Newspaper Page Text
4
The Golden Age
Published Every Thursday by The Golden Age
Publishing Company (Inc.)
OFFICES: AUSTELL BUILDING. ATLANTA. GA.
WILLIAM D. UPSHAW . , . . Editor
MRS. WILLIAMD. UPSHAW o Associate Editor
MRS. G. B. LINDSEY « o ■> Managing Editor
LEN G. BROUGHTON „ . Pulpit Editor
Price: $1.50 a Year
In cases of foreign address fifty cents should be added
to cover additional postage
Entered in the Postoffice in Atlanta. Ga., as second class matter
Jt
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION.
Receipts and credit for payments are shown in about two
weeks by the date on the address label. If proper credit has
not been given within two or three weeks notify this office
at once.
Post Office Address —Instructions concerning renewals, dis
continuance or change of address should be sent two weeks
prior to the date they are to go into effect.
In Changing an Address it is necessary to send the former
as well as the new address, and always give your name
exactly as it appears on the label.
Orders to Discontinue should always be sent direct to the
office by letter and must be accompanied by payment of
arrearages.
Subscriptions are understood as continuing from year to
year, unless orders are given to the contrary.
JAMES GORDON.
“The Gentleman From Mississippi.”
From the old, old South that we thought asleep
In the dust of the roses buried deep,
Hidden now through the dim, far years
By the haze and blur of a people’s tears —
A Voice has called —and over the way
A Prophet comes from a vanished day,
Where the faded dust of the roses then
Leaps to the bloom of life again.
Leaps to the bloom of life, where still
By vale and valley—by mead and hill —
The vanished fragrance—the sweet perfume
From her lanes of light and her fields of bloom
Rise again in the old time gleam
Os a day now dim in the age of dream,
Where, as the last of the Old Guard wait,
Her prophet stands at the Twilight Gate.
An old-fashioned gentleman—nothing more;
One of the clan that has gone before —
Yet, as he speaks and the nation hears,
The mist rolls back from the vanished years
That leap to life as the curtain lifts
And the dream returns as the soft wind drifts
From the past again—and we seem to see
The Old South just as it used to be.
The Old South —when, in the yesteryear,
The song was sweet and the dream was dear —
When truth and honor —when pride and faith
Were something more than a vanished wraith—
When life had something better to hold
Than the strife for gain and the greed for gold
In the crash and clash of an endless fray
That knows no rest through the driving day.
Though he speaks to us from a day long dead,
And the snows of the winter crown his head,
Deep in his heart the days but bring
The sunshine of an eternal spring;
Though the Night is near, and the hour is late
As he stands today at the Twilight Gate
Where the dusk swings in from the western hilj,
His eyes are turned to the Morning still.
And while he waits, may the sundrift’s gold
Be as deep as the sun he knew of old—
And the skies above be as deep a blue
As the skies of old that his Morning knew —
And one by one, from a vanished track,
May every dream that he held come back
And follow on to the Phantom Shore
An old-fashioned gentleman—nothing more.
GRANTLAND RICE.
The Golden Age for November 7, 1912.
We used to wonder a little about the verifi
cation of the Bible declaration that “the love
of money is the root of all evil.”
The Love Now, we understand it. We
Os Money have seen so many worthy enter-
Kills Plan prises go down because men and
For Central women loved, money for them-
Temple. selves better than they loved the
Kingdom of God —we have wit
nessed this in so many movements, large and
small, all over the land, that we are sadly pre
pared to say from observation: “True—every
word of it true!” concerning that sacred decla
ration.
Our readers will remember a front-page story
in The Golden Age, sometime ago, entitled
“The Beginning of Central Temple,” giving
the initial movement in the plan of Dr. J. L.
White, pastor of the Central Baptist Church,
Memphis, Tennessee, to build a great Central
Temple of worship in that wicked city, seating
at least three thousand people, and serving as
a rallying center, not only for the Baptists of
the Middle Mississippi Valley, of which Mem
phis is the metropolis, but likewise for the
forces of Christian citizenship and civic right
eousness. The plan was workable, and emi
nently practicable. It meant the moving of
the Central Baptist Church from an undesir
able locality, out into a better section of the
city—a point to catch both the masses and the
classes —and the building of a mammoth insti
tutional structure that would prove almost
self-supporting, while offering a spacious audi
torium for work and worship. Two or three
men and women held the key to the situation.
