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10
THE DAYS ARE NOT ALWAYS CLOUDED
What tho’ the days that come to us
are clouded;
What tho’ we count the hours in wea
ry pain;
What tho’ the night seems somewhat
diark and lonely
And sleep forgets to soothe the throb
bing brain.
Are there no blessings ‘round thy
hearthstone crowding?
Doth fall no loving tones upon thine
ear?
Are there no treasures ’neath thy roof
tree gathered?
And is our pathway always dark and
drear?
Oh, thankless heart! we murmur so at
crosses,
We fret because some clouds obscure
our sky;
We want our path hedged in with
blooming roses,
With not a thorn to sting as we pass
by
We crave -one round of ease and
wealth and pleasure;
We long to wreathe our bows with
glowing fame,
And nigh forget that dear sw’eet hands
are twining
Home flowers for us upon love’s gol
den frame.
"SOMETIME WE’LL UNDERSTAND.”
HERE are times when it seems
more is crowded into the re
requirements of 'a day than
we are equal to —times when
T
we are permitted to test the truth of
God’s word : "My grace is sufficient
for thee.”
Saturday, September twentieth, was
one of those days. The two preceding
weeks had been unusually busy be
cause of the necessary extra work oc
casioned by the Christian Citizenship
Congress meeting, and not having ful
ly organized my strength, I was work
ing under an already overcharged case
of anxiety and threadbare nerves
which had rendered sleep almost im
possible.
Suddenly we were awakened, on
this never-to-be forgotten morning, at
half past three by the frantic cry of
one of the dearest little women I have
ever known, to “come quick to Mr.
Jackson!”
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THE HOUSEHOLD
A DEPARTMENT OF EXPRESSION FOR THOSE WHO FEEL AND THINK.
What tho’ those hands are horned by
sun and labor,
And some have only learned love’s
sweet caresses?
They cull no thorns to weave among
the garlands
They link together for our silver
tresses.
Ah! we forget a Savior’s hand is leadi
ing.
Us in the path best fitted for our feet;
And we forget the love to us extend
ing
Is all sufficient when with storms we
meet.
For as the sunshine and the pelting
shower,
And summer’s heat , and winter’s
storms that rave,
Make the whole year so perfect in
completeness,
So should our trials make us strong
and brave.
Rise up, O heart’ thy burdens may
be heavy;
Lie down, thou wilt be crushed, for
ever lost;
Rise up, thy load will seem to thee
much lighter,
And life’s extremest summit soon is
crossed.
CHAT
Mr. and Mrs. I. M. Jackosn, with
tbeir two sons, had been helping us
to fill up our “too-much-room” house
for more than a year and by their
quick thoughtfulness, and unselfish
service to all who teuched their lives
had woven and interwoven their heart
strings in with ours until their suc
cesses and joys, their anxieties and
sorrows became ours. And when this
heartrending call for help came from
this dear woman it was almost as
though our own dear mother were
calling and looking to us. We rushed
into their bed-room to find the poor
man temporarily paralyzed from the
effects of acute indigestion, and seem
ingly almost gone into eternity. ’
We worked like mad, calling doc
tors, then using every home remedy
possible until they came. After a few
hours of heroic work he rallied, mak
ing us hopeful; the house was full of
relatives, and having demands on me
in connection with the Citizenship
Congress work that could not be
shifted to any one, I came in to the
office —but what a day of tension!
Then came, just as we got to the
Auditorium that night, the fierce ring
ing of the box office phone and the
hurried words: "Come quick, Mr.
Jackson has just died!” An unex
pected down pour of rain was flooding
the streets, we were clear across town
from our car line and every cab phone
ringing “busy ’ as fast as we tried to
get them —we were desperate, when a
noble hearted man whom we had never
seen but hope some day to be able to
serve for his goodness, offered his au
tomobile and he and his little grand
son chauffeur whirled us as fast as
driving rain and wet streets would let
THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF OCT. 9
By Mrs. M. J. Smith.
Our duty is our own, and not an
other’s,
And there is work for us mid toiling
lands:
Good seed to sow, lest we, no sheaves
to garner,
Go up to meet our Lord with empty
hands.
And there are some who with bright
days have parted,
Who see no rays of gladness round
them shine,
To whom we may speak words of love
and combort,
And cheer them with the light of
truth divine.
We may ourselves have long sice
ceased our singing,
We may have grief we do not care
to tell;
And like the Shunamite of old, when
questioned,
Our trembling lips have answered,
"All is well.”
But we will gather healing balm for
others,
And so forget the pain God only
knows:
The drop of oil we use to heal our
wounded brothers
May fall on us. and we find sweet re
pose.
them, to the College Park car line
just in time to see a car leaving us
for a wait that seemed hours instead
of minutes.
