Newspaper Page Text
TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS.
per
VOLUME XXXIX., NO. 27.
Original |)oetnj.
001).
“W U it ifi His niimr, or wbat is His Sou’s name
i‘ Hjou cxn’ftt teli Proy. xxx 4.
* When I attempt to give the power which I
see iu the universe u objective or personal
form, it. -li..s from me,-—its mastery oversh*-
do sine” ‘ We know uot its origin, we know
not its end.”—Prof. Tyndal.
'I :*<* Godhead has its trinitv,
r J 'e- Father, Son, and Spirit three;
1 iree attributes Ilis es-ence shows
I all that from His presence flows;
Jl>* power infiuite appears—
O uo'poient through endless years,
I nil the universe displayed,
I-i all the works that He hath
lf active, He all motion gives
r l > all that moves, and all that lives.
Ti.e worlds that in their glories shine,
Proclaim His skill—His thought divine,
1) tt-ign with all His power blends,
S curing wise results and ends;
By laws of order—to His mind
Doth systems to their centres bind !
A l lore* s k* ep His wi.4* coaiui,.uds,
And show the reius are in His hinds:
The suns and planets as they flame
Spi 11 wisdom for their author’s name.
His majesty we see,—we fear
A God to great—so wise—so near!
W hate’er He is,—He is t<> me—
T thee o’erwhelmed by my&tery.
Of His creutive work and art,
I feel, I know 1 urn a part;
i mu—ch whence, if not from God ?
Was not—am now—yet more than clod,
1 think, I feel, hav*- joy and woe—
Oh mystery—who made me* so?
M y failing fl sh I know must die,
Mv inwar.t relf responds “Not I;”
It’s life is j >y of ecmscious thought—
Abhors the “not to be’*—the nought,
Its active pow’rs take ou no rust,
And loathe inert decay and du-t;
The toi! of thought is vital breath—
It needs not re t • f sleep in death;
Oh matti r - mind,—whate’er I be,
This “Ego** isam steryl
“A spark divine*’—a thinking beam —
A world— a universe I seem,
Of harmonies and discords wrought,
Ol passion, feel ng, and of th* ught.
Of depths, aud heights I do not know
Unfathomed )et., of bliss or woe;
Two hemispheres of I’ght and shade,
Two ‘selves* of gt>od and evil made,
A peopled world 1 seem to dwell
At racted—drawn twixt heaven and hell;
The living shadow of some good,
That I would copy if I could,
The shadow of some dreadful ill
That draws m< down with potent will.
What am I then is mystery.
Vet something says ‘ 1 shall not die”—
Too gr< at for a>h sand for earth;
I feel 1 have immortal worth—
To Him who did my value give.
And called me forth and bade me live.
I’i.-i not a b> ast,--a thing—a clod,
1 Min a tnought—a world from God;
But if I’m not what. I would be—
M\ no kerV *li.e.ght is mu pd iii me;
The perfect good, I can conceive—
In God *tis found I must believe;
The great—the wise of God’s own thought
In me it’s shadow well are wrought;
But oh where all Ilis thoughts should meet
The good alas is not complete;
His will must ever good design,
But evil binds in bondage mine.
How cau He give His creatures grace.
Whose blasted image grieves His face?
The thunders roar Ilis awful name,
And set inv conscience all aflame;
Where shall I hide—where shall 1 go?
Wl o shall m<* hope and comfort show?
No! tra-'on nor philosophy—
They or ly answer—mystery!
They lienr ttie dreadful thunders roll,
hut giv* no counsel for the soul;
Tuy (tod —thy soul - we never saw,
“There is no (tod"—hut force and law.
Wise sages they who ask believe
Wh-t even fools cannot receive!
Who only oil, r for our hopes.
The molecules of microscopes.
And promise yet perchance to show
The atom—God we wish to know;
'tin germ of life primordial -
The God—our great original.
Thank God, there is a surer word,
By faith’s internal organ heard!
From Sinai’s brow of smoke a dame,
Our God declared His awful name;
Ami left in stone His wise commands—
The finger-prints of His own hands.
And O ivet, and Calvary
Repeat anew the mystery.
And oft 11 s voices from above,
Declare Ills name—“the God of love”
(Hi no, not He—“unknowable,”
Though He be love ineffable.
His Spirit writes with beuv'nly art
His love— His law upon the heart,
And now poor soul thy doubts give o’er !
Thy f. *ars be gone—rejoice—adore
This God,—thy God—the trinity
Perfection and infinity
Of power, wisdom, aud of love —
Thy Father throned in light above !
Oil man, proud man whose wisdom shows
H w much unknowable knows!
lfGijjl wouid'st know- then read His books —
The minors where His glory looks:
Turn nature's folio-pages fair.
And read the secrets written there.
Se .roll all thou cun’st and analyse—
Compare—com bine—philosophise,
With lens, retoit, and crucible,-
Give wholes from parts inducible;
By fusion and alchemic te-t,
Try earths, and rocks, and all the test—
Try heights, and depths, aud ocean’s chasms.
For zooids, aid protoplasms;
Turn nature’s bowels wri ngside out,
For facts to solve Ihv dreadful doubt;
Rad more thyself- thy mighty mind
Thg letter press bv God disigued;
R* ad all thou eau’st without—within,
Thy conscience, and thy fears of sin;
Then doubt no moie—or doubting aught.
Bay nothing is, or all is naught;
Retd all thou can’.-t by reason’s light,
And then if groping still in night—
Oh read one blessed volume more,
And learn it’s author to adore!
Let reason search, explore this field,
Aid see thy G**d indeed revealed;
With all reseaieh that science brings,
Stek here and find tho-e hiddi n things—
The “things unset d,”— for faith to hold,
The things no other books unfold.
Or doubling still, disdain God’s books,
And gravely say “1 will not loos !”
Thy doub's, and consequent unrest,
Shall be my argument the best;
Tin reason scorns you with a laugh,
Because you will not read the half
That God has given men to know—
To solve their doubts, and solve tbeir woe.
