1^ PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 BX 5122 .B37 V52 1886 
 Baring-Gould, S. 1834-1924 
 The village pulpit 
 
Village . • . • 
 . • . • . Pulpit 
 
 Presbyterian Church, Fort Edward, N. Y. 
 
 CHARLES D. KELLOGG, Pastor. 
 
 NOV 2 1917 
 
 January, i88g. 
 
 'How to Read." 
 
 JPrice 10 Cents. 
 
 I^er Y'eav, $1,00. 
 
Digitized by tlie Internet Arcinive 
 in 2015 
 
 littps://arcliive.org/details/villagepulpit121kell 
 
Luke X: 26. What is written in the law f how readi- 
 est thou? 
 
 'HE Questioner and the questioned on this occasion 
 
 I are of the deepest interest. He who puts these ques- 
 tions is the Eternal Author of law. He is the Being 
 in whom law had its origin, from whom it derives its 
 authority, in whom it possesses its force. Law is law 
 because He uttered it. Into the presence of this Au- 
 thor of law, a professional lawyer has come. One 
 whose life work is to transcribe and rewrite that law, 
 its infinite Author has given. The two men are thus 
 brought closely together, as we might say, profession- 
 ally. In their vital interest in law. He who gave it, 
 and he who has studied it all his life. No wonder the 
 questions of the Master were with relation to the 
 common theme, and the mutual ground of contact- 
 that which brought them together in person not only, 
 but that which allied them in thought— law. Tjie 
 questions the Master puts are wholly divergent in 
 their character, and involve two very different things. 
 The one is abstract, the other is concrete. The one is 
 fact, the other is idea. The one is outward. The other 
 is within. The one relates to a book; the other in- 
 volves a life. "What is written in the law? how read- 
 est thou?" The one of these questions is very easy 
 to answer. The other — not so easy. This lawyer, 
 catching on at once to the easier, answers it with all a 
 
2 
 
 lawyer's acumen, and with all a scribe's enthusiasm. 
 He could give in a nutshell what was '"written in the 
 law." He never answered the other except uninten- 
 tionally; as ,in that interview with the Master, he told 
 what he didn't intend to tell. In words, he answered 
 the first question; in spirit, he answered the other. 
 Now, the Master's hearing was equally alert, whether 
 He listened to a man's voice, or heard the silent lan- 
 guage of a man's soul. He hears us when we speak, 
 and He hears the inner voices of spirit that find no 
 utterance, that are too ardent for speech. He listened 
 to this lawyer's words, and He listened to his life. In 
 one way He got the answer to the one question; in 
 the other to the other. Both problems were solved — 
 what was in the law — the old question that had been 
 answered so many times, and the new question of the 
 hour, what was in that law for him who spoke, how he 
 read it. The vocal answer was quick, comprehensive, 
 lawyer-like and comjDlete. It was a splendid presen- 
 tation of his case before the clearest-headed Judge, 
 lawyer ever addressed. And he answering said, 
 "Thou shalt love the Lord, thy God, with all thy 
 heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, 
 and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself." 
 To that studied, shrewd reply the Author of law gave 
 this testimony: "Thou hast answered right." Buc 
 that other question. Unwittingly, and without in- 
 tent, he gives answer to that . Not in words, as I 
 have said. He doesn't tell in speech. Bat his posture 
 of soul gives answer. His attitude of spirit tells the 
 
3 
 
 tale. That question he puts to the Master gives him 
 away. If he intended to have any secret in his life, 
 that laid it open. If he proposed to keep anything 
 back, that question was a full surrender. It showed 
 just how he read the law, just the way he looked into 
 it, and just the way he had been accustomed to be its 
 interpreter. And this was the open window he lifted 
 before the Master. "He, willing to justify himself, 
 said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?" To 
 whom do I owe obligation ? Whom am I to love as I 
 love myself? The whole man lay open. A life was 
 all exposed. Long years were on exhibition. He was 
 a self-righteous, self- satisfied, self-centered Pharisee 
 after all. And he read the law after a Pharisee's 
 fashion. "To justify himself." To prove that he 
 was all right. He read the law in the narrowness 
 of the letter, that would regard as his neighbor only 
 the man or the woman that lived next door. The sec- 
 ond door from his, he would recognize no obli- 
 gation. That was too far off. So he showed himself 
 an ingenious splitter of hairs, a genuine Jewish casu- 
 ist, wrapped up and closely folded in the minor mat- 
 ters of the law. He revealed his posture of soul. He 
 shewed his inmost attitude of spirit. Just what he 
 was. J ust how he read the law . For these lives of 
 ours are sometimes wrongly judged when we look in 
 on sudden moments of sudden impulse. The tenor 
 and the trend of life are the only solution; just what 
 this lawyer opened to the Master that day they met in 
 Jerusalem. What we do is but the product of what 
 
4 
 
 we are. Sudden moments are but indices of the 
 long, quiet, forceful hours. As Helen Hunt Jackson 
 has forcibly written: 
 
 "Men said to-day, of one who sinned, 'What may 
 This mean ? what sudden madness overtook 
 His brain, that in a moment he forsook 
 The rectitude which iintil yesterday 
 Had made his life a beacon by the way 
 To common men ? ' " 
 I answered: 
 
 "We but look on surfaces. Temptation never shook 
 One soul whose secret hidden forces lay 
 Firm-centered in, the right. The glacier bides 
 For ages white and still, and seems a part 
 Of the eternal Alps. But at its heart. 
 Each hour, some atom noiseless jars, and slides. 
 Until the avalanche falls with thundering weight. 
 God only knows the beginning's date! " 
 
 It is the life-long purpose, the soul's bent, that 
 tells. It was the more important of these questions 
 that the lawyer of long ago answered when he didn't 
 mean to, as he threw open that window into his soul; 
 as he told, in that question, the story of his life. Al- 
 ways, as to any book the pages of which we open, the 
 question, What is written in that book ? is overshad- 
 owed and eclipsed by the more searching question, 
 "How readest thou?" Whether the Bible or Robert 
 Elsmere. Whether Pascal or Tom Paine. "Unto the 
 pure all things are pure." If we read through green 
 glasses, every sentiment will be green. We can read 
 Shakespeare for instruction, or for lasciviousness. 
 
5 
 
 Byron for beauty or for baseness. Dickens for de- 
 light or for despair. "Not that which goetli in at the 
 mouth" said the Master, "detileth a man, but that 
 which goeth out." So we may say, on the same prin- 
 ciple, not that which goeth in at the eyes, at any por- 
 tal of these souls of ours, at any of these windows 
 into our spirits, but that which comes out — this tests 
 character, this makes the man. Not what we read, 
 but how we read it. Psotwhatis written, but what 
 we see. It is important, always, to have correct con- 
 ceptions of truth outwardly, to know accurately 
 "what is written." Not to be mistaken about that. 
 It is better to have a right theology. It is better to 
 be orthodox, though some charming people are not. 
 But it is of infinitely more importance to have the 
 truth subjectively. To get it right when it is fused 
 and melted into these hearts of ours, and become a part 
 of ourselves. "The Lord," says the psalmist, "desir- 
 eth truth in the inward parts and in the hidden part 
 (he) shall make (us) to know wisdom." Way down 
 inside of us, truth is to find a lodgement, and right a 
 resting place. This is of incomparably more import- 
 ance than truth on the outside. As the goddess of 
 Liberty was borne in regal state through the streets of 
 Paris, Madame Roland exclaimed in the accents that 
 have become immortal: "O Liberty, what crimes are 
 committed in thy name ! " We may employ the same 
 apostrophe to truth, truth in outward statement, truth 
 in metaphysical analysis, truth in catechism and creed, 
 "What is written in the law." "O truth! what crimes 
 
6 
 
 have been committed in thy name!" Here Rome has 
 reared her inquisition, turned her thumb-screws, 
 lighted her fagots, sharpened her swords. In tliy 
 name, witches have been burned in Rhode Island. 
 Slaves driven v^'ith the lash in the cotton fields of the 
 South. Thirty thousand votes cast into the air in 
 November ! All kinds of crime. All degrees of folly. 
 In the name of truth. Truth must get inside of us, 
 or it isn't a practical force in human affairs. A good 
 man will get more out of the Koran than a bad man 
 out of the Bible. Some of the best people in the 
 world :irp ad voeates of the most pernicious systems. 
 In tlieir iiniale goodness they have extracted all that 
 was worth anything out of the evil and the pernicious 
 and the wrong, have transformed it into their own 
 sterling integrity, and made it a power of righteous- 
 ness, a i^illar of truth. What they read was distorted 
 and awry, but the w-ay they read it unravelled the 
 tangle, took out the twist, and set them straight as an 
 arrow in the practice of virtue, in obedience to right 
 and law. Every aim in life hits the bull's eye. Their 
 own unsullied natures, their own untainted hearts, 
 turn the basest metal into gold. They scatter sun- 
 shine in darkest recesses of error and mistake. They 
 pour bright beams into the caverns of caricature, into 
 dens of deviltry and death. But a bad man, into 
 whose inmost texture of soul truth never penetrates, 
 no matter how correctly or carefully he reads it, at 
 the portal of whose inner nature right and law never 
 get a hearing, he is, in the circumstances of the case, 
 
7 
 
 always of that vast throng; whom the Saviour analyzes 
 in a word when He gives command, "Neither cast ye 
 your pearls before swine." Swine can't relish pearls. 
 They are not made that way. They would rather have 
 husks. 
 
 As to external, objective truth, as to theory 
 in the abstract, there is no question of its accuracy or 
 its unerring completeness. "What is written in the 
 law" is all right. Because God wrote it. Its legiti- 
 mate fruit is life. "The excellency of knowledge is 
 that wisdom giveth life to them that have it." It is 
 able to make all men "wise unto salvation through 
 faith that is in Christ Jesus." It is always "profit- 
 able for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for in- 
 struction in righteousness. That the man of God 
 may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto good 
 works." Its x^urpose is perfection. Its counterpart 
 completeness. But the way we read it — there comes 
 the rub. We get it into all kinds of shapes. We 
 distort it into all manner of ungainliness, into all de- 
 grees of depravity and baseness. Truth is a forest of 
 large and lofty trees, each tree within it straight as a 
 pine, perfect in outline as a balsam, firm as lignum- 
 vitcB. But we hew these trees into all manner of tim- 
 ber; sometimes to build fairest structures of noblest 
 deeds; sometimes to lay at foundations of dens of 
 vice, of haunts of infamy. Truth is a quarry. The 
 native granite is seamless and without a flaw. A 
 perfect work of God. But with our drills and mal- 
 lets and picks and chisels, we manipulate this vast 
 
8 
 
 treasury of solid stone to totally different purposes. 
 Sometimes we carve a column for costly cathedral and 
 a block for the altar of God. Sometimes we pave 
 broad roads to ruin, boulevards to hell. How we read 
 it— that decides the eternities — that turns the hinge 
 of destiny, that fixes all the future. "Woman or tiger, 
 which ? " That famous question suggested an alterna- 
 tive as calm and placid as a midsummer sky compared 
 with this — Truth, what are you going to do with it < 
 Life or death, heaven or hell, bliss or despair, which ? 
 
