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DREAMING.
by Eastman Johnson's Picture “Embers,”
By Charles W, Hubner.
The lire burns low, Dreams of past years,
The embers glow Their joys, their tears,
Dull under ashes gray; Their glory, and their gloom;
In merry mirth, A phantom host,
About the hearth. Trom Death’s dark coast,
Fantastic shadows play. Seems gliding through the room.
Before the fire The embers glow
Sits the grandsire; No more below
The flames, with flickering gleams, The heaped up ashes’ crust,
Strange splendor shed, Out is the fire—
On his bowed head; Dream on, grandsire!
With half-closed eyes he dreams, You too will soon be dust.
THE CHILD IN THE MIDST.
(Continued from page 2.)
yet is a woman. And the only thing to build
a woman out of is a girl; therefore, the home
rests upon the girl.”
That is true. The man who does not take
in the child in his consideration of the state,
and the nation, and the church, and society,
and the home, cannot be a great man. Jesus
here evidences to us by his dealings with this
child His greatness as a man.
Then, again, He evidences His greatness as
a teacher. All teachers strive, or should strive,
for simplicity.
Let us now see how the child serves as an
illustration of what Jesus is teaching concern
ing true greatness.
In the first place, you will see that the child
answers in its ignorance.
There is nothing that appeals to us more
than the ignorance of the child. It is ignorant
of everything except its own ignorance. And
if you don’t think it knows its own ignorance,
you just follow it for about five years, and
answer all the questions that it puts to you,
and you will see that it does know its ignor
ance, and is trying to supply this as fast as
possible, and if you are not wiser than anybody
I have run up against you will be stumped a
million times in an effort to supply that need.
So it is to be with the man who would be
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THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF DEC. 11, 1913
greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. He must
recognize his ignorance. The fact is, true wis
dom is for the discovery of ignorance, and
the wiser we grow the more we see that we
do not know. In every department, of life the
man who ever contends his wisdom is a man
to whom the world never accords greatness.
This is distinctly true in religious life. Our
Lord wants the simple, childlike, dependable
mind. In James 1 ,5, we read: “If any man
lack wisdom let him ask of God, who giveth
to all men liberally, and upbraideth not, and
it shall be given him.”
Also in its naturalness. Nothing is more
natural than a child. And no man can be truly
(Continued on page 16.)
METHODIST PREACHER COMMENDS.
My Dear Mr. Upshaw:
It gives me pleasure to renew my subscrip
tion to The Golden Age. I want to thank you
for your recent editorial on Hobson. I hope
that you will keep up the good fight. You
.know that Alabama’s daily press is largely
against us in this fight for civic righteousness,
and we need the assistance of such papers as
The Golden Age. I am praying that Mr. Hob
son may be elected, not because of any per
sonal attachment that I have for him, but be
cause it is a pitched battle between right and
wrong, and Mr. Hobson is leading the forces of
the right. May he lead them to victory!
Your for Christian citizenship,
M. E. LAZENBY,
Pastor Methodist Church.
Centerville, Ala., Nov. 21, 1913.
WHEN THE BIRDS GO SOUTH.
By Arthur Goodenough.
When the birds go South, and the
Gold is on the green wood tree,
And the gold to russet brown
Changes, and the leaves drop down.
And the golden-rod is dead,
And the cardinal flower has fled,
And the vapors rise and pass
Like the shadows on the grass; —
And the winds like voices slow
Thro'" the woods go to and fro’ —
And the lonesome crickets sing
And the corn is rustling—
I feel somehow strangely old
And my heart feels dull and cold
And I long to have them say
Singing on the same old way —
When the birds go South!
When the birds go South and the
Summer goes and with her she
Takes the joy of Summer moods
And the charm of flowers and woods.
And the flowers that tarry late
Linger all disconsolate, —
And the fields are black with frost,
And the Summer songs are lost,
And the green of youth is gone,
And the white of age comes on,
And I seem to feel the snow
And the wind of long ago—
When the birds go South!
When the birds go South, and cry
Sad farewell to sadder sky,
As they go —the feathered crew
All my hopes go with them, too!
King was I in summer time:
All the world was made for rhyme:
All the world for song was theme
And existence was a dream.
Countless were my subjects then
Birds and breezes —wind and wren,
Cloud and bloom—brook and breeze—
I was lord of things like these!
Roses garlanded my brow
(Ah, but they are faded now!)
And at Winter’s icy gate
Beggard—desolate I wait
For the tyrant’s freezing breath—
For the tyrant’s touch of death—
When the birds go South!
LIGHT ON THE CHILD’S PATH.
By Wm. A. Bixler.
This book con
tains little sto
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of every-day life,
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jj| est the children
I an d a t the same
j’ I time deeply im-
MfelljH fl press lipon their
ijij hj« I minds the way
'JBSaHiK: of truth and
plant in their
hearts a desire to do good.
It is written for young children, but
older persons will peruse its pages
with much interest. It has large, plain
type, and is simple language, easy for
children to read.
Colored Cover.
96 pages. 25 cents.
Send $1.50 for on eyear’s subscrip
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