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THE BAPTIST BA.WEH
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOL. IV.
@Jtt giipttet gnniwr,
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the
subscription price of three dollars per year.
JAMES N. ELLS & CO.,
Proprietors.
THE TOAST.
The feast is o’er! Now brimming wine
In lordly cup is seen to shine
Before each eager guest;
And silence tills the crowded hall,
As deep as when the herald’s call •
Thrills in the loyal breast.
Then up arose the noblest host,
And smiling cried, “A toast! a toast!
To ail our ladies fair.
Here, before all, I pledge the name
Os Staunton’s proud and beauteous dame:
The Lady Gundamere ! ”
Then to his feet each gallant sprung,
And joyous was the shout that rung,
As Stanley gave the word ;
And every cup was raised on high,
Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry
Till Stanley’s voice was heard.
“Enough, enough,” lie smiling said,
And lowly bowed his haughty head;
“ That, all may have their due,
Now each in turn must play his part,
And pledge the lady of his heart,
Like gallant knight and true ! ”
Then one by one each guest sprung up.
And drained in turn his brimming cup,
And named the loved one’s name.
And each, as hand on high he raised.
His lady’s grace or beauty praised,
Her constancy and fame.
’Tis now St. Leon’s turn to rise.
On him are fixed th sc countless eyes:—
. A gallant knight is he;
Envied by some, admired by all,
Far famed in lady’s bower or hall,
The flower of chivalry.
St. Leon raised his kindling eye;
Lift ing the sparkling cup on high,
“ I drink to one," he said,
“ Whose image never nfhy depart,
Deep gl’aVCll oil Uti« grno f««l hvait, I
Till memory be dead.
“ To one whose love for me shall last
When lighter passions long have past,
So holy’t is, and true;
To one whose love hath longer dwelt,
More deeply fixed, more keenly felt,
Than any owned by you.”
Each guest upstarted at the word,
And laid his hand upon his sword,
With fury Hashing eye;
And Stanley said : “ We crave the name,
Proud knight, of this most peerless dame,
Whose love you count so high.”
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head as though
To give that word its reverence due,
Ami gently said : “ My Mothku! ’’
THE LYING SERVANT.
-
PART THE FIRST.
FIUIERE lived in Suabia a certain lord,
1 pious, just and wise, to whose lot it fell*
t<> have a serving-man, a great rogue, and,!
above till, addicted to the vice of lying.— i
The name of the lord is not in the story,
therefore the reader need not trouble him
self about it.
The knave was given to boast of his won
drous travels, lie had visited countries
which are nowhere to be found in the map, i
ami seen things which mortal eye never be
held, lie would lie through the t'enty
fotir houis of the clock; for he dreamed
falsehoods in his sleep, to the t ruth of which :
In* swore when he was awake.
His lord was a cunning as well as virtu- <
ous man, and used to see the lies in the I
vai let's mouth, so that, the liar was often ’
caught hung as it were in his own untruths, I
as in a trap. i
Nevertheless he persisted still the more I
in his lies, and when any one said, “ How i
can that be ’ he would answer, with tierce j
oaths and protestations, swearing stone and '
bone that so it was; thus striving, as is the 1
wont ot liars, to cause himself to be believ- ■ ■
cd bv the vehemence of his oaths. j <
Yet was the knave useful in the house
hold, quick ami handy ; therefore he was
not disliked of his lord, though verily a
great liar.
It chanced, one pleasant day in spring,
after the rains had fallen heavily, and swol
leu much the floods, that the bird and the
knave rode out together, and their way
passed through a shady and silent forest.
Suddenly appeared an old and wa ll grown
fox. “Look?” exclaimed the master of
the knave, “ l<s»k. w hat a huge beast ! never
before have I seen a reynard so Large!
•• Both this beast surprise you by its
hugeness?” reidieth straight the serving
groom. easting his eyes slightingly on the
animal, as it tied for fear into the cover ot
the brakes; bv stone and bone,l have been
in a kingdom where the foxes are as big as
bulls in this ! ”
A BSIiIOO’OS ABH
Whereupon, hearing so vast a lie, the
lord answered calmly, but with mockery in
his heart, “In that kingdom there must be
excellent lining for the cloaks, if furriers
can there be found well to dress skins so
large I ”
And so they rode on—the lord in silence.