 These are some of the ways we read truth fatally 
 and falsely; as Peter expresses it, "wrest the scrip- 
 tures to our own destruction.'" While we read it 
 without the enlightenment of the Spirit. "The natural 
 man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: 
 for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he 
 know them, because they are spiritually discerned." 
 The Spirit of God must help us, in our blindness, or 
 we shall never see. He must open our eyes, or they 
 are closed for all the eternities. Until He becomes 
 our teacher truth is a strange language, and the Bible 
 a sealed book. We read awry when we read truth 
 with our prejudices, with our preconceived notions 
 and preferences. When we make it say what we 
 want it to say. When we accommodate it to our 
 ideas and bend it to our theology. Or when we read 
 it critically, and, with the penknives of pet theories, 
 to cut out what we don't like, and exscind what we 
 think God did not insjiire because we don't like to 
 think so. When we become carvers and trimmers of 
 
9 
 
 tlie word. Still more fatally we read what is in the 
 law when we read it with bad and wicked hearts. When 
 we look into it with what inspiration calls ''an evil 
 eye." "If thine eye be evil," says the Master, "thy 
 whole body shall be full of darkness." The truth 
 gets into the cellar, and we can't see it, because it's 
 dark. 
 
 The word to every immortal nature is that word 
 of the Master to the lawyer at this time, when he has 
 answered so accurately the first question, and left un- 
 answered the other: "Thou hast answered right: 
 this do, and thou slialt live." What faultless theor- 
 ists, what grand theologians, that whole tribe of 
 Pharisees and Scribes were, of whom this lawyer was 
 one! You couldn't find a flaw in their philosopy, 
 nor a crack in their creed. But they were a miserable 
 set. All the severe words the Saviour had to say fell 
 like thimderbolts on their heads. He transfixed 
 them for all the ages with this barbed spear: "Ye 
 generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation 
 of hell?" In inmost spirit, serpentine. Made for 
 the pit. Because they read that law so perfect, 
 and constructed that theology so ethereal, with bad 
 hearts in their bosoms and baseness in their souls. 
 These strainers at gnats when they discussed a theo- 
 logical point, swallowed camels when it came to daily 
 living, Horrified at heresy, they could cut a Samari- 
 tan on the street, and cavil and quarrel with the 
 Christ. 
 
 "How readest thou ? " If the truth shall perform 
 
10 
 
 her perfect work, we will hold a conversation 
 with this soul within us, and say, Eead, thou soul, 
 with the enlightenment of the Spirit Who gave the 
 truth, and Who alone can imbed it in immortal planting 
 in this life of thine for immortal fruitage. Read it 
 without thy prejudices. Not attempting to put in 
 what thou pleasest, but to be pleased with what is 
 there for the finding. Take the whole truth without 
 abridgement or supplement. Just what the Lord has 
 said. No more and no less. And read it with an eye 
 single, with a heart clean and pure. Doing "the will 
 of thy Father Who is in heaven" and then thou 
 shall "know of the doctrine." A Christ life is the 
 clearest lens with which to look into the mighty 
 depths of truth, and penetrate its far-off recesses. 
 The clearest-eyed Reader truth ever had was He 
 Whose "meat and drink (was) to do the will of Him 
 that sent Him." He had an eagle eye to look right 
 into the sun of truth, because He had within Him a 
 pure heart and a consecrated soul. When His life 
 flows into us, when we see as He saw, because we feel 
 as He felt, and love as He loved, we won't make any 
 mistakes. Then we shall not look with our prejudices 
 or our imperfections, but with our hearts. And 
 hearts, when rightly keyed, hearts, when the heav- 
 enly harmonies play upon their strings, never make 
 mistakes, never see awry, never read wrong. 
 
I Cor. XII : 31. Yet sliew I vnto you a more excel- 
 lent way. 
 
 HE burninof question of the hour is the question of 
 wise temperance reform. The crying evil of our 
 times is the saloon. The immediate, the vital peril 
 of our institutions is the thirst for strong drink. How 
 to effect this wise reform; how to close the saloon; how 
 to repress this destroying passion; this is the issue of 
 the day: it is the all important question on which 
 public morals and public security alike are hinged. I 
 would like to consider with you this question in all 
 earnestness and in all solemnity at this time. 
 
 We stand then, in our thought this hour, m the im- 
 mediate presence of the crowning ])eril of our land, 
 and of the age in which we live. We look and we 
 see the young, the middle-aged and the old alike fall- 
 ing on the right hand and on the left, victims of the 
 great destroyer. The records of our Courts of Jus- 
 tice, the ruin of brightest hopes and fairest prospects, 
 the degradation of manhood, the dishonor and shame 
 of womanhood, homes made desolate and hearths 
 made bare — we bring all these to day and we lay them 
 at the door of this mother of iniquity, this parent of 
 crime. We stand at the gate of the prison wall. AVe 
 hear its story of vice and crime; we look on the faces 
 
2 
 
 of its inmates, marked and wrinkled with their shame, 
 and we ask, What brought them here 1 We knock at 
 the door of our asylums, and we ask, What caused 
 these scenes of suffering, what ruthless robber stole 
 away the brain, and made reason mad ? We see alon^ 
 the city's streets the thousands who are homeless and 
 houseless, begging the crust of bread; the infant of 
 days, whose only utterance this side the eternities is 
 the wail of want, the cry of desolation; the old man, 
 tottering, helpless, imbecile; and we ask, Why this 
 destitution, why this revolting scene of beggary and 
 need ? And from all alike there comes one answer; to 
 each mystery that confronts us we find one common 
 key. The appetite for strong drink has impelled the 
 hand of crime, and filled our prisons and xjeniten- 
 tiaries; has mastered noble intellects and crowded our 
 asylums; has consumed the rewards of honest labor, 
 and thronged our streets with beggary, and brought 
 to our doors an army of tramps. Standing be- 
 fore these scenes, we say with Shakespeare's Cassio: 
 *' O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name 
 to be known by, let us call thee devil." 
 
 Confronted by this alarming presence we are to 
 consider the all important question: How shall we 
 meet the enemy, panoplied and armored for his over- 
 throw ? Shall we do it with divided counsels, with 
 battalions fighting among ourselves, or shall we meet 
 him with solid phalanx, one undivided resistless 
 host ? As the enemy meets us every time. 
 
3 
 
 "The children of this world," said the Master, 
 "are wiser in their generation than the children of 
 light." In our recent history in this commonwealth, 
 this populous, Empire State, that declaration of the 
 Master has been indisputably and alarmingly proved. 
 We have twice joined issue with the enemy on this 
 question. And, on both these bloodless fields, they 
 have shown themselves the wiser. They have been 
 the wiser and the shrewder by far in this that they 
 met us in each campaign an unbroken column, while we 
 stood before them a divided cohort, prohibitionists in 
 one line, high license men in the other, and they 
 drove us to the wall. The two decisive conflicts of 
 our recent history were waged, in one canvass by the 
 one political party, in the other by the other, so that 
 I shall be acquitted of all partisanship in my analysis 
 of the heated and the fatal encounter. 
 
 In 1883 the Democratic party nominated at the head 
 of its ticket Mr. Maynard, as candidate for Secretary of 
 State. He was an acknowledged and an avowed temper- 
 ance man. The issue was joined on that question. The 
 Brewers and Maltsters sent forth their printed circu- 
 lars throughout the State, advocating the defeat of 
 Mr. Maynard on this ground. The Distillers put 
 forth their efforts, and exerted their influence, in the 
 same direction. The saloons were a unit against 
 him. What was the result of the canvass? You 
 will all remember that the entire state ticket of the 
 Democracy was that year elected by a considerable 
 plurality, with the exception of Mr. Maynard, who 
 
4 
 
 was honorably and manfully defeated. Meeting what 
 Mr. Depew has so appropriately termed "a victorious 
 defeat." He remained true to his colors, he stood by 
 his record, and the rum ijower of the state smote him 
 and laid him low. 
 
 This year the issue was joined again, and, 
 the political parties being reversed, the result 
 of the conflict of opposing forces was the same. 
 David B. Hill, whatever his personal predilec- 
 tions, whatever his political affiliations, for of 
 these I have nothing here to say, was supported 
 by the liquor interests of the State, and was the can- 
 didate of the saloons, — as one of his most ardent sup- 
 porters expressed it, in the issue between the churches 
 and the saloons. Mr. Warner Miller accepted that 
 issue, and manfully and heroically asked the support 
 of the churches, and bade defiance to the saloons. In 
 fifty counties of this State, with matchless moral cour- 
 age, he presented unfalteringly and distinctly that is- 
 sue. In the pure atmosphere of our rural towns, and in 
 the slums of our great cities, in all alike he grappled 
 with the enemy, and courted defeat, if defeat it 
 should be, at the hands of the rum power. And he 
 was defeated. President-elect Harrison carries the 
 State by 14,335 plurality: Mr. Miller loses it by 19,133; 
 he is behind his ticket 33,468 votes, Tne vote in the 
 State for Mr. Jones, the Prohibition candidate, was 30,- 
 213, which vote cast for Mr. Miller would have elected 
 him by a plurality of 11,080. On this most unfortunate 
 result of the canvass I base my appeal and my prom- 
 
5 
 
 ise to the Prohibitionists to night. A vote cast into 
 the air would have defeated the candidate of the 
 liquor interests of the State, and woukl have retired 
 to private life the pet of the saloons. 
 
 Can we afford, in the presence of a foe so cemented 
 in closest union, so joined in solid phalanx, can we 
 afford longer to meet him with divided counsels and 
 separate battalions, and be driven every time he at- 
 tacks us to the four winds? Wlien we remember what 
 the success of the rum power imports, the story of 
 ruin and death it entails, the fatal blow it strikes at 
 public virtue and private morals, dare we commit this 
 folly in the coming years that has been our defeat 
 and our overthrow in th« years that are passed ? Is 
 there not an immorality involved if we permit the 
 children of this world to continue wiser than the chil- 
 dren of light, when they have shown us so clearly 
 what true wisdom is ? When they have proved such 
 competent and such forcible instructors ? Will it not 
 sink to the degree of positive vice to remain divided 
 where division means, every time, more saloons and 
 freer rum ? 
 