W. P. R.
After a refreshing shower, which has made
all the flowers to smile till the tear drops of
joy stand in their eyes, you will see your
garden paths spotted over with slogs and
snails. These creatures lay concealed till
the genial rain called them forth to their
slimy way toward whatsoever they might de
vour. After this fashion, revivals, of neces
sity. develop hypocrites ; yet who would de
plore the shower because of the snails, and
who would rail at times of refreshing be
cause mere pretenders are excited to make
a base profession of a grace to which they
are strangers ? — Spurgeon.
||o§fiertt/ VPigjjfon
Contributions.
ON THE PARENTS OF BAD CHILDREN.
Among those to whom the Bible has given - '
an immortal ty of infamy, are ihe two sons of
Eli. Scripture is silent concerning the moth
er of those gourmands and debauchees. She
may have died while those sacril’gious sin
ners were of tender age; or she was one of
those weak, characterless women, who exert
no influence at all, whose guilt arses mainly
from sins of omissions. The author of the
first book of Samuel gives us only an outline
of the charact r of Eli; but that outline is
drawn with a bold, firm, skillful hand, so
that it is easy to fill up the masterly sketch,
and obtain a perfect picture, a life-like like
ness. *
There are two solemn and weighty thoughts
suggested by the contemplation of Eli’s life
and character. One is, that a man may be
faithful in the per'orraance of t6e highest and
most sacred offices, and yet be utterly,woful
ly, unfaithful, in regard to hi. obligations as
parel-t. Another is. titat a!' ttfs dermrt and
scrupulous fidelity in the one department of
duty, will not avail to excuse or extenua e
his delinquency in the other. E,i was faith
ful as the high priest, but wretchedly un
faithful as a father: he was faithful in the
temple, but shamefully unfaithful in his home:
his “heart trembled for the atk of God,”
while it was exposed to the chances of bat
tle, but “his sons made themselves vile, and
he restrained them not.” The piety of the
priest did not compernate for the iniquity of
parent; but upon the hoary head of the man,
the priest, the parent, there fell a punish
ment, so sudden, so signal, so dreadful, that
it made “ both the ears of every one that
heard it tingle.” The blackening cloud at
last burst with awful fury upon the spreading
tree, tearing it up by the roots, and scatter
ing its branches.
\Y r e could not o’t-iina clearer insight into
the character of that devout priest and de
fective parent, than is a flu del by the exam
pie, the sacred wri'er gives, of the sort of
reproofs he administered to his abominable
sons. He was so considerate, so courteous,
so mil l, s i eweet! Fie cast pe iris before
those swine with such exquisite grace. He
was so caret.l not to offend thp profligate
wretches. He must not resort to the least
harshness : he must piously refrain from se
verity. We cannot perceive any indication
ever of earnestness in the gentle expostula
tion. By gratifying their lewd and glutton
ous appetites, in the most public and shame
less manner, under the very eve of ihi-ir fath
er, those filthy and daring sinners provoked
God to destroy them with a sudden stroke;
and yet how does he reprove those repro
batvs ? Nay, my nous; for it is no good re
port that I hear : ye make the Lord s people
to transgress. Such a reproof for such crimes
as those sons committed, fills the soul with
disgui! and indignation.
It is such parents as Eli who give coior
to that proverbial slander concerning the
children of pious people, especially of minis
ters of the gospel. Prayer without precept
possesses but small power; nor will prayer,
precept, and practice combined, avail much
iu ifc.- U'uililUft of iUJ-re.., wl.uu fRj stroGg
hand of authority, and the wise, firm, exer
cise of government are wanting. When God
determined to destroy the cities of the plain,
he revealed his secret purpose, to Abraham,
because, he said, “ I know him, that he will
command his children, and his hou ehold af
ter him.” It was just here that Eli failed.
He did not command and enforce obedience
and submission to parental authority, and
his sons made their wills and whims their
law, and while piqueing themselves on their
manhood and freedom, were brought in thral
dom to the vile and mighty passions of their
degraded nature.
The priestly line of Eli long ago became
extinct, but the continuity of the parental
line has remained unbrokeu. If pragmatic
prelatists could furnish as strong proof of
the integrity of their line, as we have of un
interrupted parental succession, from the
father of those villianous sons, we should be
obliged to embrace their dogma. “Why do
ye such things ? * * * Nay, my sons ; for
it is no good report that I hear.”
This is the spirit of the reproofs received
by many a heedless, headstrong child. There
is no assertion of authority, no possitiveness,
no firmness, no judicious severity. Compul
sion is not to be thought of; punishment is
cruelty; any show of force is brutal. The
refractory offender must be reasoned with,
persuaded, diverted ; or else coaxed, hu
mored, gratified. Smiles are used in place
of frowns; mildness, when sharpness is loud
ly demanded; words, when the rod is the
only corrective. If that land is in a woful
case whose king is a child, so also is thai
home in which a child rules the parents.
The quiet of such a home is liable at any
moment to be disturbed, far it is subject to
the changeful humors of its little master. I
have seen both parents, and all the grown
persons of a house, unite their efforts to ap
pease the causeless wrath, and hush the tear
less screams of a child, who had but recently'
been removed from the order of sucklings.
The harder they tried, the louder he squalled,
until at last exhausted by his own violence,
“tired nature’s sweet restort r,” kindly came
to their relief.
At pains to cultivate the self-will and sel
fishness of a child, those noxious qualities
grow with increasing rankness all through
each successive stage of life, until the soil ot
the heart, and its very atmosphere, is so
charged with the deadly poisou, that every
green and fragrant thing withers, and every
good seed dropped there perishes. Such
qualities, like hot-houses and fertilizers in
the vegetable world, force the development
of the moral na'ure, and we have character
in full maturity while body and mind have
scarcely reached the period of adolescence
We have a-man in strength of desire, in firm
ness of purpose, iu eager persistence, in in
tense individuality, in boldness and imperi
ousness ; but the desire is inflamed by un
worthy objects, the firmness in obstinacy, the
persistence is in the wrong direction, the in
dividuality is conceit, the boldness is arro
gance, the imperiousness is impertinence.