But soon he began to sigh heavily. Still
I he seemed to wax more and more sad in
spirit, and his sighs grew deeper and more
quick. Then inquired the knave of the
lord, what sudden affliction, or cause of sor
row, Lad happened.
“I trust in [leaven’s goodness that nei
ther of us two hath to-day, by any froward
ness of fortune, chanced to say the thing
which is not: for, assuredly, he who hath
so done must this day perish.”
The knave, on hearing these doleful
words, and perceiving real sorrow to be de
picted on the paleness of his master’s conn
tenance, instantly felt as if his ears grew
more wide, that not a word or a syllable
of so strange a discovery might escape his
troubled sense.
And so, with eager exclamation, he de
manded of the lord to ease his suspense,
and to explain why so cruel a doom was
now about to fall upon liars. “ Hear,
then, dear knave,” answered the lord to
the earnestness of his servant, “since thou
must needs know-, hearken, and may no
trouble come to thee from what I shall say.
“ To-day we ride far, and in our course
is a vast and heavy rolling flood, of which
the ford is narrow and the pool is deep.—
To it hath Heaven given the power of
sweeping down into dark holes all dealers
in falsehood, who may venture to put
themselves within its truth-loving current; ,
but to him who hath told no lie, there is no
fear of this river. Spur we our horses,
knave, for to-day our journey must be long.”
Then the knave said unto himself, “ Long
indeed must the journey be for some who
are now here!” And as he spurred, he
sighed more heavily and deeply than his
master had done before him. The lord still
went gayly on; nor ceased he to cry,
“Spur we on our horses, knave, for to-day
our journey must be long.”
PART THE SECOND.
As the lord and the serving man travel
lea on, tney came unto a brook. Its waters
were small, and its channel such as a boy
might leaj) across. Yet nevertheless the
knave began to tremble, and falteringly
asked, “ Is this now the river where harm
less liars must perish ? ’’
“This? ah no!” replied the lord, “no
liar need tremble here.”
Yet was the knave not wholly assured,
ami, stammering, he said, “ My gracious
lord, thy servant now bethinks him that he
to-day hath made a fox too huge. That of
which he spake was verily not so large as
an ox, but, stone and bone, as big as a good
sized roe ’ ”
Tin* lord replied, with wonder in his
tone, “ What of this fox concerneth me?—
If large or small, 1 care not. Spur we our
horses, knave, for today our journey must
be long.”
“ Long, indeed ! ” still said the serving
groom unto himself; and in sadness he
crossed the brook. Then came they to a
stream, running quickly through a green
i meadow, the stones showing themselves in
; many places above its frothy waters.
The vailct started, and cried aloud :
“Another river! surely of rivers there is
1 to-day no end. Was it of this thou talkedst
i heretofore 1 ”
“ No,” replied the lord, ” not, of this.”
And more he said not; yet marked he
with inward gladness his servant’s fear.—
“ Because in good truth,” rejoined the
knave, “ it is on mv conscience togivethee
note that the fox of which I spake was not.
bigger than a call !
“ Large or small, let me not be troubled
with thy fo.x ; the beast concerneth mo not I
at fill.”
As they quitted the wood, they perceiv
ed a river in the way, which gave signs of,
having been swollen Io the rains, and on it 1
was a boat. “This, thru, is the doom of!
liars,” said the knave, and he looked ear j
nest Iv towards the passage craft—“be in
formed, mv good lord, that reynard was |
not larger than a fat wedder sheep ! ”
The lord seemed angry, and answered, i
“This is not yet the grave of falsehood : I
whv torment mo with this fox ? Rather
spur we our horses, for we have far to go.’
“Slone and bone," said the knave unto
himself, “ the end of mv journey approach
es
Now the day declined, and the shadows
of the travelers lengthened on the ground
but darker than the twilight was the sad
ness on the face of the knive. And as the
wind rustled the trees, he ever and anon
turned pale, and inquired ot his master if
the noise were of a torrent or stream ot
water.
Still, as the evening ft ll_ his eves strove
to dis over the course of a winding river.
But nothing of the sort could he discern;
so that his spirits began to revive, and he
was fa n to join in discourse with the lord.