 If division is sin, then how shall we be united C 
 Shall the mountain come to Mahomet, or shall Ma- 
 homet come to the mountain? Shall 6r)0,0()() — and I 
 think I may add to this number ir)0,()()() who voted 
 for Mr. Hill, because he had received the regular 
 noniinatioTi of his party, but who, if party interests 
 and political considerations were laid aside, would 
 
6 
 
 cordially support high license, and would cast their 
 vote as heartily and as enthusiastically as we for the 
 churches as against the saloons, — shall 800,000 of the 
 voters of the State of New York come to one twenty- 
 sixth their number, or shall 30,000 come to 
 twenty-six times their multiple ? Which is common 
 sense? Which is ordinary, unimpassioned, cool- 
 blooded reason ! The position of the twelfth juror is 
 proverbial, who is insufferably annoyed by eleven ob- 
 stinate men. This is a case of the twenty-sixth juror, 
 who expects twenty-five to step over gracefully, and 
 without longer obstinacy, to his side. 
 
 Inasmuch as the resources at the command of the 
 common enemy are so vast; because there is so much 
 money and such willingness to use it in open bribery 
 and the direct purchase of votes, to the destruction 
 of the best interests of our commonwealth, to the 
 peril of our homes, to the ruin of many of the brightest 
 and most promising of our young men, may I not utter 
 an appeal for unity of action to-night, for harmony 
 of counsel, that will be heeded and that will be heard ? 
 Shall we not stand side by side, Prohibitionists and 
 High License men, in this alarming, this fearful, this 
 fateful encounter? My prohibitionist friend replies, 
 as nearly as I understand his jjosition, hitherto refus- 
 ing to unite with us of the high license advocacy, 
 securing thereby our defeat in the last canvass, ex- 
 pecting some day the mountain to come to Mahomet, 
 the 800,000 to the 30,000, in a twofold answer. First, 
 he tells us that High License does not restrict. Now I 
 
7 
 
 will not go into the stati-slics of this subject to-day. 
 Suffice it to say that liaving studied these statistics 
 with some care, I am willing to stake my accuracy of 
 information on the statement that a system of high 
 license, wherever it is faitlifully enforced, reduces the 
 sale and the consumption of intoxicating liquors, in 
 comparison with laws of prohibition, as four to one. 
 The comparative efficiency of the two systems, I be- 
 lieve, as a matter of statistics, to be in this ratio. 
 
 But I meet this objection of my prohibitionist 
 opponent, whom I want for my co-\yorker, on a still 
 more unanswerable ground. As I said to a personal 
 friend on election day, I bi-lieve the wisest thing to do 
 in the presence of an enemy is to find what he wants 
 you to do, and then do just as nearly as you possibly 
 can the opposite thing. If High License laws do not 
 restrict and restrain, and in a measure prevent and 
 prohibit, why stands the entire liquor interest of the 
 State in serried column, and with aimed guns, when a 
 mt^asure of this character is proposed ? Why does a 
 movement in this direction set brewers and maltsters 
 and distillers crazy, and enlist the bitter hostility of 
 every saloon from Montank Foint to the shores of 
 Lake Erie ? When a bill embodying the system of 
 high license has passed the Legislature,and lies before 
 the Governor in the Executive Chamber, why is he 
 besieged by the allied forces of "lager and rum, and 
 finds no sleep for his eyes nor slumber for his eyelids, 
 until he writes a veto such that he never deserves to 
 sleep well again ? And when the issue is joined, as in 
 
8 
 
 November, in a State campaign, why are maltsters 
 and brewers and distillers, saloons and their money, 
 all on one side ? There must be something alarming, 
 something portentuous in this high license system, 
 and, as was said of a certain statesman, I say of this 
 system of High License, "I love it for the enemies it 
 has made." Our great enemy, the Rum Power of this 
 State, mighty, strongly armored, ready for battle, our 
 enemy seeks the defeat, is willing to spend any 
 amount of money to compass the defeat, of laws of 
 this character. As a wise, as a -judicious, as a safe 
 principle of war, I repeat. Find out what the enemy 
 wants, and then do just the other thing. Don't go 
 over to him, body and soul, and do just what he wants 
 you to do. 
 
 Tlie second objection to unity of counsels and to 
 harmony of action on the part of our prohibition 
 friends is more serious in its character, and demands 
 most thoui^htful and careful consideration. It is the 
 moral objection, and it is urged in all sincerity and 
 candor, I will not doubt, by many most worthy and 
 excellent people. Because of this moral objection 
 that has seemed to stand in rheir path as an insur- 
 mountable barrier to all unity of action, those who 
 entertain the objection have allowed the conflict with 
 the enemy, again and again, to go by default. If the 
 objection applies, if it is well and rightly grounded, 
 then their action is justifiable, and their wuthholding 
 of needed aid in this great battle with intemperance 
 and lawlessness is the only manly and honorable 
 
9 
 
 course. If we of the High License platform are con- 
 d acting this warfare on immoral grounds, if our 
 method of restriction is in its nature sin, then no con- 
 scientious, high minded Christian man can go with us 
 in our warfare, however much we may need his help, 
 or however fatal his withdi'awal may seem to us to 
 be. The objection that is thus urged so strenuously 
 and so conscientiously is that a License law is an en- 
 actment on the statute books for the express purpose 
 of permitting an evil. It is a law, our prohibitionist 
 friend argues, that permits, and puts the authority of 
 the court as a bulwark of defense around, a positive 
 and unqualified social and moral wrong. Good may 
 "come out of Nazareth," but it can't come out of a 
 grog shop. I will put this objection, on moral 
 grounds, so far as I may be able, in all its force, for if 
 it applied in this case, as I shall endeavor to show 
 that it does not, I should act upon it most resolutely, 
 and should be found, with all my heart, in the prohi- 
 bition ranks. The underlying principle of the Gospel 
 of Christ, indeed of any system of morals, is that we 
 are to make no compromise with evil, no alliance with 
 wrong. " What fellowship," asks the apostle, ''hath 
 righteousness with unrighteousness? and what com- 
 munion hath light with darkness?" They are antag- 
 onistic the one to the other. Between them there is 
 no common ground of agreement. They wage, the 
 one against the other, a war of extermination. One 
 or the other is to be wiped out. Evil is Delilah. 
 We are not to consent to her embraces. The Philis- 
 tines are too near with their shears. 
 
10 
 
 How, we are asked, shall we reconcile this require- 
 ment of the purest morals with the advocacy and 
 support of a license law that winks at iniquity, and 
 says, Pay me a license fee, and then sin ? A law that 
 says. Comply with certain legal stipulations, and then 
 become a tempter and a seducer and a destroyer of 
 your fellow men ? Oil the hinge with legality, and 
 then throw open the door that leads to the gates of 
 death ? Cover the steps with the brussels of compli- 
 ance with law, and then let them be the steps that lay 
 hold on hell ! Now this is high and worthy ground. 
 The ground on which of all other I would desire to 
 stand if the argument applies in this urgent and press- 
 ing case. At the same time I hope to impart to you 
 my own confident and unwavering conviction that 
 there is no connection whatever between this objection 
 and the high license system to which we ask your 
 support. 
 
/ Cor. X7//31. Yet shew I unto you a mere excel- 
 lent way . 
 
 HE whole process of thought, in the objection 
 urged by our prohibition friends, has arisen from 
 the utter misnomer — a license law. Clinging to 
 that word license, the conclusion has been erroneously 
 and unjustly drawn that laws of this character have 
 been enacted to let people sell liquor, and are therefore 
 sin. If we could apply the true . title to these laws, and 
 term them, as they are, a heavy restrictive tax on the 
 sale of liquors, instead of a permission to sell, I think 
 much serious questioning in the minds of upright, 
 honest people would have been avoided, and unity 
 and harmony of action on this great question would 
 have been long ere this secured. A high license law 
 does not confer the right to sell intoxicating liquors. 
 The right to sell liquor, as the right to sell dry goods, 
 exists under the common law. If there is no law 
 passed upon that subject the right is unquestioned. It 
 exists prior to any particular statute. A high license 
 law says, If you exercise this right to sell liquor, 
 which is yours under the common law, we will jiut 
 just as heavy a penalty upon you for its exercise as 
 public sentiment will permit, $5,000 or $10,000 if the 
 people will ratify our action. This right could be at 
 once destroyed by the passage of a prohibitory law. 
 
22 
 
 If public sentiment would enforce and sustain that 
 measure, the right would no longer exist. But until 
 public sentiment will do that, we will do the next 
 best thing, and will make it just as expensive and 
 just as burdensome to tlie liquor dealer and the liquor 
 manufacturer as we possibly can, until, by the severity 
 of our oppression and the weight of our tax, we drive 
 them out of the business. 
 
 A high license law exercises the same func- 
 tion in our jurisprudence as whipping in school. 
 We can't prohibit troublesome children from 
 coming to school. So we whip them if they are 
 bad. You wouldn't say that whipping is a com- 
 promise with turbulence and disorder. You wouldn't 
 say that because we don't abolish troublesome 
 children we are making "an agreement with deathand 
 a covenant with hell." These troublesome children in 
 society, brewers and maltsters and distillers, and retail 
 dealers — these we can't abolish and so we whip them 
 with just as heavy taxes on their iniquity as we can. 
 You do not think that is a compromise with evil, or 
 an alliance with wrong, do you ? No, neither do I. 
 
