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THE YOUNG SOUTHERNER
All communications and contributions intended
for this department should be addressed to Mrs.
Louise T. Hodges, 83 East Avenue, Atlanta, Ga.
A Trinity.
Love strong as life my soul enthralls
And holds me in a spell divine,
It thrills each fibre of my heart
And there distills life’s rarest wine.
Faith firm as God’s eternal hills
Upholds me through each passing hour
It leaves no place for fear or doubt,
And earth can give no fairer dower.
Hope bright as evening’s golden star
When sunlight fades from gold to gray,
Shines ever in my firmament
And is my spirit’s constant stay.
Love, faith and hope, sweet trinity,
What can life give of richer store?
Faith, hope and love, immortal three,
Dwell in my heart forevermore.
L. T. H.
We are inclined to smile at the simplicity of the
old deacon who in his prayer said: “Lord you know
what is right and best to do, now do it,” or we may
be shocked at the seeming lack of reverence, but
if we consider a little we will find that the simple
words contain the elements of true prayer—obedi
ence and faith.
Commanded to pray and feeling that in his ig
norance he might pray amiss, and believing with all
his heart in God’s absolute wisdom, goodness and
power, the old deacon made his simple petition
which, to my mind, contains no irreverence. It may
not be a model prayer but was no doubt more accep
table than many wordy efforts Fug drawn out for
the edification of men.
With Correspondents.
I know Lena McD. is having a pleasant time in
watching the farmers prepare for their crops, and
feeding her chickens, gathering eggs, etc. I hope
she will tell us more about farm life.
I assure “One of the boys” that we shall be glad
to have him call to see us at the Golden Age office
when he comes to Atlanta, and I hope he will one
day realize his ambition to become an edtior.
An interesting letter from Baker (I cannot recall
the first name) of West Point has been mislaid, con
sequently of course cannot be published. I hope she
will write again.
Dear Editor:—The letters from the boys and
girls, in The Young Southerner, have interested me
very much. Some of the boys are afraid that we
girls will “beat” them but I think they write as
good letters as the girls.
Out here in the country the farmers are plowing
and getting ready to plant the crops. I think it is
pleasant to see the plows turning up the fresh
earth. It looks easy but the men say it isn’t so
very easy. Some of them get the rows very
straight, but the boys who are just learning, get
them crooked sometimes.
I think it is nice to live in the country and have
chickens and cows and gardens. I suppose the peo
ple in town can’t have them very much, but then
they have other things, street cars, etc., that we
don’t have in the country.
If you will publish this letter I will write again.
Your true friend,
LENA MCD.
Conducted by Louise Threete Hodges.
Cartersville, Ga.
Editor Young Southerner:
I see that several boys have written to you and
I will write a few lines. I think the people up here
like The Golden Age very well. Mr. Sam Jones
lives here, and we like to hear him preach and we
like to read what he writes.
When I go to Atlanta I would be glad to go up
to The Golden Age office and see you all. Do you
allow boy visitors?
I think I would like to be an editor myself when
I grow up. It must be very nice work.
I am going to a picnic before long and if I see
anything interesting. I will write and tell you
about it.
I hope The Golden Age will live long and prosper,
and that we all will be benefitted by it.
Very truly,
ONE OF THE BOYS.
1 To carry one’s Christianity into every day life,
is the very essence of “Christian Citizenship,” for
no man can truly lay claim to good citizenship who
worships God on Sundays and then proceeds to bury
his conscience in his every-day intercourse with his
fellow man. Indeed, Christian citizenship is the
backbone of civilization, and only when it attains
its highest stage of development, will humanity
see the dawning light of the “Golden Age” and the
“Ideal Government” becomes a lasting reality.—
Young People’s Advocate.
A Scripture Directory.
