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AMERICA'S "LOCKSLEY” HALL—Continued
Still in vain we seek to banish from the heart the first sweet face
That within its lovelit temple held a consecrated place.
Who hath not, when sometime resting from its busy stir and strife
Woven thus some thread of fancy in the sober woof of life?
What is life for? But to gather heap on heap the shining gold,
While the shriveled heart grows harder and the starving soul grows old.
Then at last to die and leave it! What, O, fool, had it been worth,
If at last thou’st left with nothing, to awhile have owned the earth?
Wealth and fame and rank and st’ation —know ye not, O sons of men,
Whatsoe’r from earth proceedeth, to the earth returns again,
And, returning to the bosom of its mother, deep and vast,
Drags the captive spirit downward to its level at the last?
All the gold and all the silver that the earth’s dark caverns hide
Is not worth a single wild-rose blooming on the mountain side.
Not how we can make a living—nature keeps us everywhere—
But why do we live’s a question worth the soul’s supremest care.
Upward toward the heights of Heaven climbs one pathway steep and fell —
Pleasant are the countless thousands that lead downward into hell.
Lo! the gates of the infernal never close by night or day,
And the tides of human nature set their currents ail that way.
What is this I see before me? Why through weary day and night,
Hollow-eyed and pale and haggard, do men toil and weep and fight?
All the glorious independence of proud manhood cast aside,
F'awning sycophancy whining at the haughty heals of pride.
See the bloated beast of ignorance as the currish crowd salaams —
“Wealth is God,” and will be worshipped in this mighty age of shams.
Hide your faces, holy angels; hide, O Christ, thy pain marred face;
Earth God’s footstool is no longer—but a vast, vile market-place!
Man the child of the Eternal, man the universal heir,
Self-sold slave unto the basest of all passions everywhere.
Honor! Virtue! Who doth want them in this age when gods do sle«p?
Silly fools! go out and buy them; they are in the market cheap.
All things have a money value; earth hath nothing now so high
That one may not safely question: “Am I rich enough to buy?”
Once again within God’s temple do the thieves divide their gold,
And for less than thirty pieces daily Christ the Lord is sold.
Ye who sit on crimson cushions and ’neath silken curtains sleep,
Ye who dance and laugh and wanton while your fellows toil and weep,
Ye who shut your more than plenty from the hungry starving poor,
Ye who turn God’s helpless orphans empty from your gilded door —
Know ye not God’s ways are equal? Take your pleasure while you may;
Lo! the wheel is slowly turning—ye will lie beneath some day.
Better that the body hunger, better that it starve and die,
Than the soul within its prison a forgotten captive lie.
Better but an hour of Prussia than a century of Spain,
The Torlvard Movement.
Department in the Sunday-school, to take his
boys, a large crowd of enthusiastic boys, at
the age to be impressed for life one way or the
other, and as many of the teachers as could
go, away into the woods and have a camp. He
began to look around, and finally a location
was decided upon. Then they began to cast
around as to what it would cost to launch this
movement. They wanted tents and equip
ment. After some little effort financial affairs
were put on foot and the movement assured,
and then it entered into Brother Peacock, my
faithful co-laborer, to join with Brother Allen
and have at the close of that camp three days
of evangelistic services in which the entire'
neighborhood would be invited to take part.
They went into the woods and started their
week of camping and fun and frolic. Before
they started Mr. Allen asked at prayer meeting
that we pray that before those boys were
brought back to this town to their parents,
they might each one become a Christian, and
we joined with him in that prayer and he went,
leaving that prayer on our hearts.
THE BOYS’ CAMP.
I was engaged in a series of meetings in
Greensboro and could not be with them in any
of their camp frolics, nor any of the religious
work. They went and every day good news
came of how the boys were frolicing in the
woods, wading and swimming in the creek and
having a good time. With them went a num
ber of our good women and a number of our
men to chaperone and help Mr. Allen, and get
for themselves a bit of outing. The last
three days of the camp the great tent was
stretched and the people from the neighbor
hood came in and salvation began to come to
that old tent. On Sunday, the last day of
the camp, it was arranged, should be devoted
to reaching the boys. Up until this time the
boys had not been requested to attend these
services except as they might see fit, except
their morning devotions. But Sunday morn
ing Brother Allen said, “You must come to
Sunday-school like you do at home.” He had
come in personal touch with every boy, wad-
ing the stream, going in swimming with them,
showing them how a Christian could swim,
and showing them how a Christian could shoot
marbles and climb hills; how a Christian could
engage in a boy’s frolic and still be a Chris
tian, and so when he got up that morning with
hiq Sunday-school Aid
presenting Christ t<z those boys> as their per
sonal Savior, they began to shed tears, and
there was not a thing that was of a tear-shed
ding character said or done, except the convic
tion that got hold of the boy that he ought to
be a Christian ; that Christ had done so much
for him. And those boys began to surrender,
and every boy but two —and these two were
not present —stepped out for Jesus. Then the
boys got with Mr. Allen and took out a search
through the woods for those two. I was not
there, hut if I had been, I would have pro
posed that we sing “The Ninety and Nine” as
we go. They searched until at last they found
them and talked to them and told them what
had happened, and they began to cry and they
gave themselves to Christ and came out and
confessed Jesus, and Brother Allen came back
here with the prayer answered —every boy that
was there had confessed Jesus as Savior and
Lord. I have never seen a happier crowd than
those boys. They are a changed lot. I can
tell it by looking into their faces. I have never
seen happier people than those that went with
that crowd, arid their religion has gone up to a
great height in the spiritual thermometer. I
venture the assertion that the people that show
a cooling off this summer at the pastor’s ab
sence will not be the people that went to that
camp.
