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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.