If they could only be brought to see the vision
HE LOVED GOD BETTER THAN MONEY
Dr. W. C. Paschal, of Dawson, Ga., who re
cently went from earth to heaven, was a real
philanthropist—a man who loved
And He God and humanity better than he
Proved It loved his money. He knew how
By His to make it. His fortune was am-
Gifts. pie. But, time and again, with
wise and beautiful generosity, he
gave to the cause of Christian education
such amounts as some little-souled men
would have counted almost a fortune. Dr.
Paschal was a student of men and movements.
He calmly dissected the fact that he only had
one time to live —that “shrouds have no pock
ets,” and that it is far wiser for a man to act
largely as his own administrator if he wishes
to know the joy of seeing his money safely
and savingly invested.
The writer remembers, with most refresh
ing pleasure, how, a dozen years ago, when he
was doing voluntary field work in behalf of the
endowment of Mercer University, he went to
Dawson on his mission and soon hurried back
to Macon and into the presence of the prince
ly president, Dr. P. D. Pollock, saying: “Dr.
Pollock, what do you reckon! I have brought
a $2,500.00 farm back in my pocket—who do
you suppose gave it?”
And with that winsome smile which the be
loved Pollock always gave when he was vastly
pleased, he answered: “Dr. Paschal, of
course.”
Since then Dr. Paschal has given many times
that amount, not only to Mercer University, of
which he was an honored trustee, but, putting
it far and wide, in missions across the seas and
in the lives of worthy boys and girls—the mosc
valuable and deathless “real estate” on earth.
Send us $1.50 for one year’s subscription to THE GOLDEN AGE, new or renewal, within
the next ten days, and we will send you as gift a beautiful morocco-bound, clear type, gold
stamped pocket Testament. Remember, this is a SPECIAL TEN-DAY OFFER. They won’t
last.
A SAD MEMPHIAN MISTAKE
and would lead off with a notable contribution
for which they were amply able, others would
follow and the deed would be done. But it
seemed that the vision never came to them.
To be sure, it was held before their eyes by their
great pastor, but —good people that they are—
their eyes were blind to the opportunity. They
could not see the beauty and the duty of doing
something really great. The “yellow glare”
of the gold that will soon drop from their
nerveless grasp, evidently shut out the broader
and deeper and highev vision of the Kingdom
of God. Anyway, the dream of the great
“Central Temple” seems to be broken, and Dr.
J. L. White, who was so capable of leading the
movement to victory, has accepted the call of
the noble Vineville Church, Macon, Ga., the
city where Dr. White labored with such marked
success, through twelve glorious years. This
is good news for the people of Georgia, who
honor him for his signal ability and his great
ness of heart and character, but in the eyes
of those who know the crying need and the
far-reaching scope of the work he had planned
in Meniphis, it is nothing less than a tragedy
for that wonderful but wicked city.
Welcome back to Georgia, fearless and faith
ful Prophet of God. Thousands who love you
echo an enthusiastic Amen! And let us hope
that the inspiring and transforming vision
which you had for the unseeing Memphii will
come speedily to some other leader, and that
the men and women who hold the magic key
will determine to master their money instead
of letting it master them, and thus build on
the foundation which you so faithfully laid
and so wisely planned.
We thank God for a man of wealth, with such
a heart and such a vision as W. C. Paschal. In
her loneliness, until she shall see him again,
his dear old consort of half a century, can rest
in the mellow aftermath of her husband’s
beautiful life, gathering much of comfort and
inspiration in the thought that she helped him
bless hundreds —maybe thousands —for time
and eternity.
4. 4. 4.
REMEMBER “THE YOUTH’S COMPANION’
This is not a paid editorial —not even a re
quested one. We write it as a friend of
Youth and the Home.
Its If you did not do so, go back
Builders and read that magnificent an-
Are nouncement by the “old reliable ’”
Benefactors. Youth’s Companion on the last
page of The Golden Age of last
week.
It is fascinating—it “makes one’s mouth
water” to follow such an intellectual and mor
al menu as The Youth’s Companion offers the
home. Ford, the great-hearted builder of
America’s best beloved home paper for youth,
is yet speaking from his “vocal grave,” not
only through the great paper he builded, but
through his princely liberality to Ruggles
Street Church, Boston, and other Christian in
stitutions for the. uplift of humanity. And
now W. N. Hartshorn, one of the managers of
“The Youth’s Companion,” is using his money
with beautiful generosity as the great world
leader of Sunday School work.
It pays for time and eternity to have com
panionship with such a fascinating force for
good as The Youth’s Companion.