When all vicious traits are in the full vigor
ot lustly life, how idle in the.unfaithful pa
rent to hope that any good will be accom
plished by such mild apologetic reproofs as
E i administered to his profliga'e sons. One
had as well lash a mule wi h a whip of paper
twine, when he has made up his mind not to
go ; or attempt to kill nut-grass by planting
lillies among that irrepres ible nuisance ; or
expect to hush the howling storm by whist
ling. It is too late when the evil impulses,
■ dispo-itions, aid passions, have become
! transmuted into habits, and become iucor-
I porated into character, —too late then even
I to check and restrain. The weak indulgence,
! the stupid indifference, the lazy neglect, the
morbid sufferance, the woful compliance,
will cause him some day to realise his utter
PUWjiIED BY J. W. BURKE & COMPANY, FOR THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, SOUTH.
helplessness, and exhort from Wk anguished
soul, the bitter humiliating acknowledgment,
“ these men, ihe sons of Zeruiah he too hand
for me." B.
Fernandina Fla.
CHOICE POETRY.
I Some readers may be interested in the fob
tfrt ving extract. It is takeu from a Note, by
Profits'’ayler Lewis. in the Life of Eliphalet
Noth Prof. Lewis says, his version is an
attempt to bring this passage nearer to the
original in its force, by making it more like
it in its form. He adds, “Aside from its di
vine vehemence of warning, we must say,
that for vivid painting, there is nothing equa]
to it in the choicest citations from the Greek
Anthology.” The verses are numbered as
in the Bible.
29. To whom is alas?
To whom is oh me?
To whom are strifes?
To whom remorseful muttering?
To whom are causeless wounds?
To whom the bloodshot eye ?
30. To them that stay late at the wine ;
To them who seek’ the milled drirk.
81, look not on the wine with V,s ruby-blush:
When it showeth its eye irr the cup .-
Wheu it walks(o’er the lips) so pleasantly.
32. At its end, like the serpent it bites:
Like the venomous adder it stings.
33. Strange visions thine eye shall behold,
Wild ravings thy heart shall utter;
34. As one who lies down on the heart of the
deep;
Who sleeps on the top of the mast.
35. They smite me : no hurt do I feel;
Tiny pound me : but nought do I know.
Oh ! when shall I awake,
To seek it yet again ?
The learned professor adds a few exegili
cal remarks. One or two of them may in
terest the reader. “The words rendered woe
and sorrow in the common version, (verse
29) are interjections. Verse 30. Strange
visions ; the common version has strange
women, but without any such word in the
original, and with little or no authority. It
simply means strange things; they are Ihe
horrid sights of the drink-madness, or deli
rium tremens. Verse 35. They smite me.
The Hebrew form of the verb allows a ren
dering in the present, which is more vivid
and pictorial. The language following is in
consistent, but true to the reality, as coming
from a half dreaming, semi-conscious state.”
The above description of “a drunken man”
is uurivalied in literature, ancient or modern.
And 1 was lately struck by the graphic pic
ture of the “ village drinking house," in
the tenth Psalm. What hidden beauties, a
linquist, like Tayler Lewis, could find in it,
are past my finding out. But even in onr
common version you see vividly, the “burly
publican” in his den, spreading his snares,
b. He sitteth in the lurking places ot the
villages ;
In the secret places, doth he murder the
innocents:
His eyes are privily set against the poor.
9. lie lieth iu wait secretly, as a lion in his
den ;
He lietr. in waft to catch the poor:
iie do h catch the poor, when he draw
eth him into his net.
10. He croucheth and humbleth himself,
That the poor may fall by his strong ones.
11. He hath said in his heart, God hath for
gotten :
lie hideth his face, He will never see it.
TO esc , -lit.- -Tui will
furnish fine material for a warning to those
exposed to these snares. Will the reader
use them for this purpose ? Jay.
EDITORIAL RIGHTS, ALIAS DEATH
TO (OKKKSI’ON DENTS.
This grave question is eloquently and In
cidly discussed in a late issue of the South
ern Christian Advocate. After reading it
we thought of rights in general, and rights
in particular—inherent rights, inalienable
rights—encroachments on the rights of the
crown, and came to the conclusion from that
three-fold editorial deliverance, that, when
the rights of editors, subscribers, and read
ers are established, there remain no more
rights— at least none for correspondents.
It is reasonable to suppose that editorial
obligations and duties are involved in per
plexities, as well as other pursuits in life,
especially other public positions. How
ever, when they occupy the place of prose
cutor, witness, jury, judge, and hangman,
or rather burner, it might be asked, What
other rights have they? After all this, these
“genial” and “naturally amiable” editors
not questioning their rights in the matter,
continue fearlessly to torture these disap
pointed and sensitive correspondents in a
sort of purgatorial fires, fanned by “ em
phatic ” editorial deliverances. Admitting
that correspondents have no rights, what
good can come of these repeated editorial
scoldings ? Will they lead the sensitive and
disappointed correspondents to acknowl
edge the infallibility of editorial judgment ?
The opinion that we have heard generally
expressed in reference to editorial criticisms,
both of the secular and religious press, is
unfavorable. We mean people generally re
gard it in bad taste for one who occupies a
literary position to be severe in his criti
cisms on those who make no such preten
tions. It. is like an armed man bullying
over one unarmed.
Grant, it, that editors sincerely desire to
do the best they can for their papers, so as
to make them acceptable, popular, and use
ful. Do not correspondents desire the
same? Certainly ; it is uncharitable to judge
otherwise. While the editor views, from
his more favorable standpoint, the entire
field, yet, the correspondent may have a
better opportunity to know the particular
demands of a small locality; and a little at
tention here would not damage the general
interest, and iu the end might result in
great good.
Again, we say it is uncharitable and un
just to make such editorial allusions. The
correspondent may be as free from personal
ambition and egotism as “genial” and
“naturally amiable” editors. Those in
humble places are not always destitute of
judgment and fidelity to a good cause. To
estimate the worth of such men and the
places they fill is the work of great minds.
Herein are the great qualities of the general
discovered, as he makes the humblest sol
dier in he ranks efficient.