 Let me illustrate the subject and show the utter emp- 
 tiness of this objection in the light of another inti- 
 mate analogy. During ttie war, we had an extensive 
 system of license laws, as an additional source of rev- 
 enue to meet the exacting expenditures incurred by 
 a causeless and wicked rebellion. A license law for 
 the sale of intoxicating liquors to-day stands in the 
 same relation as a license law for the sale of candy 
 
23 
 
 during the war. That law did not confer the right to 
 sell candy. That right existed before the law was 
 passed. A prohibitory law conld have been jjassed at 
 any time to destroy tliat right to sell candy, and to 
 prevent its exercise, if public sentiment would sus- 
 tain it. The license law simply said, If you exercise 
 this right to sell candy, which is yours under the 
 common law, and which we do not propose to prohibit, 
 we will require of you the payment of this tax for 
 the support of the government. In strict analogy 
 our high-license law says, If you exercise this right to 
 sell liquor that is yours under the common law, a 
 right we would destroy at once and utterly if we 
 could, and a power we would prohibit did public sen- 
 timent permit, if you exercise this right, we will put 
 upon yoa this penalty; we will assess this tax for the 
 support of the almshouses and the penitentiaries and 
 the state prisons that you. by your base and wicked 
 commerce, make a necessity. Did those license laws 
 during the Rebellion create the right to sell candy ? 
 Did they confer the privilege of (he skillful manipu- 
 lation of sugar, and the speedy destruction of teeth ? 
 You seethe emptiness of the objection; you see its 
 utter inapplicability. If I am doing all I can to re- 
 strain and hinder a man of thievish propensities, 
 surely I am not striking a bargain with larceny and 
 theft. If I am holding the i-eins as tightly as I can, I 
 am not making a compromise with a runaway team. 
 Thieves might be blown up with dynamite. But they 
 are not. And while they are around, we will restrain 
 
24 
 
 them just as rigidly as we may be able by penalties 
 and prisons. Runaway horses might be annihilated 
 by some mystic power when they began to run. But 
 they are not. And so we will hold the reins just as 
 tight as we can, and, with as rigid taxation as possible, 
 command: Whoa. Had we the power of prohibition, 
 would public sentiment sustain and enforce it, prohi- 
 bition, it seems to me, would be the only path for our 
 feet. A restrictive tax law would then be an ignomin- 
 ious and a shameful retreat. It would be a penalty 
 where we could say, No. In the present state of 
 society, and condition of public sentiment, we can't 
 say. No, so we will say, in the spirit of stringent 
 license, Just as little of this as possible. 
 
 Prohibitory laws may be passed and may be 
 enrolled on our statute books from Maine to Cali- 
 fornia. They may be appendixed with penalties, 
 and may bristle all over with fines and imprisonment, 
 but they are so much waste paper and spoiled ink, 
 where society does not believe that what you would 
 prohibit is positively, and inherently, and irreversibly 
 wrong. The zealous republican might pass a prohib- 
 itory law that nobody in this land of ours should 
 vote the democratic ticket, but so long as a large and 
 influential portion of our citizens believed tnat that was 
 a right and a virtuous thing to do, the democratic 
 ticket would be voted, and our prohibitory law would 
 be a dead letter. The anti-tobacco enthusiast may cry 
 eagerly for enactments involving absolute and final 
 prohibition, but, until you convince them it is wrong, 
 
25 
 
 men will roll the sweet — I mean the bitter — morsel 
 under their tongues, and the curling smoke will rise 
 in calm defiance of all your laws. 
 
 Anti-masons, in their zeal that runs away with their 
 discretion, may fill pages of foolscap with resolutions, 
 they may, by some shrewd enginery, transcribe their 
 denunciations in the statute books, and outlaw the 
 enemy ; but, despite their enactments, masonry will 
 still pursue the even tenor of its way, so long as soci- 
 ety does not believe it is sin to have secrets and keep 
 them, or to find harmless amusement with, level and 
 1)1 umb and square. 
 
 On the other hand, we can easily enact prohibitory 
 laws and enforce them, when that which they prohibit 
 is universally recognized as sin. We do not need a li- 
 cense law for larceny, that shall say, You may steal if 
 you do it gracefully and with taste. We can prohibit 
 stealing, positively and unqualifiedly, because society 
 has but one opinion about thieves. We need no li- 
 cense law for the incendiarist, that shall say. We will 
 permit you to burn our houses in broad daylight, 
 when we are all out, and the insurance policy is double 
 the value of the house ; or for the forger, that shall 
 say. We will let you continue this chirography of 
 yours, if you will write a graceful hand ; or for the 
 murderer, that shall say, Vou may murder, if you will 
 confine yourself to that large number, whom society 
 can get along better without. We can bring all these 
 at once within the sphere of prohibition. Here we 
 can enact prohibitory laws and enforce them. We can 
 
26 
 
 do so, because society says, with one voice, It is wicked 
 to burn, and forge, and kill, and to this wickedness 
 law must put a stop. But public opinion is not a unit 
 to-day on the question of the liquor traffic. It does 
 not put it side by side with thefr, and house burning, 
 and forgery, and murder and say. It must endure with 
 these the penalties of the law. We may think public 
 opinion ought to do this. But it don't. We have not 
 lived very long, or we haven't spent the time very 
 profitably if we have, if we are unaware that between 
 what ought to be and what is there is often a vast and 
 wide divergence. Men ought to be wiser than they 
 are, and society ought to be better. But as the tact of 
 the case, they are not. By the grace of God — and by 
 the perversity of our natures — we are what we are. 
 And we must legislate on that basis. It is love's 
 labor lost to print statute books for hypothetical 
 cases, or to multiply enactments for a condition of so- 
 ciety up in the moon, where all may be supposed to 
 have right ideas and correct opinions and lovely na- 
 tures and pure hearts, so long as here on the earth 
 ideas are distorted, and opinions awry, and natures 
 crooked, and hearts perverse. We must legislate for 
 society as it is, hoping to make it better by and by ; 
 and for men as they are, devoutly hopeful still that 
 they may grow wiser in some better day. 
 
 I appeal therefore, again, to every honest prohibi- 
 tionist to give the weight of his influence to these re- 
 strictive measures, that shall limit and restrain the 
 sale of intoxicating liquors ; and I add to my appeal 
 
27 
 
 the promise that every possible measure of prohibi- 
 tion shall receive our hearty and cordial and unwav- 
 ering support, vi^hoare now laboring and voting for the 
 passage of these laws, and who will be only glad to 
 secure absolute prohibition at the earliest possibility. 
 Under our system of Local Option, we will vote with 
 you, everytime, for the Excise Commissioner who will 
 grant no license in the locality in which we live. So 
 securing, by our united effort, local prohibition. Un- 
 der our Civil Damage statute, we will join our forces 
 heartily to inflict the full penalty of the law for the 
 injuries that are done by this traffic, whenever by overt 
 act we may be able to trace them. 
 
 We will stand with you firmly and resolutely in 
 the practice of total abstinence, that our example with 
 yours may enlighten and uplift public sentiment, until, 
 with one voice, it shall say in mandatory utterance, in 
 puissant command, This base traffic shall now cease, 
 this iniquitous trade we will prohibit throughout the 
 length and breadth of this broad land, while from this 
 tyrant passion, this master spirit of evil, we shall pro- 
 claim liberty to all the inhabitants thereof. 
 
 And then we add this agi-eement, in solemn prom- 
 ise also, that, apart from all party lines, as good citi- 
 zens and solicitous for the welfare of the republic, we 
 will, to the utmost of our power, labor to secure the 
 passage of a Constitutional Amendment, State and 
 National, forever prohibiting the manufacture and 
 sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage. 
 
28 
 
 Permit ine to urge once more with renewed em- 
 phasis the necessity of united, counsels and concordant 
 action, for the sake of which I make my appeal and 
 give my promise, as I recall the fate of our last at- 
 tempt in the legislature to secure the submission to 
 the people of a Constitutional Amendment of this 
 character. 
 
 The bill was defeated by some six or eight votes 
 in our Assembly. In more than as many districts of 
 the State, the legislator who voted against the measure 
 was elected because the prohibition vote in his dis- 
 trict was cast for a third candidate, which vote, had 
 it been cast for the candidate in favor of the amend- 
 ment, would have elected him and secured the passage 
 of the bill. That is the reason we have not had the 
 opportunity to vote on a Constitutidnal Amendment, 
 prohibiting the manufacture and sale of intoxicating 
 liquors in the State of New York. Let us be admon- 
 ished of the absolute necessity, the imperative need, 
 of the hour . The Enemy stand over against us welded 
 as one man, in one mighty phalanx. Let us stand to- 
 gether shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, against 
 him, and so go forth bravely and fearlessly to the 
 fray, strong in each other, and strong in the God of 
 battles. 
 
John YI : 12. Gather up the fragmenti 
 
 HE miracle of the loaves and fishes was, in many 
 respects, the most impressive and remarkable of 
 all the works of majesty and power our Saviour 
 performed. It was repeated, as you remember, on a 
 second occasion, in precisely a similar manner. And 
 that wonder Worker did not often repeat himself. 
 
 As an evidence of the impression produced, we 
 read of those who became His disciples, " because 
 they had eaten of the loaves, and been filled." 
 
 They were a lazy, indolent class of people, who 
 had come to the conclusion that, if they followed the 
 Nazarene, they would no longer be compelled to work 
 for a living, but that, whenever they were hungry, 
 Jesus would assume the capacity of bread-maker, 
 without grain or yeast, and feed them. They were not, 
 however, encouraged to continue on that basis. Mir- 
 acles were not for the lazy, nor displays of power for 
 the listless and inert. 
 
 The Saviour, when recalling the miracle, directs 
 especial attention to the '•'fragments which remained." 
 "How many baskets full- of fragments took ye up ^" 
 He seems to urge this, as the decisive test of the mira- 
 cle. It was not a deception. It was not a trick of leg- 
 erdemain. The multitude sitting there were not mag- 
 netized to think that they had eaten. Ther« had been 
 
30 
 
 an actual meal and a hearty one. For there lay the 
 fragments, twelve baskets of them. 
 
 And there are other lessons, also, connected with 
 this feature of the miracle, upon which the Master, 
 with so much emphasis, insists. Let us attend to some 
 of them to-day. 
 
 I. Observe, tirst of all, the reason the Master gave 
 for this command, "Gather up the fragments." If 
 that Master could supply bread by the loaf, and fishes 
 by the thousand, so easily, why should He care about 
 the ineces, left lying on the ground ? The multitude 
 didn't care anything about them. They had thrown 
 them away. The disciples didn't think of them. Yet 
 the Master said. Gather them up ! And why ? " That 
 nothing be lost.^'' Whatever might be His resources, 
 however easily He could create. He would not suffer 
 anything He had made to be wasted, nor the most 
 trivial creation of His handiwork to be lost. When 
 the Master manifested that interest in the fragments 
 that remained, He was giving development to His di- 
 vine nature just as truly as when He was creating the 
 bread and the fish, omitting the intermediate processes 
 of growing barley and heated oven, and kneaded 
 dough, with no home for the fish in the bosom of the 
 sea. It is the nature of that God revealed in Christ, 
 to care for all that He has made, though but a crumb 
 of bread or a piece of a fish, as constantly and as 
 unweariedly, as, with wisdom and skill, originally to 
 create and call into being and life. Until the material 
 universe has accomplished its purpose and shall be 
 
31 
 
 burned up, not an atom of which it is composed is al- 
 lowed to perish, not a force that is once employed is 
 ever spent, not an influence that is exerted ever dies 
 away. Each alike is a ripple on the surface of that 
 sea, whose receding waves are never still. This is but 
 the scientific law, admitted in all our philosophy, of 
 the "conservation of force." Forms of existence 
 change ; new relations are established ; modifications 
 are constant and transitions ceaseless ; but the atoms 
 with which, they play are indestructible — the material 
 they use is never lost. The ray of light that shines 
 down to us from yonder sun, and tben floats upon its 
 way, has not fulfllled its mission, it has not finished 
 its work. That ray of light will not be wasted. It 
 cannot be lost. It will float on through this vast uni- 
 verse, bearing radiance to other realms, carrying light 
 upon its bosom to other worlds than this, spanning 
 the distance, it may be, between earth and sea green 
 Sirius, among the remotest of the stars. 
 