But the lord held his peace, and looked as
one who expects an evil thing.
Suddenly the way became deep, and they
descended into a low and woody valley, in
I n which was a broad aud black river.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MARCH 21, 1863.
i creeping fearfully along, like the dark
i stream of Lethe, without bridge or bark to
i be seen near.
i “Alas! alas!” cried the knave, and the
> anguish oozed from the pores of his pale
face. “Ah ! miserable me ! this then is
. the river in which liars must perish !”
I “ Even so,” said the lord; “ this is the
i stream of which 1 spake: but the ford is
■ strong and good for true men. Spur we
* our horses, knight, for night approacheth,
and we have yet far to go.”
“My life is dear to me,” said the trem
bling serving-man; “and thou knowest
that, w’ere it lost, my wife would be dis
consolate. In sincerity, then, I declarethat
the fox which I saw in the distant country
Wes - not larger than the one which fled from
us in the wood this morning!”
Then laughed the lord loud and said,
“ Ho, knave! wert thou afraid of thy life,
and will nothing cure thy lying? Is not
falsehood, which kills the soul, worse than
death, which has mastery over the body
only ? This river is no more than any i
other, nor hath it a pow er such as J feigned. ,
“The ford is safe, and the waters gentle ,
—~ > n
as those we have already passed ; but who
shall pass thee over the shame of this day?
In it thou must needs sink, unless penitence
come to help thee over, and cause thee to
look back on the gulf of thy lies as on a
danger from which thou hast been delivered
by Heaven’s grace.”
And as he railed against his servant, the
lord, rode on into the water, and both in
safety reached the opposite shore. Then
vowed the knave that from that time for
ward he would duly measure h : s words,
and glad was he so to escape.
Such is the story of the lying servant
and the merry lord; by which let the
reader profit.
SKETCHES FOR PRAYER-MEETINGS.
Return, ye backsliding children, and I will return
unto you.— .Ter. iii: 22.
The Apostle, in writing to the Hebrews,
says: “Take heed lest there be in any <>f I
you an evil heart of unbelief in departing
from the living God, but exhort one anoth
the deceitfulness of sin.” We are at all
times in danger from the deceivableness of
unrighteousness, and we ever have need to
be guarded against backsliding—a sin of
the heart, a departing from the Lord, and
the sin by which many are hardened against
the Lord. It is a prevalent si.i —one which
easily besets each of us at all times ; it is a
. great sin, and the fruitful parent of many
sins.
1. The nature of the sin of backliding.—
It is going back from engagements volun
tarily made; it is transferring our affections
from the one to whom already they are due
pledged. Hence it is linked to the
icrime of breaking wedlock—“ Asa wife
'treacherously departeth from her husband,
so have ye dealt treacherously with me.”
il. 7’Ac greatness of it.— lt is aggravated
by its being the result of the love of sin.—
It is not from provocation that the heart
forsakes God—much less is it from neces
1 i sity. but w holly out of love of sin. It pro
! coeds from a corrupt affection ; it is return
ing back to the feelings of our impenitence.
> As the man who has laid aside intemperate
habits resumes his destructive habits be
cause of his hankering after accustomed in
diligence, so the backslider is moved by the |
desire for w hat he has renounced to turn i
away from (rod. Its criminality is increased
I by its being a decided preference of sin to
I holiness—of the world to God. As the wife
I who had been received back and forgiven
I by the husband whom she had despised]
land dishonored, would be deserving of infa
imy and neglect should she again prove
false, so the believer w ho has been forgiven
’ and reinstated in God’s favor, has no palli
prtion of the monstrous crime of loving the ■
[creature more than the Creator.
11l The danger of it.— lst. It is a secret
sin. We do not readily suspect ourselves
of it, and we are slow to believe it can ex
ist in us. Conscience warns us not to speak
out loudly—but of the obedience of the
heart, it feels slightly of the obligation, and
‘ hardly at all of the sinfulness of its neglect, I
j Like a deep-seated disease, it may long
have preyed upon us—but no eye perceives
it. and we are loth to credit its existence.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
Herein is our danger.