Without calling special attention to the
animus of “ gagging the press,” “ abuse of
free speech,” and such like naturally amia
ble deliverances, we pass on ; and attempt
to call up a few of the trials, not to say
rights, of a correspondent.
Once upon a time we wrote a long article
—we thought it of pretty general interest.
When it reached the editor it was declined.
We did not think he did it because of dis
like to the writer nor to the composiiion.
The communica'ion was sent as though it
had never been sent elsewhere before, to an
editor of equal ab li*y perhaps, and to a pa
per of much wider circulation ; and it was
accepted and published. Not a line was
ever written to the editor, calling him to
account for declining to publish the paper.
Yet, the rejected contributor worked on for
the paper. Again, on another occasion, we
MACON, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JULY 4, IS7C.
sent two communications to the paper at the
same time; alse of liitie interest to the
Church, ad the other, as we thought, of
great aud vital interest. This last mentioned
was not published, the other was. The
matter was made public at a proper time,
and accomplished about perhaps the tenth
part of the good to the Church, that would
.have been accomplished by its publication
through the paper, the regular organ of the
Church.
Sometimes there are matters regarded by
the wise and good Us worthy of publication ;
friends asking for the publication ; secular
papers offering to publish them. The cor
respondent knowing that to publish in secu
lar papers would divert interest from the
Church periodicals ; that it would indicate a
want of respect for him by those in charge
of the Church papers, or that it would show
disaffection ou his part toward the Church
papers. We close by saying that we have
been in the main very kindly treated by ed
itors. They have done us great kindness by
suppressing portions of communications.
For instance, utioe we forwarded a commu
nication, and lifter it was sent off we r#
gretted that a certain part of it had ndt been
stricken out. We dreadddUq see the paper.
To our joy, when it appeared, the judicious
editor had eliminated every objectionable
word, and really we were tight well pleased
with him for his kindness. At another time
we sent to the office a communication en
cumbered with some things we did not so
well approve. After waiting a little while
the editor wrote us the article would be out
that week, and he hoped we would not
think hard if one or two things did not ap
pear. When the paper came, we felt ob
liged for the stroke or two made by the ed
itor’s pen through those faulty lines in the
communication. Let no one think that we
would in the least encroach upon the right
ful domains of an editor, “ Nor set down
aught in malice.” Timotuy.
JUDAS ISCARIOT.
Mr. Editor: It is a question difficult to
solve, why, in the full, clear foresight of the
treachery of Judas Iscariot, the Saviour
chose him to be an Apostle. There is a
great deal of light shed on this mysterious
subject iu the article on Judas Iscariot in
McClintoek and Strong’s Cyclopaedia ; which,
by the way, is an invaluable repository of
ecclesiastical and theological knowledge. I
am sorry that I cannot condense into proper
limits for a newspaper article extracts in
reference to the character and history of
Judas previous to his betrayal of the Master ;
the motives that influenced him to do it; and
the efforts which Christ made directly and
indirectly to convict him of his sinful state
of heart and change it before he committed
the fearful deed. I would advise all who
desire information on this subject to read
the entire article, if they can procure the
above mentioned work. After stating the
reasons given by C.ilvin, Nennder. and oth
ers, colurtd by their peculiar doctrinal views,
the author states the jnactical reasons of
the choice contained in the subjoined extract,
which I send you for publication, if in the
exercise of your editorial discretion you
think it worthy of a place in your columns.
37 a. Bryan.
Long Cane, June 15, 1870.
“ Important reasons of a practical kind,
we may feel sure, were not wanting for the
procedure, and they are not very far to seek-
The presence of such a false friend in the
company of His immediate disciples was
needed, first of all, to complete the circle of
Christ’s trials and temptations. Jle could
not otherwise have known by personal expe
rience some of the sharpest wounds inflicted
by human perverseness and ingratitude, nor
exhibited His superiority to the evil of the
world in its most offensive forms. But for
the deceit and treachery of .1 udas He would
would not have been in all things tempted
like His brethren. Then thus only could
the things undergone by His great proto
type David find their proper counterpart in
Him who was to enter into David's heritage,
and raise from the dust David’s throne. Of
the things written in the Psalms concerning
Him—written there as derived from the
depths of David's sore experience andshv-p
conflict with evil, but destined to meet agafh
in a still greater than he—few have more
affecting prominence given to them than
those which relate to the hardened wicked
ness, base treachery, and reprobate condi
tion of a false friend, whose words were
smooth as butter, but whose actions were
drawn swords, who ate of his meat, but lift
ed up the heel against him. Other prophe
cies also, especially two in Zaehariah (x:
12, 13; xiii: 6,) waited for their accom
plishment in such a course of ingratitude
and treachery as that pursued by Judas.
Further, the relation in which this false, but
ungenial and sharp-sighted disciple stood to
the rectitude of Jesus, afforded an impor
tant reason for his presence and agency. It
was well that those who stood at a greater
distance from the Saviour failed to discover
any fault in him; that none of them, when
the hour of trial came, could convict Him
of sin, though the most watchful inspec
tion had been exercised, and ttie most
anxious efforts had been made to enable
them to do so. But it was much more that
even this bosom friend, who had been privy
to all His counsels, and had seen Him in
His most unguarded moments, was equally
incapable of finding any evil in Him ; he
could betray Jesus to His enemies, but he
could furnish these enemies with no proof of
His criminality ; nay, with the bitterness of
death in his soul, he went back to testify to
them that, in delivering up Jesus, he had
betrayed innocent blood. What more con
clusive evidence could the world have had
that our Lord was without spot and blame
less? Finally, the appearance of such a
person as Judas among the immediate at
tendants of Jesus was needed as an example
of the strength of human depravity—how it
can lurk under the most sacred professions,
subsist in the holiest company, live and grow
amid the clearest light, the most solemn
warnings, the tenaerest entreaties, and the
divinest work. The instruction afforded by
the incarnation and public ministry df the
Son of God would not have been complete
without such a memorable exhibition by its
side of the darker aspects of human nature ;
the Church would have wanted a portion of
the materials required for future warning
and admonition ; and on this account also
there was a valid reason for the calling of
one who could act the shameful part of Ju
das Iscariot.”