For the blues, read the twenty-seventh Psalm;
for an empty pocketbook, the thirty-seventh; if
people seem unkind, read the fifteenth chapter of
John; if one is losing confidence in men, the thir
teenth chapter of First Corinthians; if discouraged
about one’s work, the one hundred twenty-eighth
Psalm; if tempted to see one’s self larger and the
■world smaller all the time, the nineteenth Psalm;
if one can not have one’s own way in everything,
the third chapter of James; and if one is all out of
sorts, the twelfth chapter of Hebrews should be
read.—Selected.
A Failure.
He cast his net at morn, when fishers toiled,
At eve he drew it empty to the shore;
He took the diver’s plunge into the sea,
But thence within his hands no pearls he bore.
He ran a race, but never reached his goal;
He sped his arrow, but he missed his aim,
And slept at last beneath a simple stone
With no achievement carved about his name.
Men called it failure; but for my own part,
I dare not use that word, for what if heaven
Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read,
Not “bast thou won,” but only “hast thou
striven?”’ ■—Unknown.
To My Son.
Do you know that your soul is of my soul, such
part,
That you seem to be fibre and core of my heart?
None other can pain me as you, dear, can do;
None other can please me or praise me as you.
Remember the world will be quick with its blame
If shadow or stain ever darkens your name.
“Like mother, like son,” is a saying so true,
The world will judge largely of “Mother” by you.
Be yours then the task, if task it shall be,
To force this proud world to do homage to me;
Be sure it will say, when its verdict you’ve won,
“She reaps as she sowed, 10, this man is her son.”
—Exchange.
The Golden Age for April 12, 1906.
Here are some excellent rules written for chil
dren, but some of which we think some grown-ups
might bear in mind. They are reminders:—
Not to wet the fingers with saliva in turning the
Not to wet the fingers with saliva in turning he
leaves of a book.
Not to put pencils into the mouth or moisten
them with the lips.
Not to put money into the mouth.
Not to put anything into the mouth except food,
drink, and tooth-brush.
Not to swap apple cores, candy, chewing-gum,
“all-day suckers,” heals-eaten food, whistles or
bean blowers, or anything that is habitually put
in the mouth.
Teach the children to turn the face aside when
coughing and sneezing, especially if they are fac
ing another person or at the table.
Teach children to wash the hands and face often.
Children should be taught their bodies are their
own private possessions, personal cleanliness is a
duty, the mouth is for eating and speaking, and
should not be used as a pocket, and the lips should
not take the place of fingers.
Death.
Within an upper chamber she was laid
Her white hands folded on her quiet breast,
Her form, so recently in colors drest,
Arrayed in purest white. About her head
The pansies she had loved were loosely spread,
And though her look and attitude spoke rest,
We sobbed and son-owed who had known her
best,
One saying to another: “She is dead!”
But ah, at heaven’s gate they said not so!
For those who left us long since, there to roam,
Were ’waiting her, their eager hearts aglow
To know her spirit soared among them, sweet
and low
They made annunciation: “She has come!”
—MARGARET A. RICHARD.
The Lost Key.
The key of yesterday
I threw away,
And now, too late,
Before to-morrow’s close-locked gate
Helpless I stand—in vain to pray!
In vain to sorrow!
Only the key of yesterday
Unlocks to-morrow.
—Priscilla Leonard.
Content to come, content to go,
Content to wrestle or to race,
Content to know or not to know,
Each in his place.
Lord, grant us grace to love thee so
That glad of heart and glad of face
At last we may sit high or low,
Each in his place.
Where pleasures flow as rivers flow,
And loss has left no barren trace,
And all that are, are perfect so,
Each in his place.
—Christiana Rossetti.
In the clear light of eternity the false selves that
we have wrought about us like a garment will shrivel
and fall away. Whatever we really are, that let us
be, in all fearlessness. Whatever we are not, that
let us cease striving to be. If we can’t rid ourselves
of all untruths of word, manner, mode of life and
thinking, we shall rid our lives of much rubbish,
restlessness, and fear. Let us put on nothing, and
we shall never cringe. Let us assume nothing, and
we shall not be mortified.—Anna Robertson Brown,
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