Well, what about this? What has this to do
with what lam talking about? It has this to
do. For a long time, for more than the time
I have been connected with this church, God
has had burning upon the altar of my heart a
great, indescribable, literal, unquenchable pas
sion, and that passion is the thing I am so anx
ious that God shall let me realize. I do want
to get the chance to praise God in the triumph
of that passion, and that is, to key the church
to every problem that beats in the human
breast; to have in connection with the church
The Golden Age for August 5, 1909.
Better three-score years of sorrow than an endless age of pain.
Here’s the paradox of ages—solve it ye who solve it can —
Woman is no longer woman, but another kind of man!
She whose hand upon the lever guides the world along its way,
She whose voice can still the tempest, she whom wind and wave obey,
She would forfeit all her glory, all n,er matchless, mighty power,
For the poor and paltry triumph in the contest of an hour!
She who wears upon her forehead a far more than queenly crown,
For the bauble of the ballot is content to lay it down!
Woman, modest, tender, gentle, sent to brighten sterner life;
Woman in the sweet relation, mother, sister, sweet-heart, wife; *
Not without its deeper import was she cast in beauty’s mould —
Woman is of finer nature, higher purposed, whiter souled;
But she is not woman —she who steps down in the ranks of men;
Let us call her by her title, Madame Fellow-Citizen.
She who, scorning sweet dependence, in her own right arm would trust,
Does but trail her woman’s garments, white and holy, in the dust,
While the words of wife and mother, holiest words on human tongue,
Mingle in the senseless ditties by the drunken rabble sung.
Give her, then, the sword and pistol, nor withhold a single right—
She would be of earth and earthy, for her kingdom she must fight!
Burn the songs of all the ages, bid the minstrels cease to sing!
Blot from out the page of passion every tender, holy thing;
Once the poet’s inspiration, she is nothing finer now
Than an honest, sun-browned rustic, whistling at his dusty plow.
Yet not all! Some modest roses in the world’s great garden grow,
Still content, in fragrant beauty, as God meant them, but to blow—
Roses still, that do not envy the coarse cabbage its huge head,
Even though it be more useful when the cows are to be fed.
Wise is he who can the signs of his own little time discern,
For the fickle wheels of progress do not always forward turn.
Yet the age climbs slowly upward—if, as now, it backward creep,
It is but to gain momentum for a grander, higher leap.
Backward? Great is he who truly can receive this truth sublime;
Never backward turns the shadow on the dial plate of time.
That in spite of all this seeming, spite of all our doubts and fears,
Ever upward, toward the Better, sweeps the restless tide of years.
Error hath a brief existence; and the slimy serpent, Doubt,
Only for a little moment coils Faith’s shining limbs about.
Lo! the scarlet thread of purpose’through the warp of being runs,
And the thought of God unfoldeth with the sequence of the suns.
Os all truths, this the sublimest, the supremest seems to me;
Nothing is; but all things only, ever changing, seem to be.
This is faith: that in all changes lies a deeply hidden plan,
And all causes work together to the lifting up of man!
departments sufficient to comprehend and com
pass every single human need, it does not make
any difference what it is. Provision made in
the name of Jesus for those that must go to
the woods to spend a bit of time in the sum
mer. Practically half the people that' go away
on summer vacations • - ine bacly spiritually
• lead? They go to a Godmss place where the
name of God is not used. They go there be
cause there is no place else to go. I want to
key it to everything from the kindergarten up
to the university in the way of education and
learning. The great trouble with us today, and
the reason why there is such easejn the propa
gating of a new form of religion that ignores
the very basis of the old doctrines that we
stand on with such confidence, is the failure
of the church to make good. They say that
the church sings songs and recites Psalms arid
prayers on Sunday, and the heart of the world
about us has throbbed and ached and beat arid
begged for friendship, and we have not given,
it. We have not been practical. This morn
ing we had in our meeting back in my room be
fore we came out, just a prayer service of us
three who were connected with this pamp en
terprise—Brother Allen, Mr. Peacock and my
self —and one of the brethren prayed, “Lord,
speedily help us to come to the time when we
can realize that a man can have Jesus’ love
in his heart on the baseball field as well as in
the church house.” And God has brought out
of this recent experience a plan for the future
work of this church along with our other insti
tutional enterprises, our hospital for the sick,
and homes for those that have no homes, our
Conference and educational work and the like,
we shall make this camp movement a perma
nency. We own our tents and will get more,
and our camp will be from four to five weeks
next year. We will certainly want four weeks,
giving a week to the boys, another to our
young women, and the young men, and the
married people. We will conduct a morning
Bible class and then turn everybody loose to
the woods until the night service. We will let
friends come and camp with us from all
over the country and then when I go away
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