21. Lt is the fruit of sin.— lt is not mat
ter of direct consciousness as a desire ; it is
the etlvc’ ot evil desires upon the soul, and
as we do n >t, except our attention be spe
dally called, notice the silent, gradual and
, | uniform efleets produced upon ourselves,
i w e are in great danger of being completely
, I hardened through the deeeitfulness of sin.
When the heart is set upon a thing, other
matters of far higher importance will be
neglected, and we shall not even notice our
neglect.
3d. It is the fruitful parent of sin.— As
it springs from the cherished love of sin, it
unfits the heart for spiritual obedience, eith
er the performance of it or delight in it.
It indisposes the mind to reflection in re
gard to God ; it benumbs the conscience;
it makes all religious services barren and
burdensome: it views them as barriers to
worldly pleasures and allowable indulgen
ces. It renders the preaching of the word
ineffectual, making the heart like the beaten
way-side; it causes careless hearing, filling
the mind with thoughts and desires of other
things. It excites to vain attempts to gain
relief—to the putting away of serious
thoughts, frequenting unprofitable compa
ny, immersing one’s self in business, and
talking in a forced, trifling or wicked way.
It especially disposes one to go very far to
hide his convictions, and to make his for
mer conduct forgotten. It makes the re
turn of God very difficult—it awakens the
feeling of pride and false shame—it occu
pies the heart, and makes every step seem
wearisome, and discourages from hoping in
Christ.
It is the unsuspected parent and
patr' ii of false and blameable zeal in reli
gious matters. It causes the “ backslider
in heart ” to make great outcry against the
coldness of the brethren and the lukewarm
ness and inefficiency of the preacher—to«
declaim on the hardening effect of the com
mon way of preaching—to insist upon the
need of having a more devoted minister
called in, and having more powerful meth
od adopted to awaken sinners. In real
backsliding, it begins to call for a more ve
hement style of preaching and praying. It
is to cover tKa ( „.:ii. c i ' . • -
... appointed means by seeming the
most earnest in all. It was Satan who (
wished to purjje the ancient Church of con
cealed hypocrites, and he singled out Job
to begin with; and many backsliders— ,
perhaps apostates— feelingly complain of
the coldness of the one and the lifelessness
of the other, while they themselves, in re
alitv, are “ neither c»ld nor hot! ” “ having
the form of godliness,” and determined, by
the strenuous opposition to the coldness
and formality of others, to free themselves
from all suspicion of having in heart drawn
back from the living God. True zeal hum
bles itself, but false zeal is very earnest to .
humble others: true zeal blames itself for
all its defeats —false zeal blames those who
preach and those who priy, as the sole
causes of its failure in duty.
Reflect, God calls upon you to return to
Him. You owe it to Him —but He adds,
to encourage you and to allure you, “ I will
return unto you.” Is it thus we act when
we are injured and our confidence betray
ed ? Are we not cold, waiting till the of
fender sues for pardon, till he shows hearty I
sorrow, and even then unwilling and fearful
to put reliance upon him ? Let this gra
cioustiess of (Jud quicken our sense of our
sin, and move us to a speedy return.
Return with your whole hearts; return ,
as you camo at the first, repenting, amend-1
ing, inquiring your duty ; return with full
purpose of heart to cleave to the Lord ; re
turn humbly, relying on the promises.—
i And He. will return unto you with mercies, I
—with His pure mercies of forgiveness, of 1
| grace, and of comfort.
Reflect, here lies your misery. Your
sins separate between you and your God.
. Return, 0 ye backsliding children, and Z|
will return unto you.
— +
z-w /» . 1 I
Spirit! al Desertion. —Some of the
best men in all ages have suffered a tempo
rary suspension of Divine enjoyments,!
Jobxxix. 2; Ps. li ; Isa. xlix. 14 ; Lam.,
iii. 1 ; La. i. 10. The causes of this must i
not be attributed to the Almighty, since
He s always the same, but must arise
from ourselves. Neglect of duty, improp-1
l er views of Providence, self confidencj, a
worldlv spirit, luke-w ermness of mind, in-j
attention to the means of grace or open
may l>e considered as lead
in.r to this state. As all things however,'
are under the Divine control, so even de i
\er6on, or, as it is sometimes expressed in
Ser pture, “ the hidings of God's face,' may
be isefiil to excite humility, exercise faith
and patience, detach u* from the world,
prompt to more vigorous action, bring us
to look more to God as the fountain of hap
piness, conform us to His word, and in
crease our desires for that blessedness
1 which is to come.