It is no unusual thing to see a branch of a
tree, whose vital act ; vity is so enfeebled that
its growth is arrested. Its terminal bud loses
the power of throwingoff its winter leaves be
cause no summer leaves form in its interior.
The bud then dies, and the branch withers and
becomes fit for burning. Aud so it is, alas I
no unusual thing to see Christians whose spir
itual life is so weak that their growth is at a
stand still. They lose the power of forget
ting the tilings that are behind because they
are nqt reaching forth unto those things
which are before. They are therefore in
dange; perishing Only by growing can
we bejhiy and happy—able at once to for
ge*fif "..lings that are behind, and to reach
forth fwo those things which are before.
—RetT Hugh McMillan.
Stltttions. .
“ HEAVENLY PLACES IN CHRIST
JESUS.”
BY GRACE RAYMOND. *
Lord, it can ne’er content my heart
Singly to know
Tliaf justice ml her dreadful pait
Must now forego.
This • flirsty seal, no formal creed
Ora satisfy
Widen pants to feel in very deed.
Tbit thou art, uigh.
’Tis not enough by faith to own
Tbee, Christ, divine;
1 w with raptured heart and tone,
i hse mine
vis it to hav•• Dlest Mary’s place
Hr ijidde thy feet,
|S , t .etch, while feasting on thy face,
1 O’ accents sweet.
IswSt, l'ke living John, to lean
ufou Ihv nreast.
To litirn what ‘ perfect, love” can mean,
111 that dear nest,
I want oft, wli les to have a sweet
Stll hour with thee;
Thy clasping irons of love to meet,
Trffeet aud tee.
Thy heart of utt- r tenderness
Is .11 my os n;
Be bpulld anew iu dear caress
Thine own nlone
I wairt to live S'< id ar, so near,
That evny word,
E’ehifn Lfe’o busy thoroughfare,
Wft! aye be heard.
1 want to lift in every tusk,
A heart of p ayer,
To ttfrn for g.uee aud strength to ask.
And find thee there.
I want to feel ihv b essing hand
Upon my Id ad;
To know thy love can understand
WU.it can’t said.
I want, dear Lord, to run with all
My j >ys to thee;
To feel tin re is not one too small
To let thee sen.
I wax’- to feel in bringing fears,
And burdened sighs,
That thou in all these griefs and cares
hise.
I watt’.. My King, to have thee come,
And use my best;
My heart hath chambers which can home
No other gu -st.
I wan; to live a life so fair
ThJt all may see,
At arv time and anywhere,
I’ve been with thee.
Ah, Lard ! an intercourse so sweet,
Is Leaven below;
Ofte'.rs'r on me, I do entreat,
The grace bestow
ForbiJ the snaring world to screen
Thr'.smih s from m<;
Or uu< love to come between
My soul and thee!
, — Southern. Presbyterian.
CHRISTIAN WORK.
The revival season has opened. Asa
natural'oTiteome of these revivals we may
look fo? increased Christian activity. Life
always results in some form of action. If,
therefore, the spiritual life of the churches
is quickened, there will of necessity be a
quickened Christian activity.
The great revivals which were so preva
lent al mt the beginning of the present cen
tim. (Ua,,,,.! *K- • • . ....
iza’ion oi our great missionary and benevo
lent societies. The revival era of 1857 and
1858 developed daily union prayer-meetings,
and started influences which have greatly in
creased the number and efficiency ol lay
workers. The revivals of the past winter
will doubtless quicken activity in these vari
ous channels, and perhaps develop new
fields of Christian work.
We desire in this article to state briefly a
few of principles which should govern the
church in its Christian work.
1. Christian work should he universal ;
that is, it should be entered upon by all the
members of the churches. The regularly
educated and ordained ministry will never
be superseded, nor will its work in any large
measure be taken up by others, hut to prop
erly supplement its work will require the ac
tivity of all professing Christians. In the
early Christian church the apostles planted
churches, gave counsel and instruction, and
passed on to other places, leaving the Chris
tian work to members of these churches.
Christ Laity prevades communities, not by
building SIOO,OOO edifices, nor by sensation
al or popular preaching, but by the Christian
work of the members of the churches. In
our day a church left without a pastor is
pretty likely to decline and die. And this
because the pastor is expected to do all the
Christian work —to preach in the pulpit, to
preach from house to house, to visit the sick,
eomfort the afflicted, and find out the poor
and the desponding. It is time for us to
come back to apostolic practices sufficiently
to enlist all Christians in work. The pas
tor’s office and work should be magnified,
but he can never take responsibility from
the humblest Christian, who should con
stantly preach Christ by his life aud words.
2. Christian work should he adopted to
times and circumstances. Men of the world
are not slow to watch opportunities. An ex
tra gathering of people, be it a circus or
camp meeting, an agricultural fair or a Sab
bath-school convention, will call out the
huckster, the candy peddler and peanut ven
der, to make the most of the occasion. The
politician will sieze upon any favorable turn
in affairs to fur her liis ends. So the Chris
tian, wtfc> is hungry for souls, and desires to
do Christian work, will be on the watch for
favorable opportunities, and sieze upon all
such occasions as they occur. “He that
winneth souls is wise."
3. Christian work should be earnest.
Earnestness is one great secret of success
in every department of activity, and espe
cially so in Christian work. No Christian
should down in inaction because he can
not meet all the arguments of the skeptic.
The stately pillars of Christian doctrine have
been hewed and polished by the few theolo
gians, and others have accepted their work.
So the educated are to frame the arguments
with which to silence the sophistry of the
skeptic, while to the mass of Christians are
left the other departments of Christian work.
Aud it is not unfrequently true that earnest
ness and self denying devotion will carry
conviction to the mind of the skeptic when
all arguments fail. Arguments may often
ba met by sophistry, but no sophistry can
answer an earnest life. The most successful
revival preachers of all ages have been char
acterized as much by earnestness as by su
perior iitellectual endowments. “Whatso
ever of Christit.ii work thine hand findeth to
do, do it with thy might.”
