Newspaper Page Text
Lobe Thy Neighbor as Thyself
By Eugene Ray
HAT the world needs most today is a
better feeling among men. In a stren
uous business life, with a competition as
fierce and cruel as war, can it be said we
love our neighbor as ourself? That is
the test, “Love thy neighbor as thy
self.” If we didn’t love ourself any
more than we love our neighbor, we
would not sleep with ourself; we would
■
7*
run ourself out of town. If we didn’t love ourself
any more than we do our neighbor, we would advise
our wife to get a divorce and would have more re
spect for her if she eloped.
What if the ladies did not love themselves any
more than they do their neighbor? They would be
constantly saying, “Well, I am a horrid old thing.
I know, and I wonder my husband does not elope.”
We have clans, cliques and classes in society, in
politics and in the church. In many a neighbor
hood there can be no successful session of school be
cause of the prejudice of two factions. In the
church, the two factions engage in a fight and the
devil helps both sides.
The public, not satisfied to fight each other indi
vidually, combine, incorporate and organize to fight
one another. We have political clubs, commercial
clubs, manufacturers’ associations, boards of trade,
cotton associations, fanners’ unions, labor unions,
etc., and these meet monthly to exchange ideas and
settle among themselves what shall be done, who
shall be “done” and how they will “do” them.
They have a very enterprising way of exchanging
their ideas for other folks’ money.
Byway of illustration, I will say that the ladies
of the church have an organization known generally
as “The Ladies’ Aid Society,” and they, too, have
some ideas which they exchange for other folks’
cash. They have an idea that an oyster stew can be
made out of one and one-third of an oyster. They
get about twenty-five cents for that idea and throw
in the stew for good measure. At their church sup-
The Platform Tell
But John A. Wray Caught the Crolvd and Held
them "As in a Vise 9 *
John A. Wray, of Live Oak, Fla., and a first
cousin of the famous masters of pulpit and
platform, The Dixon brothers, is one of the truly
gifted and remarkably successful pastor-evangelists
of his time. Because they are fascinating pictures
of a fascinating worker in “the Kingdom” we give
two stories from the Pensacola papers, telling of
the great revival in which Mr. Wray has been
leading.
(From the Pensacola News.)
Last night at the corner of Gadsden street and
13th avenue where the open air services of the
evangelistic meetings are being held an accident
occurred which might have resulted seriously, but
in which no one was injured. The large platform
which had been erected for the accommodation of
the preacher and singers collapsed. There was a
large crowd in attendance. The platform was
crowded with singers. Rev. John A. Wray of Live
Oak, who is leading the meeting, had just reached
his Scripture lesson and had called for the singing
of “There is Power in the Blood” before beginning
bis discourse. As the throng rose to their feet and
began the song, the cracking of timbers was heard,
the platform was seen to reel and suddenly go
down, singers, organ—men from the audience began
to rush forward.
Mr. Wray, who had been standing to the front
of the platform, sprang to the step in front that
remained standing and cried “No one hurt: let us
sing,” and the crowd followed him in the continua
tion of the song: “There is Power in the Blood.”
Ha peipaiped standing on the step and preached a
The Golden Age for July 23, 1908.
pers, they follow in the footsteps of their Master —
they take a few loaves and fishes and feed a multi
tude and have food to spare. They do not turn
water into wine, but turn it into ice cream, which
they sell at double price. But the ladies always
“touch” us in such a touching way, we are never
satisfied until we touch them.
There are all sorts of organizations now; there are
trusts, associations and unions, and these are en
gaged in a continuous warfare. The grain man in
the West, in fixing the price of his wheat, does not
once think of the starving little ones in the South,
where no wheat is raised. The cotton producer’
would fix the price of his product. The labor union
fixes the price of labor, and “strikes” if the em
ployer will not or can not pay it.
And there is no “peace on earth.” As the busi
ness man fights the battle of life, he must keep pick
ets on duty, lest his competitor, the enemy, swoop
down upon him and cripple or destroy him. Fair
play is a jewel, but so few people wear jewelry
now. We have lost not only all spirit of charity,
we show no mercy. There may be a milk of human
kindness, but it is mostly sour.
The business a man appreciates most is that
he lures from his neighbor. For the sake of a few
more dollars, many a man will strike down his com
petitor. And in striking him down he unjustly,'
falsely assails his character, a species of assassina
tion no less cruel and criminal than that which takes
life.