 This is an established law of nature, impressed 
 upon her mighty chart by that God of nature, who, 
 when in the wilderness, bids disciples "gather up the 
 fragments," who, in this vast universe, permits noth- 
 ing to be wasted, nothing to be lost. 
 
 And this is His purpose, ray friends, with us. No 
 energy of ours is ever wasted ; no effort we put forth 
 is ever lost. Each word we speak leaps, at the utter- 
 ance, upon an endless mission, measured only by the 
 years of God. Who can estimate the tide of joy and 
 cheer that pours forth from the silent recesses of a 
 
32 
 
 word of kindness, the gentle accents of love ? The 
 leaven of a noble purpose, of a pure thought, of an 
 honest life, put into the meal of character, moulds and 
 works within it, and goes forth, in resistless influence, 
 to other hearts and lives. 
 
 If these things be so, how momentous are the is- 
 sues of our lives ; how enduring and how lasting the 
 destinies of the hour. Each thought we think, each 
 feeling we entertain, each purpose we form, touches, 
 in silent impact, the eternities. Eacti puts its finger 
 to the battery of events, and calls forth the electric 
 charge, whose force we can never measure, whose 
 strength defies our calculations, whose story will be 
 told only when the books are opened, and all thoughts 
 revealed. 
 
 II, Observe, also, in this command of our text, 
 the interest of the Master in little things. The mul- 
 titude have started for their homes, and have left 
 those fragments to the dogs, or to some wandering 
 beasts of the desert. They will never give them 
 another thought. The "fragments" were so unimport- 
 ant, so trivial, so valueless. Such a little thing. Not 
 so the Master. As the attitude of His being, as the post- 
 ure in which He abides, God cares always for little 
 things — He remembers the "fragments." It is He who 
 watches the sparrow's flight. He who counts the 
 hairs of our heads. Little things are with Him, 
 in His wise control of all events, the hinges 
 on which the greater are made, as majestic 
 doors, to turn. They are the gateway to many 
 
33 
 
 a stupendous issue, to many an eventful scene. They 
 are the lever by which vast weigbts are lifted, 
 and ponderous bodies posed in air. When the 
 Andrews bring the Simons to Jesus, they know not 
 the work the Simons, in after years, may do. When 
 the Marys pour the ointment of their devotion on the 
 Master's head, they know not the influence of their 
 deed upon the generations to come, among whom it 
 shall be recorded for a memorial of them. God can 
 multiply "awordfltly spoken" so that, in the final 
 solution of the problem, it will be a soul saved forever 
 "out of the depths." A spark is seen falling on mor- 
 tar, and, in the prolific thought of the inventor, the 
 product is gunpowder, the agent of immeasurable 
 results, the arbiter of many a destiny, the last appeal 
 of nations. The steam engine, with all its ramifica- 
 tions in the practical arts and applied sciences, is born 
 in the brain of that boy who sits, apparently so idly, 
 watching the steam as it rises from the mouth of the 
 tea kettle. 
 
 When the long, hard work of digging and delv- 
 ing was finished among the reefs and rocks of Hell 
 Gate, New York ; when the mine was set, and the 
 moment for the explosion, terrible and terrific, had 
 come, Gen. Newton led his little girl up to the battery, 
 who, with soft and delicate touch, drew fortli the elec- 
 tric charge that rove the rocks, that opened a pathway 
 amid those high walled chambers for the vessel on its 
 way, that shook, with its mighty convulsion, the hid- 
 den depths of the sea. So unseen forces many times, 
 
34 
 
 and results immense and immeasurable, follow from 
 the gentlest toucli, the softest linger, of some unno- 
 ticed, unseen thing. It is the method, sublime and 
 wonderful, of Him who uses the least and em- 
 ploys the humblest, and makes them the mightiest 
 agencies of His will and power. Who "gather(s) up 
 the fragments." With W^hom nothing is great, and, 
 therefore, in Whose esteem, nothing can be small. 
 
 A woman touches the border of the Master's 
 hem. A touch is nothing, reasons Peter, in his im- 
 petuosity, in his ignorance of unseen forces. A touch 
 is everything, reasons the Master, and He makes the 
 woman well ! I see Him standing, too, by the treas- 
 ury. One and another passes and, in his wealth and 
 opulence, castsinto the treasury the golden coin. "Ah 
 how liberal they are," whisper the discii^les. A poor 
 woman, in her penury, puts in her mites. Pretty 
 small contribution, murmur the disciples. But this 
 is the word of the Master, who gathers up the frag- 
 ments, and cares for little things: "Verily, Isay unto 
 you. That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all 
 they which have cast into the treasury." A paltry 
 mite of copper excelled the gleaming talents of gold, 
 because there was more self sacrifice behind it. As 
 the voice of the Master is calling us to duty, and 
 summoning us to toil, is the language of the unwilling 
 prophet upon our hearts, and are we answering that 
 we are but as a little child — least and lowest in the 
 kingdom ? Then, though we are but fragments, in 
 the midst of vast and mighty agencies, it may be the 
 
35 
 
 fragments that He will be pleased to employ, with 
 which to work most wondrously to the upbuilding of 
 His kingdom, and the triumphs of His grace. His 
 power IS the infinite multiplier. No matter how small 
 the multiplicand. The product must be inhnite. 
 
 III. Then we are thinking, in the third place, of 
 that circle of twelve disciples engaged in a very menial 
 and lowly task ; one that kad in it no honor or dig- 
 nity in their, or in the multitude's esteem. They are 
 picking up the pieces. It is work they perhaps de- 
 spise, and that takes away all the glory they had 
 achieved when, proudly and confidently, they were 
 dispensing bread from some unseen bakery by the loaf, 
 and fish from some undiscovered sea by the score. 
 And that lowly, humble task required incomparably 
 more grace, with which to perform it willingly and to 
 do it well, than did the nobler, grander work that 
 sometimes fell to their hands. 
 
 When those disciples were sent forth to preach, 
 and the multitudes hung upon their words ; when 
 they came to the people, clothed witli miraculous 
 power, invested with their Master's own authority — 
 then they were the cynosure of every eye, the envied 
 of all who beheld. Such missions as these, it required 
 very little grace to be willing to fulfil. Any man 
 would have grasped at them. And they came back 
 to the Master with words of exultation on their lips, 
 surprised and wondering at their own successes. 
 When, in this scene in the wilderness, they were com- 
 manded to take in their hands the bread and the fish ; 
 
36 
 
 when, as they began to distribute, the bread kept 
 coming, and the fish, in adequate supply, those dis- 
 ciples were the observed of all observers. Tlie Master 
 was cast into the shade. Perliaps the twelve were ex- 
 ultant and lifted up hy the ini])ressiveness of the 
 scene, and by the prominence of the part in that 
 strange drama they were called to play. Perhaps they 
 needed the subsequent toil of picking up the pieces to 
 bring them down to a proper level of humility and 
 self renunciation. And while they were doing that 
 work, filling their baskets with the fragments, the 
 multitude looking on with contempt, then was the 
 time of their need, then was more grace given that 
 they might do their work cheerfully, that they might 
 obey the Master willingly, that they might serve Him 
 faithfully and well, than when they were called to 
 preach with an eloquence not their own, to heal with 
 delegated power, to feed the assembled thousands un- 
 til, supplied from unseen sources, the multitude were 
 filled. 
 
 And ahvays, my friends, it is the humble, lowly 
 task, the menial, servile toil, that requires the noblest 
 devotion, that develops the sweetest spirits, that man- 
 ifests the most abundant grace. The voice that spoke 
 so gently to the Syrian of old, speaks also to us, with 
 all its inherent truth : "If the prophet had bid 
 thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have 
 done it Indeed we would, and we would have all 
 been glad to. But the ordinary tasks, the humble, 
 lowly toil of every day, — behind the counter, at the 
 
37 
 
 work bench, in the kitchen, work such as the disciples 
 are doing when they pick up the bread and the fish 
 lying in fra2;ments at their feet,— this, this calls for 
 heroism, this demands devotion, this develops most 
 the true disciple of our Lord. "If any man will be 
 great among you, let him be your servant." It re- 
 quires more grace to be a doorkeeper at the White 
 House than to be the President in the East room. It 
 requires more grace to attend at the palace' gate than 
 to sit upon the throne within the palace' walls. It is 
 nobler sometimes to serve than to command. It 
 may be a greater thing to be a good sexton than to 
 preach a good sermon, or to sit in a desirable pew. 
 
 IV . And, as we close, we are thinking of the broken 
 fragments of our hopes and plans. We think of them 
 only in despair and sad discouragement. We moisten 
 them with our tears. We leave them in the dust of 
 cheerless gloom. But the Master, in some wise pur- 
 pose of unchanging love, of love that makes no mis- 
 takes, says to His angels : " Gather up the fragments." 
 Collect those broken hopes. Bring together . those baf- 
 fled plans. Combine them in some gift of choicest 
 blessing, of highest boon, to the troubled, downcast 
 soul. 
 
 Ah, the fragments, the broken ends, the shattered, 
 riven hopes, in these lives of ours — how many they 
 are ! How thickly do they strew the ground I We 
 don't know what to do with them. They seem to lie 
 there purposeless, wasted forever, wholly lost. But, 
 no ! An unseen Hand is gathering them while we are 
 
38 
 
 so troubled and disturbed ; invisible Love is jiutting 
 them together; by and bj-e, when the work is done, 
 we shall find, in glad discovery, that they have 
 wrought out for us " the far more exceeding and eter- 
 nal weight of glory.'' And then there will be no 
 broken ends. No shattered, riven piece. No "frag- 
 ments that remain.'' In God's restored and re-united 
 handiwork, in His finished purpose, our lives will be 
 complete, our hopes will find fulfillment, and so our 
 hearts will be at rest— these hearts that are so restless 
 until they find their rest in God. Then, and not till 
 then, shall we be able to exclaim, in the dying words 
 of the illustrious Dean of Westminster, "I am per- 
 fectly happy ; I am perfectly satisfied." 
 