4. Clristian work should be steadfast.
An iuteimitting spring may be a curiosity,
butnottery valuable where a constant sup
ply of (rater is required. So an intermittent
Christian activity has but little feal value.
Christian work should not be merely the im
pulse ofa revival or of a stirring sermon,
and thei forgotten until another revival or
another sermon. It should rather be the
overflew qf a full fountain, giving out its
streams of blessing seven days in the week
and fifty-two weeks in the year. None but
the steadfast Christian commands respect,
aud only steadfast work is really successful.
The enthusiast may, in the high tide of a re
vival, call the steadfast only a plodder, but
after the zeal of the enthusiast is forgotton
the constant life of the other will be bearing
fruit. “Therefore, my belovad brethren, be
ye seadfast, unmovable, always abounding
in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye
know that your labor is not in vain in the
Lord. - ’ —The Informer.
PRAYER,
To be beard, must he earnest, full of trust,
simple, constant, and free from cant. God
is neither deaf nor far off, that men should
thunder their petitions in His ear, or cry as
if their Father were heartless, exacting and
unkind. He waits to be gracious. He bids
his children ask, and promises blessing in
answer to the souLs uplifted quest. If a
Christian must needs get into an agony of
words, and writhe and bellow his petitions,
the very noise would indicate a lack of fuilh.
Sincere faith but whispers, and the-answer
comes. The full soul but looks and longs
for good, and the benediction meets the up
ward glance. The believer who feels that
he is near lo his Father will not speak to
Him in boisterous tones, ateif he were call
ing upon one afar oft'. The child who sits
upon the mother’s knee, can ask for best
gifts out of that mother’s hand, by the merest
breath of a broken sentence; a soh is elo
quent; a tear touches the source of all love;
a hungry glance opens the inmost treasury
of food. And thus God hears his children.
It is not bombast, or pennnee, or bodily suf
fering, but simple belief, uttered in the near
est, easiest form of words, which our Hea
venly Father hears as prayer. We make
ph a for the utmost earnestness, for the soul’s
inmost, deepest sense of want, but we find
no warrant in Scripture for contortions of
body, extravagancies- of spetch, for shouts
and yells of asking, as if there w t re divine
stubbornness to be overcome. While there
may be all-night wrestling with onr oivn un
belief, and tears and pain at our own lack of
love for God, there is no Gospel reason for
turning a prayer-meeting into a Babel ofdis
tiacting sounds, as if the dear Father were
dead!
BESMIRCHING SCRIPTURE.
As Mr. Moody sat, a few days since, in
familiar converse with a group of well-known
Christian workers, one of the number in
dulged in a pleasantry which included a play
upon the phrasing of an important Scripture
truth. A laugh naturally followed the bright
saying; but Mr. Moody had no share in the
merriment. “Don’t say that,” he said, earn
estly. “I can’t bear to hear those things
joked over.” And then he told how much
he used to do and hear in that like of joking,
years ago; and how one Bible text after an
other was in consi-q lence so assoc'a’ed with
a joke as to lose much of its best and fullest
meaning, and how whenever he now read it,
or heard it repeated, the joke came back with
it. He urged those with whom he talked to
use their influence in putting an end to such
sent agreed that. Mr. Moody *%s right; and
one after another who had a similar experi
ence to relate of oltPhabits and their results,
declared that he would be careful as to this
matter in the future.
Mr. Moody would indeed do a great work
if be should be instrumental in correcting
this kind of wrong speaking which is so com
mon among Christians—lay and clerical. It
is verv easy to raise a laugh by perverting
Scripture language, or by bringing it into
rediculous associations. Many a man who
is rarely commended for his witticisms in
any other line, gets ample credit for bright
ness in this direction. Even in ministerial
associations and in Sunday-school gatherings,
as well as in the ordinary social intercourse
of Christians, jokes which depend for their
force on the misapplication of Bible texts
are, perhaps, more frequently than those of
any other nature. It takes so little brains to
pervert Scripture, and so much grace to re
sist the temptation to it, but that few men
are qualified to cast the first stone at those
who are convicted of this misdemeanor.
Who indeed can say that he has never thus
besmirched a Bible text, not ever given en
couragement by word or smile to those who
have done it in his presence ? Who, more
over, can say that to his memory the Bible
is unspotted by such associations from its
beginning to its end ?
Not with Christians alone, but with men
of the world the habit is common of profan
ing Scripture by its misuse. In our Con
gress, in our State Legislatures, in political
meetings, and in the columns of secular pa
pers, this method of reference to the Scrip
tures is friquent. Many a man who rarely
mentions the Bible or quotes from it in seri
ousness can point a joke wilh some of its
phrases, and is prompt to do so. By this
perversion of Bible language the edge of the
sword of Spirit is in a sense blunted, and
made ineffective for its legitimate use. The
true force and meanings of a text are hidden
through its absurd associations, and its mis
applications. So the Bible is, to a certain
extent, destroyed for its blessed purposes by
those who have degraded it only to enhance
their credit for wit and humorousness.
It is a shame that any of us should be
guilty of this thing. We who would resent a
joke at our mother’s expense ought not to
approve or countenance such bringing into
ridicule the sacred message whereby our
heavenly Father sends the glad news of sal
vation to the lost. We ought never to laugh
at a joke in Scripture phrase. We ought not
even to he silent when we have an oppor
tunity to rebuke such a transgression. The
story is told of a Christian sailor, who in
passing on a street corner two gentlemen in
conversation heard one of them use his Sa
viour’s name irreverently. Instantly he stop
ped, anf, raising his hat, said respectfully
but in unmistakable earnestness, “Please,
gentlemen, don’t say that. That Jesus is
my Saviour. He died for me. I can’t bear
to hear him spoken of slightingly.” At
once the answer came, “You are right, my
man, and we were wrong. We ought not to
have been so profane.” It costs a struggle
to be true to the right, and for the right; but
duty calls to such a defence of the truth,
such a quiet and kindly rebuke of the w.ong
as that sailor made —as was made by Mr.
Moody in the instance first quoted—and such
fidelity will not be unrewarded.