But all the time until we reached
the saddened home I was trying to
think —“the message must be wrong,
there must be some mistake, surely
this strong, healthy, cheerful heart
that so many were leaning on and
needing to help them with their trou
bles, for he was a very willing bearer
of others’ burdents, was not so sud
denly stilled forever.
It seemed almost as hard to realize
the truth when I looked into the peace
ful features, portraying no trace of
the recent paroxysms of pain, and
when I held the frail little “mother
friend” in my arms and tried to soothe
her broken heart and dazed conscious
ness.
Too often had I gone down into the
deep waters of sorrow not to know
why it all seemed so strange to the
stricken hearts of this ever patient
but frail little woman and her three
noble boys that their loved one should
be taken. But the bravery with
which each tried to hide their own
heartache for the sake of the other,
was indeed a beautiful lesson of how
Christ can help us when the pathway
is dark and we need him close by our
side.
Mr. I. M. Jackson, who was fifty
eight years old, was a member of the
College Park Baptist church and was
truly one of God’s unassuming noble
men. Looking about him always for
an opportunity to cheer or brighten
some life, filling h : s place at all church
services, and witnessing for the Mas
ter in the many consistent evidences
that the every-day life affords oppor
tunity for his testimony thus given
(Continued on page 11.)
LIQUOR THE CURSE OF THE AGE.
Dear Householders:
That liquor is the curse of the age,
no one of deep heart searching inves
tigation will ever doubt. Pause just
a moment and behold the amount of
destruction to human life in one year,
die every year and fill drunkards
graves, those men and women have
not lived their alloted time and as a
result have not done their allotted
life work for God and humanity. Who
is responsible for this waste of talent?
Kng Alcohol? Why give him the
title of king? Better far call him
"Fiend Thief,” for verily he is the
most debased fiend on record today,
and I am praying that I may have a
few shells well filled, and well aimed
with which to dethrone him in his
absolute insolence of the squandering
of human life,
Look at his strong hold. Walls of
gold surround him on every side and
some of the human family are ready
to protect him at any cost, they may
build their walls of gold, and every
device to shield him from our power
tho the hearts of mothers with their
tears of anguish will finally over
come this great wall of gold, for God
has said: "ask and you shall receive,”
we are asking for a law to protect our
boys, "Knock and it shall be opened
to you,” "seek and you shall find,”
We are seeking men who can’t be
bought and we have, praise God,
found them in the present adminis
tration, and we are working like mad
to accomplish the sweet dream of our
sainted leader, NATION PROHIBI
TION, for 19'20.
Who dares say that it is not in
sight? Just as sure as there is a
(Continued on page 11.)
WATER HELPS SOUTH CAROLINA
MINISTER.
Last summer, after undergoing medi
cal treatment for kidney trouble at
Baltimore, where he submitted to an
operation at the famous Johns Hop
kins Hospital, Rev. A. McA. Pittman,
of Carlisle, S. C., lost forty pounds in
weight. He writes:—"l found it nec
essary to take laxative medicines to
keep my liver and kidneys active. But
since I began to drink Shivar Spring
Water six months ago, morning, noon
and night, I have not taken a grain of
medicine of any kind, and now weigh
one hundred and eighty pounds—about
thirty pounds more than my usual
weight. I am now doing more work,
and harder work, than at any time
within the nearly forty years of my
ministerial life.
Shivar Spring water Is probably the
greatest remedy for Stoamch, Liver Kidney
and Bladder disorders ever discovered Its
curative powers border nigh onto the mar
velous. Case after case of Indigestion.
Dyspepsia, Rheumatism, Gall Stones, etc.,
pronounced incurable by eminent physi
cians, have been permanently relieved and
cured by it. Hundreds of gallons are
shipped daily all over the country, and
here is the unusual basis upon which Mr.
Shivar sells it, an offer which enables any
one to try it personally without risk.
Deposit $2 with the Shivar Spring Com
pany and they will ship two five-gallon
demijohns of this celebrated water. If you
do not receive any benefit after using the
ten gallons, ship back the two empty
demijohns, wtih your statement to this
effect, and your money will be refunded
—every cent of it Your word is accepted
without question.
The fact that this water has exception
ally wonderful curative powers has led Mr.
Shivar to adopt this method of guarantee
ing its beneficial effects, and giving to the
suffering public this great remedy. Mr.
Shivar Is personally known to the adver
tising manager of this paper, who can as
sure you of the honesty of his offer Ad
dress your letter to N. F. Shivar, Shivar
Spring, Shelton, S. C.