KEE P ME AWAKE, MOTHER.
BY Mas. M. W. STRATTON.
Forward! oh forward! time stays not his flight,
I m older, and wiser, and sadder to-night;
Mother, dear mother, I see thee no more,
But watch me, oh watch me again as of yore ; ■
Let me not slumber, but gaze on life’s cares
With the look of defiance a. wairlor wears;
Once more to thy bosom a weary one take—
Keep me awake, mother, keep me awake.
I’m tired of earth, and I’m tired of life—
I|,s unfulfilled hopes—its profitless strife;
Still must I onward, my destiny calls,
Tho’ troubles betide, or danger appalls;
My li.e-pa.th is covered with gloom and decay,
But let me not falter or sleep by the way ;
Os glory and honor a name let me make—
Keep me awake, mother, keep me awake.
Give me stern power of frame and of soul
To meet all the troubles that over me roll;
Let me not murmur, tho’ working I be
I'or those whom I see not, or never may see;
Let me plant trees, tho’ they flourish and bloom
When I am away in*a far-off tomb ;
For those wi>o are coming, care let me take—
Keep me awake, mother, keep me awake.
Dreams of my childhood have faded or flown,
Objects I cherished repulsive have grown ;
All things seem fleeting, no pleasure endures,
But mother, dear mother, the same lot was yours;
Such dreaming, such mourning - , hoping and trust,
Such crumbling of air-built castles to dust;
Bravely as thou didst, my part let me take—
Keep me awake, mother, keep me awake.
Awake to my duties, awake to my trust,
Let me do my task bravely, if toil I must;
But sometimes, oh sometimes, in dreams let me be
The child again, mother, who slept on your knee ;
Wipe out for a moment my story of life,
Its struggles, its sorrows, follies and strife;
Some season of pleasure, of rest, let me take—
Then wake me, my mother, oh, keep me awake.
And mother, dear mother, when life’s nearly o’er,
And God calls me home to “the echoless shore,”
My task are all done, aud my busy brain still,
And I have no longer a power or will—
Oh, then, blessed Spirit, oh, then hover near,
And smooth from my brow the dark shadows of (
fear;
Then linger near, mother, to watch and to weep, 1
Then ‘rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.’ ’
From Rev. Dr. Howe’s Sermon before ;
the State Bible Convention of South Caro- ,
lina. (Pages 21 and 22.) (
“Fifteen hundred years, till John closed
the canon with the Apocalypse, and sealed (
up the prophecy, did God continue from (
time to time to reveal His will, and move ,
men to write it down. No less than from
thirty-five to forty men whose names are
mostly known, wielded the pen under the
Holy Spirit’s guidance, and have given us
a book of various contents: laws, histories,
psalms, proverbial philosophy, prophecies,
biography, epistles. They were men of
‘various tastes and tempers of mind. They
were priests, poets, prophets, warriors,
herdsmen, fishermen, scholars. They wrote
in the deserts, in the schools of the proph
ets, in the temple, in the courts of kings,
in Western and Central Asia, amid Grecian
and Roman civilization. They wrote in
purest simplicity, in strains of unutterable
tenderness, and again with a stately and
magnificent march of thought and lan
guage, in gorgeous imagery, in awful sub
limity.
“ The Bible, therefore, is a book of end
less variety, of undying freshness, of con
stant surprises, of which, if we enter into
its spirit, we never tire. It. is written, for
the most part, in two remarkable tongues,
the Hebrew’, full of passion, full of feeling,
and full of movement and life; and the
Greek exact,*copious, and eminently suit
ed t<> convey definite and clear views of ab
stract and philosophic truth. The one was
the language, fi>r the most part, of a pas
toral people, of limited domain, suited to
receive a Divine revelation, while it was to
be perpetuated and held in reserve till He
who should stretch forth the rod of His
strength from Zion, and carry forth truth
unto victory, should come; the other, a
language more diffused over the
civilized world, through which the truth
] could reach men of many races, in one .
\ generation.