Is this pessimism? lam no An optim
ist keeps his face to the sky, falls over his feet and
calls it progress. A pessimist may “see things,”
but he takes something for it. There was never a
bigger fool saying than that old saw, “Never cross
the bridge until you get to it.” It would be quite
as smart to say, “Never get to the bridge till you
cross it.”
A pessimist may see too many things; if he does
he takes warning and warns others.
masterful sermon on “Why be a Christian?” It
was one of his best efforts and strongest appeals.
His words fell from his lips w 7 ith almost incredible
rapidity and blazed with the fire of the earnestness
of his soul. The interest was deep and profound.
The la rge audience gave their first and undivided
attention to the “man with a message.” Great
numbers responded to his proposition.
(From Pensacola Journal.)
The evangelistic meetings at the corner of Gads
den street and 13th avenue have assumed great
proportions. The large attendance and the mani
festations show the rapidly enlarging scope of the
work and deepening of the interest. Impressive
and soul-stirring is the scene at the open air services
in the evening—the great concourse of people
seated on the lawn under an army of electric
lights, the platform filled with singers, and the
preacher, small of stature, but great of brain and
heart, swaying his crowd apparently at wil], as he
stands there under the canopy of heaven and pro
claims his message —a message that seems to fire
his soul and burn its way into the hardest hearts.
Rev. Mr. Wray is an interesting and forcible per
sonality, having a style of his own in preaching
and a rare facility in holding the attention of a
large crowd. He is somewhat dramatic but possibly
his greatest power lies in his earnestness and
magnetism. He speaks rapidly but drives every
sentence home. It is all but impossible to report
him, as one must give him both eye and ear in order
to follow binj jn his rppid thinking and utterances,
He led a strenuous day Sunday, speaking three
times. Indeed it seems wonderful to one looking
upon him standing there saying so much, saying it
so fast and so forcibly, and holding up at it. He
was heard Sunday morning at the East Hill Bap
tist church. In the afternoon a large crowd of men
gathered at the First Baptist church to hear his
address to men only. It was a remarkable service.
Rev. Mr. Wray handled his subject in a most
eloquent and convincing way. His illustrations
were apt and striking, and the lessons he drove
home, with sledge hammer blows, were beautiful,
practical and uplifting. The service closed with
Mr. Wray standing on a chair on the rostrum and a
large majority of those men standing around him
expressing a desire to lead better lives. It was a
meeting never to be forgotten. The solo of Rev.
T. M. Callaway was very effective and greatly
enjoyed. The open air service Sunday night was
possibly the best of the meetings. The scene —the
immense audience and large choir, the sermon and
manifested interest —beggars description.
«
Not By Bread Alone.
Sy Hugh T. Olibcr.
His brow was broad and true,
And large and royal blue,
His eyes were open wide;
His hammer by his side.
The anvil silent now,
He listens to the Plow
Which would its maker teach.
And straight begins to preach:
“The work is done by you and me,
To us should all the honor be;
For all mankind would soon be dead,
If you and I gave not the bread.”
The honest man, says he,
“The point I cannot see.”
And then was stillness in the shop
As, when a thunderbolt would drop,
There is no sound upon the shore,
Nor bird will sing, nor lion roar.
But soon he knew, from God had come
A dream to him, and hurried home.
And ever as he walked along,
He heard an echoed angels’ song:
“They all would turn to stone,
If they had bread alone.”
And when his grimy home he reached,
He told the sermon God had preached,
And then with glad tho’ stamm’ring tongue,
He sang for them the angels’ song:
“They all would turn to stone,
If they had bread alone.”
And while he talked and song was sung,
Their wakened spirits for them flung
The pattern of a beauty rare
Upon the cottage walls so bare,
And minds as bare which dwelt therein,
That such might never be again.
Then neighbors’ stayed unshod,
And peas to shell within the pod;
The blacksmith’s for days was shut,
While from his house he scoured the smut;
And merry helpers, too, had he,
A happy wife and children three;
And merrily their words did chime,
And cheerily they wrought, the time.
The setting sun of Saturday
In vain did seek what’s passed away;
The evening star rejoiced to see
That home so white might blacksmith’s be;
And when the lamps began to shine,
Lo! on his knees the Book divine!
And when a prayer their hearts had made,
?\nd at God’s feet their thanks had laid,
The blacksmith told the ones he blessed:
“Remember this, ’twill help you rest;
The seats are free, I’ve heard it said:
To church we’ll go for heavenly bread.”
And when the morning star
Was list’ning from afar,
Across the shining way
It heard the blacksmith say.
Awake and yet asleep:
*‘They sow not there nor reap,
And here we’d turn to stone.
If we bad bread alone,’ 1
9
