the uncomfort
able feeling is followed by service as it was
in the deacon's case.
As he and his wife passed their neighbor's
house on the way home from bhurcli the man
was still on the porch, reading. The sixty-two
pages of it rose around him in many colored
billows of ink and paper.
That afternoon the deacon with some little
fear but with real Samaritan desire to help
called on his "neighbor."
To his surprise he found a young man who
responded eagerly to his visit and when the
deacon invited him to go to church with him
that evening, he accepted with such willingness
that the deacon was almost stunned.
"Do you know," the young man said, "yon
are the first man who ever asked me to go to
church since I came here from the farm?"
The deacon murmured something and
choked down a feeling of self-reproach.
That evening the minister almost fainted
away at the sight of a hundred men each
bringing another man to the service. The men
in that church had found their "neighbors"
and the end of the result is not yet. For the
Spirit of God is moving mightily in that neigh
borhood which has repeated again the parable
of the Good Samaritan and answered the
Lord's question, "Who then was neighbor to
him?" ? Exchange.
A LAYMAN'S SUGGESTIONS TO PREACH
ERS.
By Rev. Benjamin M. Gemmill.
At a meeting of the Presbytery of Philadel
phia, North, Elder William H. Scott, of Ger
mantown, led the devotional services. Mr.
Scott said that he would give a few thoughts
for the consideration of the ministry. He said
that he had been hearing sermons for fifty
years, and in that time had probably heard
more than five thousand sermons; but he did
not remember anything that was said in the
sermons except in a few instances. He then
told the preachers that the people do not re
member the sermons, but the texts of Scrip
ture. He gave many illustrations of this. He
had listened to Mr. Moody night after night, ??
but did not remember what Mr. Moody had
said, but remembered the text ? "Whatsoever
a man soweth that shall he also reap." That
text had kept him from doing many things
which he had been tempted to do. Another
text was, "Let the redeemed of the Lord say
so," which he always associated with a cer
tain minister. One of the texts which had
given him most comfort was Psalms 103:14 ?
"For He knoweth our frame; He remember
eth th?t we are dust." This text was of great
comfort to one who had been through trial
and tribulation. He once heard a sermon on
the text, "My people love to have it so," which
was preached after the defeat of the local op
tion bill. Such defeats are due to the fact
that God's people do not exert themselves to
have it otherwise. Mr. Scott defined preaching
to be "the unfolding of the text." That is a
splendid definition, and inasmuch as the peo
pie remember the text, preachers should use
more study and effort in unfolding, illustrat
ing, and enforcing the text. This would be
expository preaching which, after all, does the
most good. The writer of this notice thought
he had would test the advice of Mr. Scott,
and at the weekly prayer-meeting service, he
asked each one present in turn to give his
ojr her experinece in remembering texts or
sermons. The answers were illuminating, but
the testimony was universally that they re
membered the text, and not the sermon. Per
haps, the sermon's greatest power is in creat
ing an influence or aspiration in the soul of
the hearer, and this would be helpful, but that
the text was used to God to become fastened
in the memory.
The talk of Mr. Scott and his advice was
certainly very helpful, and no doubt led to
many good resolutions. Preaching is, after
all, the ordained means of winning men to God
by the use of God's own words. Man's words
and thoughts are powerless, but God's word
is a hammer to break hard hearts. ? Philadel
phia Presbyterian.
WHEN THE PREACHER COMES 'LONG
HOME WITH US FOR DINNER.
Wife an" me hez both bin members, now, fur nigh
on thirty year
Uv the Bethel congregation 'bout two mile straight
south o' here.
All our fam'ly goes to meetin* ev'ry Sabbath, purty
near.
An* the preacher often comes with us fur din
ner.
Ain't much more'n started, mebby half way down
the lane er so.
Kinder flgg'rln* out the chances uv an airly rain
or snow.
When my wife, she ups an' sez, sez she: "Now,
don't furgit, ye know
You're to ast the preacher home with us fur
dinner."
X. -
When the meetln's flnel'y over an' the folks is goln'
'way,
Ev'rybody shakin' han's an' havin* Bomethin' nice
to say,
I goes up an' sez perlltely, ez I pass the time o' day:
"Howdy, parson, come go home with us fur din
ner."
Wall, we all jumps in the wagon an' he sets in
front with me.
Always full o* gospel sunshine, jist ez friendly ez
kin be.
Tell ye, life's a whole lot brighter, think on that
we'll all agree,
When the preacher comes 'long home with us fur
dinner.
When we drive In the barnyard after sich a plea
sant ride,
My boy, Charlie, 'lows the chickens _always run
-- away an' hide;
Wall .there's one o' them a-cookin' over yonder,
jist inside,
Fur. ye know, the preacher's come with us fur
dinner.
At the table when he asts the Father's blessin' on
the food,
'Pears we've made our peace with ev'rything Jist
like a body should.
W'y, it seems to be so easy fur a feller to be good
When the preacher comes 'long home with us
fur dinner.
Then we all go in the parlor fur t<
chat;
He kin set aroun' an' tell us first o'
that,
An' I'm way back there in school ?b?u, ,ea, sir,
that's where I'm at
When the preacher gits a talkin' after dinner.
Th6n he takes the fam'ly Bible an' he reads a page
er two,
An' he tells the old sweet story an* It sounds ez
good ez new.
Heaven seems a leetle nearer, see the angels peekin'
through i
When the preacher comes 'long home with us fur
dinner.
. ? George B. Smith, In the Watchward.