It is, as Mr. Moody suggested, by no
means easy to rid one’s mind of impure or
improper associations once fastened to a
Bible text, or indeed to rid the mind of any
improper thoughts. The better way is to
keep such things out of the mind to begin
with. Old Thomas Ftftler said two centuries
ago—and his words might well be used by
very many of u to-day: “Almost twenty
years since I heard t profane jest, and still
remember it. How man; pious passages of
far later date have 1 forgotten. It seems my
soul is like a filthy pond, wherein fish die
soon, and frogs live long. Lord, raze this
profane jest out of my memory. Leave not
a lettt r thereof behind, lest my corruption
(an apt scholar) guess it out again, and be
pleased to write some pious meditation in
the place thereof. And grant, Lord, for the
time to come (because such bad guests are
easier kept out), that I may be careful not
to admit what I find so difficult to expel.”—
<S. S. Times.
ARE TRACTS OF ANY USE ?
Facts are of more value in answering this
question than any amount of theory. We
give the answer of a few facts.
One gentleman who has made a practice
of distributing little tinted tracts on the street
cars, writes that in most cases they are read
with avidity. He adds :
“One morning a lady in a Houston street
car took my hand, and said she was very
much pleased to see me. ‘You gave me,’
she said, some of those ltttle tracts, and oh.
how they were blessed to my mother duting
her ickness, and she has since died happy.’ ”
A gentleman in Florida, to w-frorn a grant
of tracts for distribution had been made,
writes:
“When times were prosperous I distrib
uted these gems of truth at my own expense;
and having seen and felt their good effects, I
do not feel willing to stop this work.
“Just after the war I met a young man
who was trying to do what good he could by
preaching to the people in the most destitute
parts of this and the adjoining county. I
handed him some tracts to distribute. He
gladly received them, ‘for,’ said he, ‘I was
a boy when I went into the army, and some
one gave me a tract to read, and as I sat by
my camp-fire reading it, I saw myself a sin
ner. That blessed little tract was the means,
under God, of my conversion.’
“That gentleman is now an acceptable
minister of Jesus, in one of the towns ol this
state, and doing goob”
A shipmaster reports the people in one or
two Spanish ports, in which his vessel lay
for a time, interested to receive testaments
aud tracts. One case he mentions, when a
Spaniard attended their Sabbath service iu
the cabin, and gave them the impression that
he had become a believer in the gospel.
The mate of a brig, gave to a family in
Port au Prince, a package of books and
tracts. Seeing them interested, he invited
them to the Protestant Church. The result
was, that the father, father’s brother, the
mother, three daughters, and a son, were
converted, and united with the Church. The
son has since studied for the minis ry.
Yes, tracts are of use ! —American Mes
senger.
PUTTING INTO PRACTICE.
When we consider the promises made and
the theories indulged in by men generally,
and when we regard the resolutions we our
selves have formed, and then turn to look at
the amount which has been accomplished, we
are filled with astonishment at the disparity
between theory and practice. Why does this
great disparity exist?
One cause of the discrepancy between
- - • omj nraptice is that we sot for our
selves tasks, the ....
utterly beyond our powers. It may be that
a large number of persons are not aware that
this is their habit, or is in any way the occa
sion of the difference between their resolu
tions and their acts, but experience and a
careful review of facts will almost certainly
prove the correctness of what we have said.
Men, too, like to flatter themselves with
the thought of the great things they will ac
complish and the honor they will gain from
men thereby. This leads them to determine
on something great, and this same feeling
leads them to neglect the small things which
they could do. Moreover, the discourage
ments of frequent failures disposes them to
do nothing, until building air-castles and
theorizing has become a habit and doing
nothing practically has become the necessa
rily resulting habit. Depend upon it, if men
would set themselves tasks more nearly in
accordance with their real abilities, they
would more often succeed in accomplishing
them. What is wanted is a more modest
estimate of our powers, and resolves in agree
ment with this. Let not conceit or vanity
prompt you to something too great, and thus
keep you from everything.
Men should not, however, give up high
ideals. We are not speaking against these.
Not to have a high ideal model after which
to strive and work is generally synonymous
with a stand-still state. But to have a high
ideal towards which to move with regular
and modest pates is one thing, to atlenipt to
jump to the top of the ladder at one bound
is quite another. To actually take steps,
even though they be very moderate sized
ones, towards the completion of a long jour
ney is very different from sitting down com
placently until one can take a step of a mile
or ten miles at a time. In short, men are
too anxious to run when they can only walk,
and especially is this the case in the Chris
tian’s pilgrimage.
Then, again, practice differs so widely fi om
theory-because of an imperfect understand
ing of the demands of the work to he done.
Many plans fail, not so much because their
accomplishment is actually beyond our pow
ers as because of the fact that we have not a
proper appreciation of the means to be em
ployed. This arises from hastily formed
conclusions and imperfectly digested plans,
from, in fact, a want of judgment and con
sideration as to the means for carrying out
our plans. To be satisfied that a thing is
fully within our power is not to be certain of
its performance unless we be also certain of
the right means to be employed.
Procrastination is an element of weakness
of this kind. The thing is entirely within
the power of the man, if he would do it im
mediately; but he puls it off, and in the end
it is not done.
Not a few good resolutions fail of their
accomplishment simply because their authors
did not intend to carry them out. Mt n make
themselves think that the cause of their fail
ure to do the good they inteuded was because
they bad not the ability or the opportunity,
wh- n in fact they had both these, but lacked
the will.
While attempting to do too much or to do
it in ignoranoe of the proper means for its
accomplishment have been the means of
widening the distance between theory and
practice, the want of genuine disposition to
do the thing has been by far the most effi
cient means of producing the difference.
Moravian.
Do you habitually realize that you are
somebody ? Is your talk such as to call at
tention to your personal merits? Are you
sensitive about the consideration in which
you are held? Well may you suspect pride.
Are you hard in your bargains and conten
tiousabout small matters? Are you worried
and annojed b; the ever recurring demand
F. M. KENNEDY, D. D., Editor.
J. W. RURKE, Assistant Editor.
A. G. HAYGOOD, D. D., Editorial Correspondent.
WHOLE NUMBER 2002.
for alms ? Do you give reluctantly the scraps,
not the first-fruits, amusing yourself the
while with dreams of how liberal you would
be if you were richer or out of debt ? Be
sure covetousness is bid somewhere. — Hish
op Henry C. Lay.