PTiil. IV: 11. 1 7iave learned, in whatsoever state I 
 am, therewith to he content. 
 
 A.VING learned this lesson, in what striking con- 
 trast does the apostle stand with man in his 
 normal condition. How different the ripeness 
 of that Christian experience from human nature, as 
 you find it the world over. Man, everywhere, and in 
 all ages, is the child of dissatisfaction and discontent. 
 Foreign writers of our day have often pronounced 
 these traits of character peculiarly American. The 
 American people, they tell us, so rapid in their 
 growth, so intent upon the attainment of wealth, the 
 land of the Vanderbilts and Goulds, the Sharons and 
 Fairs, a people so fond, and yet so lavish, of their re- 
 sources, are pre-eminently the dissatisfied, discon- 
 tented nation of the day. The charge is, in a meas- 
 ure, true. Our people, as a rule, and perhaps dis- 
 tlnguishingly, whether in the mart of commerce and 
 of trade, or in the halls of science and polite learning, 
 whether you take the workman at his bench or the 
 scholar among his booke, are struggling untiringly, 
 to excess, toward something higher and better, toward 
 more marked achievement, and more substantial and 
 lasting results. Throughout the land, pervading the 
 activity of our people, there is ceaseless, constant, cor- 
 roding, unrest. But this is only a part of the truth. 
 
40 
 
 Turn where you may, to what nation of the earth you 
 will, back to what period of history you please, and 
 the same spectacle meets your s^ze, the same control- 
 ling tendency inheres. At the fountain of human 
 history, in its first beginnings, it was discontent— a 
 desire for a knowledge they did not possess and that 
 they would have been ten thousand times better oflf 
 if they never had — chis that led our first parents into 
 sin, that made us a race of sinners. Discontent, on 
 the plains of Babel, built its tower, confounded the 
 tongues, and scattered the builders. And over each 
 paaje of history, as man has lost the present and mis- 
 improved it in his aspirations toward the future ; 
 ceaselessly struggling, longing for something that 
 seems better beyond — over each page of that history 
 this may be written as the substance of its contents : 
 Dissatisfaction, discontentment, unrest. It is the long 
 and weary pursuit of the fabled gold at the rainbow's 
 base, — the pursuer lured on and on, the gold always 
 far ahead. 
 
 As Spenser puts it : 
 
 "Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, 
 What hell it is in suing long to hide ; 
 To lose good days that might be better spent ; 
 To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; 
 To speed to-day, to be put back to morrow ; 
 To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow . 
 To fret thyself with crosses and with cares ; 
 To eat thy heart with comfortless despairs ; 
 To faune, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, 
 To spend, to give, to want, to be undone." 
 
 You find the tendency of which I speak implanted, 
 
41 
 
 growing, in the hearts of the young. The pleasures 
 of childhood are chilled by the thought of how much 
 better it will be, and how much happier they, when 
 they shall be men. Wlien the years of childhood are 
 passed, the disposition has grown with our growth, 
 and strengthened with our strength. In this sense, 
 we do not "put away childish things." Rising man- 
 hood and womanhood are stripped of their full vigor, 
 divested of their highest, noblest purpose by idle 
 musings of what mUy thoughtless of what is. 
 And then when old age has come, and the strength 
 and vigor are gone, and gone forever, there remains the 
 gnawing of discontent over the little that has been ac- 
 complished, the less in that hours were devoted to idle 
 aspirations, to vain, illusive hopes, in which, had hand 
 and heart proved faithful, more would have been 
 achieved. Neither do we see this spirit of discontent 
 more largely developed where we would expect, in the 
 circumstances of the case, especially to find it. It is 
 not confined to the hovel of the poor, to the hours of 
 hard wrought labor so illy remunerated at the work 
 bench or in the shop. Its dwelling place is not pecul- 
 iarly with those whose condition in life is lowly, or 
 their station humble or obscure. Rather you will find 
 it more seldom, less active, here. The principle of its 
 operation seems rather to be, that the more we have, 
 the better circumstanced in life we are, the more dis- 
 satisfied, the more restless, are we with the lot in 
 which Providence has placed us, the more do we long 
 and despondingly dream of something better beyond. 
 
42 
 
 "Poor and content" — reasons the hero of the 
 dramatist — "is rich, and rich enough." Ah the 
 wealth, though men call him poor, the wealth, the op- 
 ulence, of the man who is "shut up in measureless 
 content." 
 
 * * * ''Verily 
 * * * 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble lives in content, 
 Than to be perch'd up in glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow." 
 
 For, many times in life, you- may tui'n from the 
 luxury of the abode, where all that wealth can give is 
 found, and having read the story of discontentment 
 there, of weariness with pleasure, of surfeit with ex- 
 cess, of constant search for some new and undiscovered 
 joy, go to the cottage with few rooms and small, the 
 board frugal and spare, and find at last the angel of 
 the house— content. There is many a man who has 
 plied the anvil from boyhood to old age, and found 
 satisfaction the while in the strong arm, the vigorous 
 stroke, the healthy, though comparatively inactive 
 brain. An ox takes more delight in a pasture field, 
 than an epicure in choicest viands. The street Arab 
 enthuses ten-fold more in the finding of a dollar on the 
 sidewalk, than a Jay Gould in turning an easy million 
 in the Stock Exchange. 
 
 As an inseparable element of this spirit of discon- 
 tent, present enjoyment is invariably lessened, often 
 wholly lost. Pleasure is sought, not in present duty 
 performed, where alone it can be found, but rather in 
 liopes of the future, in dreams of better days. Labor 
 
43 
 
 becomes irksome, honest toil a burden, because so in' 
 ferior, in comparison to an imagined blessing, some 
 fancied condition in life yet to come. The bird in the 
 hand is let go, for the two in the bush that may never 
 be caught. The comfortable abode of present satisfac- 
 tion is left behind, and men live in the cold of idle 
 hope and useless fancy, until fortune may find them a 
 palace. 
 
 The question then arises, what is the secret or 
 cause of this prevailing spirit of discontent, which is 
 sapping the foundations of all true happiness and honest 
 enjoyment, and how may it be remedied or removed? I 
 think the answer is that it is due to an erroneous con- 
 ception of greatness, toward which so many, in the 
 race of life, are struggling, and to which so many hope 
 some day to attain. All, in one sphere of action or 
 another, in one way or another, all desire to rise. If 
 man understood true greatness, that desire would be 
 the noblest aspiration of the soul, the purest religion. 
 Here then we find the hinge, upon which this whole 
 subject turns. It is the answer to the question, What 
 is true greatness, the highest excellence? And the 
 answer will perhaps more readily be suggested by 
 contrast. Greatness, then, as men look upon great- 
 ness, as men struggle and toil toward its attainment, 
 consists in some position of influence or superiority, 
 some station of honor and trust among their fellow 
 men. True greatness consists in faithfulness in the po- 
 sition, however humble or obscure, in which we are 
 now placed. Earthly greatness consists in what we 
 
44 
 
 have, a certain amount of money, or influence, or in 
 official place. True greatness in wliat we are. An 
 honest, upright coal carrier is greater than a dishonest, 
 wicked king. In the intercourse of men, and the tide 
 of human events, it often occurs that men of very in- 
 ferior stature in intellect and morals are standing on 
 the giddy height of prosperity and fame, while many 
 of far nobler worth are treading the plains below. 
 But they on the summit are no greater, because they 
 are higher up. True greatness does not depend upon 
 where — but always and only upon what — a man is. In 
 the scales of the eternities, money, office, fame, are 
 tlung high in air ; while truth, endurance, honesty, 
 faith, these are the heavy weights — these count in the 
 tons. A pure soul, though it exhales its atmosphere 
 of sanctity amid scenes of poverty and reproach, 
 though clothed with rags and dwelling in a hovel, is 
 always great. A mean spirit, a narrow mind, though 
 "clothed with purple and fine linen, and faring sump- 
 tuously every day," though seated on a throne, and 
 dwelling in a palace, is always small. A ball is not 
 made larger by throwing it into the air. Neither are 
 men, whom some sudden turn of fortune has hurled, 
 as it were, into popularity and fame. Greatness 
 is independent of circumstances. It is unchanged by 
 the changes of time. A great man, whose greatness 
 is in himself, will be great everywhere, take him 
 where you will. He will be great as a chimney-sweep, 
 sweeping his chimneys clean, and sweeping them 
 conscientiously. Great in the meanest toil, peform- 
 
45 
 
 ing it grandly, in faithfulness and truth. Things the 
 most trivial, efforts the most despised will be lifted to 
 the plane of his own inherent greatness, and dignified 
 with his own abiding worth. His innate nobility of 
 soul will be everywhere a magnet, that will draw the 
 coarsest iron up to himself. On the other hand, the 
 man vvho has not that greatness in himself, who seeks 
 it rather in where, than in what, he is, who expects to 
 find it in some superior position, some higher plane, 
 rather than in faitiifulness in that position in which 
 he stands, that man can never attain true greatness, 
 succeed how he may. His soul is narrow, his intellect 
 confined, his heart bound up in himself; he is small 
 by nature, and lie will be small, though he may ride 
 smoothly upon the waves of fortune, or sit in some 
 chair of state. It will be the old fable of the frog 
 proposing to swell to the proportions of the ox. The 
 distended sides will be insignificant in comparison 
 with the envied ideal, and the effort will be fatal to 
 the frog. 
 
