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8 The Golden Age (SUCCESSOR TO RELIGIOUS FORUH) Published Ebery Thursday by the Golden Hge Publishing Company (Inc.) OFFICES: LOWNDES BUILDING, ATLANTA, GA. Price: $2.00 a 'Pear WILLIAM D. UPSHAW, .... Editor A. E. RAMS A UR, - - - Associate Editor Entered at the Post Office tn Atlanta, Ga., as second-class matter. To the Public: 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. Your Wondrous Touch. , By W. D. UPSHAW. You touched my hand one glad, sweet morn— -0 friend so brave and true! And all day long I felt new strength Whene’er I thought of you. 4 You touched my HEART with the word you said— -0 friend, 0 brother mine, And the day was bright and my hope was high From that wondrous touch of thine! You touched my SOUL—my living self— Because you lived and wrought, And a subtle fragrance like breath of God ’Gainst sin’s miasma fought! You touched my LIFE, my love, my all— And I sought the earth and sky With a Vision calling me to WORK, To do and dare and die! Sunset At Morning. Just as we go to press the sad announcement comes that Mrs. Lois James Christian, of Douglas ville, has entered into rest, after a brief but painful illness. She was the beautiful young wife of Mr. J. Homer Christian, a kinsman of the Editor, and every member of our force, both clerical and edito rial, experiences a deep sense of personal loss in the death of this lovely young woman. The sun of her fair and promising life sets at seven o’clock in the morning of life’s bright day, and her wide and widening circle of friends cherish the light and the fragrance that touched our hearts with cheer and blessing. The Georgia “Tech.” The Georgia School of Technology has opened with a record attendance—sso young men having matriculated, while many others are shut out for lack of room. President K. G. Matheson is out in a card calling on the people of Georgia to rise up and meet the expanding needs of “The Tech.” Everybody knows that there is no better tech nological plant of instruction in the South than the “Georgia Tech,” as it is affectionately called. The magnificent growth of the institution is evi dence of its vigorous and commanding worth. But after all, we must be allowed to say that the greatest thing at the Georgia School of Technology is its stalwart Christian President. A sturdy Scotchman, a typical American, a radiant Puritan and a kingly cavalier, K. G. Matheson is more than all these—he is a devout Christian, and his daily life, rugged with vigor and mellow with beauty, preaches with winning eloquence to every student whose life he touches. Long life and larger usefulness to President Matheson and the “Georgia Tech”! The Golden Age for October 18, 1906. SAM JONES IS NOT DEAD. “A splendor from the earth hath fled— A glory from the skies!” To speak of Sam Jones dead! What a sorrow! This paraphrase of Henry Grady’s words when he wrote of Ben Hill’s death has kept ringing with unspeakable sadness in my heart all during the day since the startling announcement of the un timely death of America’s greatest and best be loved evangelist. Only a. few minutes before the “extra” told of his death I had received a letter for this week’s issue of The Golden Age from his gifted young co-worker, Walter Holcomb. In that letter he used these words: “Rev. Sam P. Jones has had the very best health and been in the best spirits during the meeting in Oklahoma City. He has never preached with more vim and power. Perhaps the crowning service was his ‘Stag Party.’ Five thou sand men were present. He preached on ‘Escape for thy Life.’ Fully two thousand men came for ward and gave Brother Jones their hand promising God a better life.” Having just read these lines on my desk, you can hardly imagine how my very soul was transfixed by the news that this wonderful man of God had w I B K so suddenly stepped from the summit of his mar velous career in the service of God and men to “the home of the soul,” toward which he had pointed so many thousands. This shock came on my birthday, October 15, and tinged with sorrow the beautiful greetings that were coming to me on every side. I feel a deep personal bereavement in the death of Sam Jones. No man who knew him and loved him should be ashamed of tears in such an hour. I had the privilege of taking supper in his home in Cartersville on the last night of his recent meet ing there. He presented me to the vast audience that night with the tenderness of a father and a brother in one. And the last time that I ever heard his voice was over the long distance ’phone making an engagement to call at my office—an engagement which a rain-storm prevented his keeping. For twenty-five years Sam Jones has been speak ing the same rugged truths in the same quaint and inimitable way—and still the thousands thronged to hear him to the last. The world granted to him a license for repetition in plain speaking which no other man of this generation ever had. There is but one ex planation. With all his marvelous versatility, men everywhere knew that deep down in his heart Sam Jones loved God and humanity, He stood as a miracle of regeneration. He had been in the depths. On the last Sunday he spoke in Carters ville, in arraigning the liquor-traffic, he told how the devil had used it to beat him against the very bars of hell, and ever since he had been redeemed he had known how to hate the devil and love the souls of men. Everybody who knew this “Georgia wonder,” linked to God will agree with Hon. R. E. Park, who said to me with sadness: “Sam Jones’ death is a calamity to the Christian world.” Verily, the thousands who mourn him are walk ing in the splendor of the light he left behind! Sam Jones was one of the friends and promoters of The Golden Age. I shall never forget my in terview with him when I laid before him the plan to establish in the South a beautiful, inspiring pa per to build homes and make citizenship. His piercing black eyes twinkled merrily and he said: “Put dynamite in her, and she’ll go, Bud—l want stock in a paper like that.” And on the Sunday before the paper was launch ed, in speaking for the Anti-Saloon League at the Bijou Theatre in Atlanta he read what he called his “pronunciamento” concerning the paper to the great audience, announcing his purpose to support it with pen and tongue. His almost constant trav el had unavoidably interfered with his plans, how ever, and negotiations were in contemplation where by we hoped to have him a regular contributor. But in this disappointment of Divine appointment I shall always feel the encouraging clasp of “a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still.” And I shall be braver to do and dare whenever, in fragrant memory, I drink the tonic of his in spiring fellowship. And thus he blessed and in spired thousands upon thousands! Thus he will live in human hearts. And because of this—Sam Jones is NOT dead! He has been so much alive, we can never think of him as dead. I heard him presented to an au dience at Oak Bowery, near the spot of his birth in Chambers county, Alabama, and in the course of that speech of introduction the local Methodist preacher said: “Brother Jones, there is a woman who says she heard you make your first speech. You were a little fellow in school, and when your time came they had to wake you up, and the world thinks you have been awake ever since!” After all, it is the life that is alive here that remains alive forevermore. It is the life alive to the things of God—alive to the needs of human ity as Sam Jones was that awakens others from the sleep that knows no sleeping! Like his own beloved brother, Joe Jones, who died suddenly in the arms of his brother Sam, this wonderful and beloved man of God was called sud denly without warning. If he must die away from home, thank God that in the arms of those who loved him he went to the arms of his Redeemer. For the comfort of the wife of his bosom and his stricken children and grandchildren, millions of hearts whom he has helped upward will lift their prayers to Heaven. Would God his sons might catch his fallen man tle—for the world needs another like him! God grant that the life of Sam P. Jones as an illustration of redeeming grace with mighty tal ents dedicated to Christ and His cause, may call to the multitudes who knew and honored him to love Christian manhood and bravery as never before! '”-1 his death? His sudden death in the radiant afterglow of one of the most wonderful hours of preaching power that ever crowned his wonderful life!—But Sam Jones is NOT dead! Sunday night he wrought—he fought against sin like a gladiator transformed into an Angel of Light—and Monday morning the bright dawn over the western plains kissed him into rest! And Sam P. Jones, the friend of God and the friend of man, lives in the beautiful triumph of dual glory—ma earth, and with God! William D. Upshaw,