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8 The Golden Age (SUCCESSOR TO RELIGIOUS FORUN) Published Ebery Thursday by the Golden 91 ge Publishing Company (Inc.) OFFICES: LOWNDES “BUILDING, ATLANTA, GA. Price: $2.00 a Year WILLIAM D. UPSHAW, - - - - Editor A. E. RAMSAUR, . . . Associate Editor E. UPSHA W, - - - - "Business Manager H. R. "BERNARD, - - - Sec’y and Treas. Application made at the Post Office in Atlanta, Ga., to be entered as second-class matter. To the Puhl.'c: The advertising columns of The Golden Age will have an editorial conscience. No advertisement will be accepted which we believe would be hurtful to either the person or the purse of our readers. “An Army With Banners.” It was the wonder of all assemblies! It was the head, the heart and the hope of the student world! More than four thousand students, professors and presidents from all the leading colleges in the United States and 'Canada, with many from across the seas —all animated by one powerful purpose, all pulsing with one sane, sacred passion—that was the Student Volunteer Convention! Nashville never saw such a gathering before—nor the South, nor the nation! True, there have been other quadrennial conventions of the Student Volun teers, but ever since this holy flame was kindled on the ready altar of the student heart of America, about sixteen years ago, the fire has spread from heart to heart, from institution to institution, widen ing, deepening and transforming wherever it has touched, until the Nashville Convention last week was the golden fruitage of all these years, the crown ing glory of all endeavor, and the loudest voice yet spoken in the conquering charge of this wonderful army of God. What does it all mean? It means the highest form of consecrated sanity in spreading the Light of the World. It means that the scholarship of the Occident will meet the superstitions of the Orient—but meet them in humble companionship with the quickening Spirit of God. It means—if one of the editor’s verses of last week may be in corporated here—- That “in this generation” The Cross—the Cross shall stand “From Greenland’s icy mountains To India’s coral strand!” We’ll “go” or send another— Till idols fear and fall, And every tribe and nation Shall “Crown Him Lord of All!” The personnel of this mammoth convention was commanding in the extreme. Each delegation, whether from the small college or the great univer sity, was composed for the most part, of the brightest minds and strongest characters in the institution from which they came. They were in truth the flower of the young manhood and womanhood of America—and the world !—the consecration and the scholarship, the purpose and the enthusiasm of the makers and the molders of that Christian civiliza tion toward which “the whole creation moves.” If the good and great “rule us from their urns,” they began their reign while life was wed to mighty effort; and while standing there in the Ryman Audi torium at Nashville, looking into the faces of that wondrous mass of consecrated youth and culture, every man with a grain of thought, a spark of de votion and an inch of vision was gratefully con scious that he was companying then with the real rulers of the present, and the future. Men were forgotten in the consuming thought of what the Gospel of Christ has meant, is meaning now, and will mean more and more wherever preached amid the darkness of sin. Os course, there were some inevitable ‘'mountain peaks” whose consecrated leadership has lifted them above the shining tableland around. Speakers there The Golden Age for March 8, 1908. were with trumpet calls of inspiration—speakers from America, Europe, Africa, Asia and the Isles of the sea, but where eloquence abounded “grace did much more abound.” Pressed to give names the mind yields to John R. Mott and Robert E. Speer, leadeis from the inception of the Student Volunteer Movement, each colossal in strength, but devout as an apostle, modest as a woman, and humble as a child. The story of the Student Volunteers appearing in this issue of The Golden Age will be followed from time to time with an aftermath of “forget-me nots,” from both the editor and our staff corre spondent, who were present. For all who love His coming, especially the student life of America, must feel an ever-deepening inteiest in the conquests and comradeship of this great company moving in glad ness at Heaven’s command, and marching in tri umph to the strains of Heaven’s music—“fair as the moon, clear as the sun”—and, to the yielding powers of darkness—“terrible as an army with banners.” Keep Your Name Untarnished. What’s in a name? A rose by another name would smell as sweet. But what’s in a name? A letter came to The Golden Age last week—fortun ately twpewritten, except the signature. That sig nature spelled several names more nearly than its author’s name; in fact, we never could have guessed whose letter we had the honor to read had not the writer’s name been printed on the letter head. Yet that jumble of letters, or mixture of marks, is like magic at the bottom of a cheque. It commands its thousands at the bank. Many beautiful, faultless signatures we have seen that could produce at the teller’s window nothing more substantial than an affable smile. What’s in a name? Just what you put into it. If it stands on the merchants’ ledgers with never a credit balance, if it lingers on past-due notes, if it affords a melancholy adornment to the execution docket, or worse than these, if it appear on a peti tion for relief in a bankruptcy court, it is never again a talisman to conjure with; it is a by-word on the