THE MISSING LINK.
A man who prided himself on his moral
ity, and expected to be saved by it, was con
stantly saying: “I am doing pretty well,
on the whole. I sometimes get mad and
swear, but lam strictly honest. I work on
Sunday when I am particularly busy ; but I
give a good deal to the poor, and 1 never
was drunk in my life.” This -man hired a
canny Scotchman to build a fence around his
pasture lot. He gave him very particular
directions. In the evening, when the Scotch
man came in from work, the man said:
“Well, Jack, is the fence built, and is it
tight and strong!” “I canna say that it is
all tight and strong,” Jack replied; “but
it’s a good average fence, anyhow. If some
parts of it are a little weak, other parts are
extra strong. I don’t know but I may have
left a gap here and there a yard wide or so ;
h"t then I made up for it by doubling the
number of rails on each side of the gap. I
dare say that the cattle will find it a good
fence on the whole, and will like it, though
I canna just say that it is perfect in every
part.” “What!” cried the man, not seeing
the point; “do you tell me that you have
built a fence around my lot with weak places
in it, and gaps in it? Why jon might as
well have built no fence at all. If there is
one opening, or a place where an opening
can be made, the cattle will be sure to find
it, and will all go through. Don't you know,
man, that a fence must be perfect or it is
worthless?” “I used to think so,” said the
dry Scotchman ; “but I hear you talk so
much about averaging matters with the Lord,
it seemed to me that we might try it with the
cattle. If au average ft-nce won’t do for
them, I am afraid that an average character
won’t do in the day of judgement. When I
was on shipboard, and a storm was driving
us on the rocks, the captain cried : ‘Let go
the anchor!’ But the mate shouted back:
‘There is a broken link in the cable.’ Did
the captain say, when he heard that: ‘No
matter, it’s only one link. The rest of the
cuain is good. Ninety-nine of a hundred
links are strong. It’s average is high. It
only lacks one per cent of being perfect.
Surely the anchor ought to respect so excel
lent a chain, and not break away from it?’
No, indeed 1 He shouted; ‘Get another
chain 1” He knew that a chain with one
broken link was no chain at all; that he
might as well throw the anchor overboard
without any cable, as with a defective one.
So with the anchor of our souls. If there
is the least flaw in the cable, it is not safe
to trust it. We had better throw it away,
and try to get anew one that we know is
perfect?”
RELIGIOUS HABIT.
Two proverbs about habit are daily quot
ed : “Habit is second nature,” “Man is a
bundle of habits.” They are both half-truths
of considerable value. It would be more
correct to say habit is nature, and a man is
described or defined by his liabits. For, we
man’s conduct or character, and at last con
duct is the shadow ot character. “A good
man out of the good treasure of his heart
bringelh forth good things, and an evil man
out of the evil treasure of his heart hringeth
forth evil things." It is the habit in a man
that makes a mark on his neighbors, aud he
is said to have much or little character ac
cording to the firmness and force of his con
tact with other men.
And we repeat that this is at last habit.
The babe was pu'p, the man has hard mus
cles and bones. So the inner nature grows
into hard and fixed lines. It is too common
to assign to habit only a field in the external
life ; that which we constantly see without
is the sign of something constant within. It
is equally inaccurate to speak of habit as a
short way of saying bad habit; for there is
nolhing permanently good in a man that may
not be defined as a habit. We are apt to
think of habit as a lower life because of its
resemblance to automatism. Here, too, we
are careless in our thinking. That is not a
lower life which is marked by a steady stream
of tendency unless the tendency is down
hill. We could not become anything if we
could not by repetition of acts and states ad
vance to facility in those acts and liv
ing those slates. The will is not free in the
sense of unlimited and infinite capacity for
capricious choosing; so life is high and
spiritual by virtue of an ever-present aud
growing power of living an exalted life. The
to-day of your nature is its yesterday a lit
tle modified ; you cannot escape that yester
day by merely resolving that you will. When
God lifts you up into the arms of his grace
and renews your nature, there isanew force,
anew love, and therefore anew man. Bu 1
this new life must take on the hardness o
habit, must be intrenched in your being by
habitual exercise, or the old yesterday will
be back upon you and supreme again.
To many thousands of recent converts the
most important matter is the formation of
religious habits—the getting of hard, fixed,
solid religious character. Let us suppose
that the new life has begun in a storm of
emotion ; it cannot always be storm with you,
but the underlyingloveofGod in Christ, and
the resolution to live a clean and prayerful
life, may be, ought to be, permanent. It
will be very sad for you if the storm should
drift away and leave yon to the yesterday of
your being. It is very easy topfull back on
that yesterday ; for months it may often be
easier than to live in these new tempers aud
wot k these new works. A babe in Christ, you
have to learn how to use all your spiritual mus
cles, to get hard bones, and firm footing, aud
the ease of customary living. Do not despise
any means that look to your habitual religious
ness. You must be much in prayer, in so
cial meetings, in the atmosphere most favor
able to your growth in grace. It will be
easier as you go on ; be encouraged by this
very law of habit. Get it on your side as
soon as possible.— N. I'. MethodUt.
Tub great characteristic of Christian affec
tion is not enjoyment, is not self-recreation,
is not personal happiness, but beneficence.
It leeds, clothes, and educates people. Like.
Christ, it does not come to be ministered
un’o, but to minister, and to give itself as a
ransom (or many. Its prime expression is
not receiving but imparting. It is not pond
ike —a receptacle which allows itself to be
filled and then reposes complacent in its ful
ness. It is a stream rather, which sings to
men, which runs gleefully into thirsty
mouths, which is glad to be sucked up by the
growthful banka that coutaiu it, yea, which
longs for nothing so much as to be taken up
in the clouds, aud appropiiated by the wheel,
that the laborers may have harvest in the
field and bread from the mill. — IF. H. l{ %
Murray.