 And yet it is the inferior, and not the higher and 
 nobler, greatness of which we have spoken, toward 
 which man is striving, and the hoped for attainment 
 of which occasions the prevailing discontent, dissatis- 
 faction, unrest, that are reigning in society. Men are 
 not, as a general thing, discontented with what, but 
 only with where they are. They are not impatient, 
 restless to be better, but rather, just as they are, to 
 get higher. Not to be good citizens, but legislators 
 and governors and officers of state. Now this inferior 
 
46 
 
 greatness, this greatness toward which men are gen- 
 erally found discontentedly aspiring— this greatness 
 of externals, of position, popularity, or power — is 
 that which, in the order of nature, but very few can 
 attain. There are not enough seats in the legislature, 
 there is not an adequate supply of gubematorial 
 honors, there is not a sufficiency of easy berths .in the 
 Custom House to go round. A very great many must 
 be left out in the cold. In this lottery the majority 
 hold blank tickets. What then should be the effect 
 of this familiar fact of experience, this common lot of 
 humanity? Should it be to discourage the aspirant, 
 or to increase the prevailing si)irit of discontent? No. 
 But this rather. It should lead us, each one, to set 
 before us in life a higher standard, and yet a standard 
 that, though higher, we can all, the humblest and the 
 weakest, attain. It should inspire us to aim not so 
 much at a first position, as at a faithful discharge of 
 the duties and responsibilities of the position, whether 
 lower or higher, in which we are placed . To seek, in 
 short, that truer greatness, which consists in what we 
 are, rather than in what we have. When we thus 
 aspire, we may set before us, for our example, the 
 greatest man the world ever knew. Jesus never oc- 
 cupied a high position, after the estimation of men. 
 All the associations of His life were lowly, and I may 
 say, despised. He was born in a manger; He lived in 
 Nazareth; He toiled in a carpenter shop; His pulpit 
 was the wayside; He was penniless and homeless; He 
 shared the contempt of the upper classes while He 
 
47 
 
 lived; He hung on a Roman gibbet when He died. 
 Pharisees condensed their unmeasured scorn in one 
 word, and hurled it at Him with derision. "This!'* 
 leaving the blank to imagination. 
 
 And yet, in His greatness of soul, He was above 
 all principalities and powers. That greatness was 
 found in Himself. And when He described it, He 
 said: "I am meek and lowly in heart." In the enjoy- 
 ment of that, the Christ was satisfied. He was wholly 
 content. Place before you that truer, that higher 
 greatness — the greatness of Jesus, the greatness of 
 God; listen to His word, as he says to dissatisfied, dis- 
 contented, impatient man, "learn of me" — and He will 
 give you rest. Becoming great as Jesus was great, 
 you will be wholly content. And this is true ambi- 
 tion. Not the restless struggling for some vain chi- 
 mera we will probably never attain. Not the folding 
 of the arras, and dreaming of better days to come. 
 But rather the aspiration that soars meekly, humbly 
 toward excellence in the sphere in which we are mov- 
 ing, toward fidelity to the trusts already committed 
 to our charge. And so only shall we be prepared for 
 a higher sphere, or for larger trusts. In the affairs of 
 men, he is promoted from one department of his em- 
 ploy to another, who establishes his claim by skill 
 and ingenuity in a lower, never he who sits and sighs 
 to be there. And this is the Master's word: "He 
 who is faithful in that which is least, will one day be 
 faithful in that which is much" — "will be ruler over 
 ten cities." Only he, the faithful in the lowest and 
 
48 
 
 the least, will have the opportunity to establish his 
 fitness for higher things. 
 
 Until you and I, my friends, learn this lesson, life 
 will be barren, our days a blank. It is this content- 
 ment that renders present duty a pleasure; that dig- 
 nifies, exalts the humblest, lowliest life. It casts a 
 halo around the feeblest effort. It places a crown 
 upon the brow of the laborer, wherever the field of 
 his toil, It makes religion what it is. "Godliness 
 with contentment is great gain." "With content- 
 ment." 
 
Rom. 11:1. 
 
 Paiient continuance in well doing. 
 
 HIS is Paul's idea of practical religion. He is ex- 
 ^ pressing himself very plainly, and with all can- 
 dor, to a class of people who are sadly failing to 
 practice what they preach. Who are condemning 
 other people for what they do themselves. People 
 between whose words and whose works there is a di- 
 vergence wide as the poles, and distant as the anti- 
 podes. Paul tells this class of people that there isn' t any 
 chance for them. They are doomed, however eloquent 
 their preaching, however sound the advice they offer. 
 "Thinkest thou this, O man, that jndgest them which 
 do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt 
 escape the judgment of God They can't get away 
 from judgment by exhorting other men from sin. Said 
 a friend of mine one day, I practice no vices in i^rivate 
 that I do not in public. It was not especially to his 
 credit that he made a display of that kind of property. 
 But perhaps it was better than to cover and conceal. 
 Hypocrisy involves a two-fold fracture of law, the sin, 
 and the lie behind the sin. Advice, after all, does not 
 go a great ways in the influence of soul upon soul. 
 Men do not listen to what we are advising, but to how 
 we are living. It is the easiest thing in the world to 
 give advice. It is not so easy to put a life behind it. 
 A Martha can advise a Mary to go to work, when she 
 is doing her own with grumbling and discontent. A 
 
51 
 
 Peter can ask: "Lord and what shall this do when 
 the all essential thing is what he is going to do in the 
 presence of the Master's severe and stern rebuke. 
 
 The Ai:)ostle is addressing himself to this strange 
 anomaly in the text. He urges to personal and im- 
 mediate resijonsibility. Each man for himself — con- 
 fronting the eternities, and before God. He makes 
 religion a personal thing — a reality of the inmost life — 
 a part of our truer, better selves. It is an entity in the in- 
 most texture of the human soul that God sees where no 
 human eye can discover, and, when he sees it, adopts and 
 signs with the seal royal of the kingdom for all the ages. 
 In this connection the apostle gives us this admirable 
 definition, this comprehensive analysis, of all religion 
 that I have chosen for our thought to-day. "Patient 
 continuance in well doing." A bias rightward. The 
 statement meets two popular errors — errors of Paul's 
 day, and errors no less of our own. 
 
 The first familiar error is that which makes 
 religion a matter of belief or theory. Which 
 misinterprets that class of scripture texts that 
 present faith as the condition of acceptance as re- 
 ferring to intellectual conviction, mental reception 
 of truth. It is the error against which the apostle 
 James reasons so forcibly when he puts the decisive 
 question: "Can faith save him ?" That question that 
 upset for years Martin Luther's exegesis. On this basis 
 of theoretical belief in truth whole systems of theology 
 have been elaborated, and have been ratified by ecles- 
 iastical councils, and pronounced essential to salva- 
 
52 
 
 tion. In the pharmacy of rigid and rigorons theology, 
 the prescription has been prepared, all the ingredients 
 carefully mixed, and the dose put to the lips of the 
 faithful who shall swallow it without a murmur, or 
 be lost. Now the only element of faith that gives it 
 worth or reality is its tendency to go fortli in action. 
 Its nature to evolve. As James reasons, in that epis- 
 tle, "If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of 
 daily food, and one of you say unto them, depart in 
 peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye 
 give them not those things which are needful to the 
 body; what doth it profit?" Telling them to be 
 warm don't do any good, if they are cold. Or telling 
 them to be fed, if they are hungry. Theorizing don't 
 meet the exigencies of the case. Words are only on 
 the surface. Something must be done. Somewhere 
 clothes must be found, and food furnished, or there 
 will be shivering and starvation. 
 
 A man' s theology goes a very little way in the make 
 upof theman. The soundest theologians of history have 
 been, many times, its vilest rascals. Henry VIII, that 
 embodiment of British iniquity, furnished the Church 
 of England its theology, and told archbishops and car- 
 dinals what to believe. The Duke ot Alva, redden- 
 ing the plains of Holland with blood, was sound on 
 all the essential doctrines, and would have passed a 
 first-class examination before a Presbytery. Those 
 who burned witches in Rhode Island were in the di- 
 rect line from the Pilgrims of Plymouth Rock, and 
 no ship ever carried more theology than the May- 
 
53 
 
 flower. That historic ship has supplied the pulpits 
 of a continent, and held them to the moorings 
 of eternal truth. Yet believers in that theology, in the 
 fanaticism of the hour, kindled martyr fires and shed 
 innocent blood. It is a very useless procedure to ex- 
 amine a man or a woman who applies for church 
 membership on questions of doctrine, on issues of 
 theology, because that tells so little of what a man or 
 a woman is. Doctrine has so little to do with duty. 
 What a man believes with what a man is. What he 
 evolves in theory with what he does in daily life. 
 
 Then a second popular fallacy, as false as the first, 
 is that salvation and eternal life are ex traneous rewards, 
 something like a price paid, or as wages rendered. 
 So much goodness and so much glory. In contradis- 
 tinction from this frequent and familiar conception I 
 do not think it can be too strongly or too repeatedly 
 urged, as the fact of human life, that reward and 
 punishment are natural jjrocesses, the normal effects, 
 of which what we are is always the efficient and the 
 final cause. We grow into the one or the other by 
 the necessity of our natures, by the irresistible pro- 
 pulsion of what we are. We grow into what the 
 Bible calls life, or what it calls death, into eternal 
 states of existence, as conditions of our inmost selves, 
 as the atmosphere and the mould of our own imperish- 
 able being. You put a bad man at a bound in heaven 
 and he would be utterly miserable, because he was 
 bad. You put a good man in hell and he would be 
 blessed, because he was good. This nature of ours is 
 
54" 
 
 a seed of endless and deathless possibilities; in the 
 eternities it grows into its own maturity and ripeness 
 — the maturity and ripeness of its own inherent es- 
 sence, and that will be heaven or that will be hell. 
 This soul within us is a bud that will blossom as a 
 lily in the garden of God, because it is a lily of jieer- 
 less white; or it will bloom as deadly nightshade in 
 the pathless dark because in its nature it is night- 
 shade. You couldn't change nightshade and lily |3y 
 changing their places where they pour forth sweet- 
 ness or exude poison. Locality and place have very 
 little to do with these deep realities of soul — these in- 
 most truths of being. These natures of ours, moulded 
 by the mighty spirit of Light, and Life and Love, are 
 the many mansions; or, left untouched by celestial in- 
 fluences, these natures within us are the lake and the 
 tire and the worm. A wicked nature — eternally 
 wicked; what a lake that is! How dark, how bot- 
 tomless! A bad heart — eternally bad; what a des- 
 troying fire ! How it burns and blisters and consumes! 
 A perverted spirit— eternallj^ l^erverse; what a gnaw- 
 ing worm ! How it writhes and withers and wrecks ! 
 And what a mansion of light and life is a soul 
 redeemed, delivered, disenthralled ! 
 
 As the thought of our theme to-day the life that 
 is eternal is the normal effect, the inevitable product, 
 of a process of soul. It evolves from the inmost out- 
 goings of aspiration and desire as the normal 
 and natural result. God gives eternal life, but 
 He gives it as He gives fruit to the tree, or 
 
55 
 
 grain to the field, or fragrance to the flower — as 
 the results of causes that produce them that are in- 
 herent, that He has put into the essence and na- 
 ture of the thing. There is some mystic entity, in- 
 tangible and unseen, in the tree that becomes, in its 
 unfolding and resistless operation, fruit, in the field 
 that ripens into grain, in the flower that wafts itself 
 in fragrance. In the soul, that is life and heaven. 
 These are the fruitage, the maturing, the aroma of 
 spirit. 
 