street. If the bearer of a name faithfully fulfill the obligations pertaining to it, the name itself becomes an asset of priceless value. “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches” was spoken long before the advent of our mod en financial system, nevertheless it is today, and will forever be the corner stone of the structure. When cherished plans collapse and bright dreams vanish into barren realities; when calamity be falls, and the icy hand of adversity clutches at the throat, the dishonest and the weak bend to the storm, throw reputation to the winds, and worse than nameless, pass like sheeted ghosts through life. The true man, brave and strong, meets the issue fairly, rallies his strength and his courage to the rescue, dares to do the clean and manly part, and tides his craft into smoother waters. Corrupt fortune may not be his, but he bears his name proudly, for he bears it untarnished. Men die. Their substance is divided among others, maybe squandered. But their names live on; in famous or illustrious, as they have made them. The ultimate of life is a name, how careful men should be to keep it forever untarnished! Joseph’s Reward. In a recent talk before his Sunday School class, young Mr. Rockefeller expressed great admiration for Joseph and his business ability. Joseph has been dead some time, and it is a question if this com mendation of his acumen, however much it would have delighted him some years ago, moults much feather now. Mr. Rockefeller’s tribute was apro pos of a discussion of Joseph’ great corner in Egyp tian Corn. It may be recalled by readers of the his tory of that transaction that Joseph, being given warning of coming events through Pharaoh’s dream, during the seven fat years bought all the corn in sight and cached it. Corn was cheap. Dur ing the seven lean years he sold the corn back to the original growers thereof, kindly accepting first mortgages on real estate. This was the very first ■corner. Corn was high. Through Joseph’s management the people were saved from starvation, he was reunited with his brethren, and Pharaoh climbed into the list of multi-millionaires. Joseph was elevated to the second place in the kingdom, and received other emoluments which, no doubt, were acceptable to him; but how pale and thin and dyspeptic-locking were all these compared with what he would feel to realize what young Mr. Rocke-- feller has said of him. Young Mr. Rockefeller is not a dream reader like Joseph was. Still he is doing fairly well, consid ering his chances. He is the son of poor, but hon est parents, and has carefully devoted some hours each week to Sunday school work. Suppose that he were gifted with ability to read dreams like Joseph was! But the probabilities are that Joseph is uncon scious of the kind of opinion of Mr. Rockefeller. It is ever thus. The neighbors think of many good thines to say as they walk back from the cemetery, and a kindly sentiment seems to be unanimous. How much it would mean if the kind things were only said while we are alive. That is one of the objec tions to being dead. We can’t get the benefit of the kind, forgiving words the neighbors speak. If w r e could only get permission to return for a few years after once we had been dead awhile, how much better the neighbors would be to us! But j"st think how much more deserving we would be of it then! Let’s get together and organize a “Do It Now” club. The rules and regulations would require every member to be good and kind to his fellows now, instead of waiting until you are dead. A club can consist of only one member. Suppose you organize one. How Do They Know? The Mayor of Springfield, Mass., has refused to allow 'Sappho played in that city. His refusal is based upon the ground that the play is immoral. His informants were a Baptist minister, the prin cipal of the high school and secretary of the Y. M. C. A. These brethren had, no doubt, had an oppor tunity to judge the play when it was presented in some other town. The situation is similar to that described in a story being related of Williams Jen ning Bryan. Recently Mr. Bryan was a guest of his friend, Dr. Girdner, in New York. Grapefruits were served at a breakfast given in Mr. Bryan’s honor, with a spoonful of brandy in each one. Mr. Bryan, being a teetotaler, did not touch the grapefruit. After breakfast, Mrs. Girdner went to her Irish cook and censured her for putting brandy in the fruit, tell nig her that Mr. Bryan was a teetotaler and never drank; that he didn’t know the taste of liquor. “An’ he niver dhrinks, mum, an’ don’t know the taste of it?” “Certainly not.” “Then, mum,” said Bridget, “plaze tell me how he knew it was brandy, mum?” It will occur to the fair-minded that Mr. Bryan’s sense of smell warned him of the presence of brandy, and he did not have to taste. But the brethren in Springfield will have to explain how they know before all will be as it once was be tween us. Before this issue of The Golden Age reaches its readers, the Tabernacle Bible Conference, which meets Thursday night, March Sth, will be in full blast. Those who have never attended one of these great conferences of Christian workers cannot un derstand their richness and power. Thousands from far and near will attend day and night, and drink in the information and the inspiration from such famous speakers as Samuel Chadwick of England; A. T. Pierson, of Brooklyn; A. C. Dixon, of Boston, and many others who are prophets in the kingdom of God. Let all come who possibly can, but for the “unfortunates” who cannot, The Golden Age will seek to carry an extended echo of inspiration and blessing.