‘ The Bible is equally interesting for the
1 opposition it has encountered. The power
ful and the weak have risen up against it.
Learning has sought among its ample stores
to prove its declarations at fault, philoso-
phy, with her boasted discoveries, to prove
it inconsistent. It has shamed its enemies
and sent them" back to correct their facts
and harmonize their testimony. It has
been ridiculed, insulted, torn and burned.
But it still lives, and exerts its blessed
power upon the world. We regard it with
i that curiosity and veneration with which
i we view the battlements cf some renowned
TERMS — Three Dollars a-year.
city which has sustained siege after siege,
and remains unconquered. It has, in turn,
assailed its assailants, and ground them to
powder. In every attack upon it, they
have been vanquished.”
The Sterner Aspects of Providence.
The light that shines from heaven never
strikes and charins us more than when seen
in contrasts with the darkness of men.—
Phis, which holds true preeminently in the
sphere of grace, holds true as well in the
sphere of providence. God, who is “ the
King of glory ” both in the work of eternal
salvation and in the government of this
present world, is best known, perhaps is
known at all, only as He lifts Jlis veil and
suffers us to catch glimpses of His faqe.—
Where He withholds this manifestation of
Himself, night envelopes even the loftiest
mind—-clouded, rayless night.
Take a case in point. Tacitus, the histo
rian of the era’from Galba to Domitian, —
an era, as he represents it, “full of misfor
tunes, atrocious wars, discord, seditions; -
nay, hideous even in peace,”—says, “Nev
er by more grievous miseries of the Roman
people, or more just tokens of divine dis
pleasure, was it proved that the gods wish
not our welfare, but revenge?’
Such was the stern, repulsive aspect of
providence to the subtlest intellect of an
cient Rome. An appalling scene where
Divine revenge trode down all human wel
fare in hopelessness and agony !
But when we turn to Holy Scripture,
how different the spectacle that greets and
gladdens the eye ! The Son of God, who
is also the Saviour of mankind, has been
constituted “the Head of all principality
and power,” that He might execute the
work of salvation; and whatever is done
•• tn'Aro smti’i be Irrear
ing, The kingdoms of this world are become
the kingdoms of our Lord and of His
Christ,and He shall reign forever and ever.”
If God now “overturns, overturns, over
turns,” “ removing the diadem, and taking
off the crown,” it is preparatory to the time
when “ He shall come whose right it is”—
He into whose hand, the hand once nailed
to the cross for us and therefore most wor
thy to wield the sceptre over us, all things
have been given. If He smites the earth
with the rod of His mouth, if with the
breath of II is lips He slays the wicked, He
does it in the interest of His Son, of whom
the prophecy and promise is, “With
righteousness shall He judge the poor, and
reprove with equity for the meek of the
earth.”
In all this there is no divine revenge, but
faithfulness rather, working out the purpo
ses of mercy—no disregard of human wel
fare, but rather its only sure protection
against the malice and cunning of the evil
one. Even in its sterner aspects, provi
dence is but the minister of Holy I ove,
making straight the path of the Son of Man
to universal opinion; putting the nations
under 7/is yoke who alone “hath power up
on earth to forgive sins,” —(which is but
another form of saying that He alone has
power truly to bless mankind.) This is the
“light shining in a dark place,” which Tac
itus never knew. This clears away the
clouds which hindered him from seeing,
under the guise of public commotions and
national calamities, the hand of God “stem
ming the torrent of a downward age,” in
the method most conducive to His own
glory and the highest ultimate well-being
I of our races.
Such trains of thought are apposite to the
present emergency. Sorely as we have
suffered, still more sorely as we may be
called to suffer, let us remember that God
wishes not revenge, but our welfare. What
ever may be the purpose of our enemies, or
our own purpose, die designs this war for
the promotion of the kingdom of Christ.—
Shall we not patiently bear up, therefore,
under its adversities? Shall we, with weak
timidity, shrink from endurance in such a
cause? As soldiers of the Cross, never —
never.
g * ♦ *
Philosophy makes us wiser, Christianity
makes us better; philosophy elevates and
steels the mind, Christianity softens and
sweetens it. The former makes us the
object of human admiration, the latter of
Divine love. That insures us a temporal,
but this an eternal happiness.
NO. 18.