 If we are asking ourselves, in silent thought, 
 to-day, whether we are really on the way to heaven, 
 back of all professions, behind and beneath all out- 
 ward, visible relations in Zion, the answer lies simply 
 here: How are we living ? What is the inmost trend 
 and tenor of our souls ? It has very little to do with 
 the question: What system of theology we believe, the 
 standard of what ecclesiastical organization we accept 
 as authorative, whether we like John Calvin or John 
 AVesley better. Neither has this question that goes 
 deep down into our souls and probes to the inmost 
 core very much to do with the problem whether we 
 have entered a race where a prize is offered, or have 
 proposed to fight a battle where a crown is given, but 
 are we running that race that is itself the prize, are we 
 fighting that battle that is itself the crown, are we liv- 
 ing Godward to-day ? 
 
 Eeligion is the most natural thing in the 
 world, while it is the one thing supernatural. 
 It does not consist in spasms or hysteria. There 
 
56 
 
 are seldom hours like that before Damascus' gate. 
 And have you ever thought how little that won- 
 derful experience at the gate of Damascus would 
 have amounted to in the life of that gallant captain, 
 the flash, or the light, or the voice, or the fall, had 
 their not followed those quieter, calmer moments, 
 when, as the result of thoughtful, mature reflection 
 during three long days in Damascus, those scales fell 
 from the eyes and Paul saw, and a soul had clear 
 vision. Had there been nothing but the scene before 
 the gate that has become so historic, and that so many 
 have "perverted as they do the other scrix^tures to 
 their own destruction,"' had there been nothing but 
 that, the central figure of that thrilling scene would 
 have been, as the lone effect of it, simply a blind man, 
 groping in darkness. That is all. The three days 
 that followed, days of meditation, though tfulness and 
 prayer, brought him into the light. All this only 
 went to show that religion does not consist iu marvel- 
 lous experience, in sudden rhapsody, in scenes of 
 Arabian nights adventure. These are of the nature of 
 fable, not of the essence of faith. Religion is simjDly 
 doing right. Heaven is doing right forever. Happi- 
 ness is in the doing. The doing is the crown, the 
 sceptre, the mansion, the throne, the walls of ada- 
 mant, the streets of gold, the broad boulevards of 
 glory. 
 
 Xo words could be used more free from any- 
 thing like extravagance, or supernaturalness, than 
 these words I have quoted from the apostle as my 
 
57 
 
 text. We may take them into our thought as his 
 definition of religion, his outline of Christianity, to- 
 day. "Patient continuance in well doing." Three 
 things are vividly and clearl 3- pictured in the apostle's 
 thought. 
 
 First: '•'•well doingP This is intensely prac- 
 cical, and opens the door to our daily, hourly life. 
 It leads in the direction not of wonderful experi- 
 ences, or great occasions, but to habitual self control, 
 and the calm, deliberate management of this nature 
 that is in us, and that we must govern and guide and 
 make better and purer and sweeter day by day. 
 "Well doing" in our departments of business, as we 
 are honest, reliable and true. In our pleasures and 
 enjoyments, as we select them wisely, and as minis- 
 trants to our nobler and better selves. In our homes, 
 as we are considerate and clement and kind. In so- 
 ciety, as we are helpful and gentle and sweet. "Well 
 doing" everywhere and amid every environment, every 
 fitful, changeful surrounding in life. 
 
 '■'•Continuance in well doing." There is no place 
 in Paul's ideal for evanescent, butterfly disciples. 
 There is no taking hold of the plow here, and looking 
 back. No returning "to bid farewell to them of our 
 father's house." Ephemeral piety is a vapor, vanish- 
 ing with the morn. Paul is thinking of an atmosphere, 
 pervading as space, and as enduring. 
 
 "Pa^/e/i^ continuance in well doing." When we 
 get this idea of religion into our minds and into our 
 hearts, we realize at once that there are difficulties to 
 
58 
 
 surmount, impediments to overcome, hindrances to 
 hurl from every upward path. There wouldn't be 
 much difficulty in living a religion that simply 
 consisted in staying in a kind of Theological 
 Seminary, masticating creeds and digesting con- 
 fessions; or in accepting a religion that was con- 
 stituted wholly in taking a .crown, or grasping a 
 palm, or baring the brow to the laurel, at the end of 
 a race. But Paul's religion necessitates struggle. It 
 is, in its nature, war. There are enemies to conquer. 
 There are barriers to cast down. There are hostile in- 
 tiuences to overcome. All these lie in tbe way of 
 '■^well doingy These are the rocks and the pitfalls. 
 "Through patient endurance" we shall surmount them. 
 This is the "trying of our faith" that "worketh pa- 
 tience" — "that patience may have her perfect work." 
 James says he counts them "happy who endure." 
 Happy because they have found the supreme attain- 
 ment; blessed because they are religious. 
 
 Some one, perhaps, is saying just now: And so 
 Paul has left out Christ, and is preaching only 
 a religion of morality, or the preacher to-day has 
 misinterpi-eted Paul, and set him in a wholly 
 false relation. Let us see. Into this religion of 
 well doing I think the Christ enters, and within 
 this ideal of the apostle dwells, in two ways 
 alike all important and alike essential. First as our 
 Example— the one Child of man who ever from the 
 cradle to the grave did right all along, and so lived 
 this religion. Scribes and Pharises were troubled about 
 
59 
 
 His morality. They were afraid He was going to 
 lower the standard — as they expressed it, that He 
 had come "to destroy the law." He didn't wash his hands 
 with sufficient system or regularity. He didn't keep 
 the Sabbath after their fashion. He was too intimate 
 with sinners. He was a high liver. Well, He didn' t 
 attend to these things very scrupulously. He was 
 somewhat careless about them. But He was the most 
 moral Man the world ever saw. The best development 
 of manhood. The Supreme Ideal. In the words He 
 spoke, in the life He lived, it was true as He said that 
 He ''came not to destroy the law but to fulfill." Into 
 this religion of well doing, therefore, the Master 
 comes as our Example. 
 
 But far more than that, He comes into 
 this ideal religion as our alone Enabler. By 
 whose grace alone this religion is a possibility 
 When we come to the method, how we are to live this 
 life, how to actualize this religion, then we come right 
 to the Master's holy feet. We pass from the moral 
 element, which is common to all religions, to the 
 spiritual, which is found alone in the religion of the 
 Christ. All religions tell us we must do right. 
 Only the religion of the Christ tells us how to do it. 
 All other religions, in the last analysis, confront us 
 with the great impossibility : A lost- soul doing right. 
 Only the religion of the cross presents the eternal pos- 
 sibility of faith: A lost soul saved, and so, as the un- 
 folding of its new nature, doing right by irresistible 
 propulsion. The cry of every other religion on God's 
 
60 
 
 earth is, "who is sufficient to these things?" The 
 answerof Christianity to the world's hope, to the aspi- 
 ration of all souls, is this: "My grace is sufficient 
 for thee." I am inclined then to think that this is 
 substantially Paul's theology: Religion is doing right, 
 all the while, patiently, by the grace of God in Jesus 
 Christ, through Whom alone we can rise to this su- 
 l^reme realization, by Whom alone we can be religious. 
 
Mark II: 27. TJie sahhath toas made for man, and 
 not man for tlie sahhath. 
 
 HE Sabbath Committee of the Womans' Christian 
 Temperance Union desire the several pastors to 
 present at this time the all important subject of 
 Sabbath observance. I cheerfully comply with this 
 request, and trust I may be able to Impress upon our 
 minds the vital interests, and the wide-embracing duty, 
 this theme suggests. I have selected, as my text, 
 these words of the Master that were uttered in refuta- 
 tion of the prevalent Pharasaic idea of the nature and 
 obligations of the day. The discussion arose from 
 the act of His disciples, as they went through a field 
 of corn and plucked "the ears of corn on the sabbath 
 day." The Pharisees, at once, pronounce it sin. 
 They denounce the Master and the twelve as Sabbatli 
 breakers. The Saviour does not condescend to reason 
 with them at any great length, in refutation of the 
 charge, but, having referred to the example of David, 
 in the days of Abiathar, the priest— David, whose 
 morals no Pharisee would call in question — the Master 
 asserts without qualification His absolute authority: 
 "The Son of Man is Lord, also of the sabbath." It is 
 a part of His dominion. It belongs to His eternal 
 Kingship. As Lord of it, and supreme Master, He 
 announces this underlying and basilar principle: 
 
62 
 
 "The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the 
 sabbath." The prevalent idea of the time was that 
 man lived to keep the Sabbath. The Master' s idea was 
 that man kept the Sabbath in order to live. 
 
 The Sabbath, as the Jew conceived it, was largely 
 ceremonial. In the Master's thought, it was moral 
 and spiritual. The Jew worshipped the shell ; the 
 Master the kernel. The Jew knelt before a corpse; 
 the Master vitalized the living soul. He destroyed 
 ceremony ; He fulfilled law. He absorbed the one; 
 He lived the other . So both were fulfilled, and He 
 came, as He said, "not to destroy the law but to 
 fulfil." He fulfilled ceremony by realizing and 
 actualizing it; He fulfilled morality by living it. The 
 Sabbath, as a ceremonial institution, as a fixed day of 
 the week that, as to minutest and most trivial de- 
 tail, must be observed in a certain way, and after a 
 cast iron pattern, He did away. So he made Himself 
 liable to the accusation that he was a Sabbath breaker. 
 He was, as those accusers interpreted the Sabbath. 
 He did break over and over, and ruthlessly, and all to 
 pieces, the only Sabbath of which they had any con- 
 ception ; the ceremonial, ritual Sabbath, unalterably 
 fixed on Saturday, perfunctorily kept. As "Lord of 
 the sabbath" He exploded that Sabbath into air, and 
 shattered it into fragments. There was nothing left 
 of it. It was under the heel of its "Lord." But the 
 Sabbath, as a seventh portion of time, devoted to the 
 pure service of God, that Sabbath He ratified and con- 
 firmed, and so, in the deepest, most vital sense, "came 
 
63 
 
 to fulfil the law." That pure, true Sabbath of rest 
 and service was more sacred and more obligatory 
 than since the day it was decreed on Sinai, "Re- 
 member the sabbath day to keep it holy." The 
 casket was thrown away, but how brightly the jewel 
 within it shone! The scaffolding was torn down, 
 but how symmetrical the building ! 
 
 The law thus fundamental, thus imbedded in human 
 life, has been changed in its application, under the 
 new dispensation, from Saturday, the day on which 
 the Lord rested from all His work, to Sunday the day 
 on which He rose from the dead. Perhaps, among 
 other reasons, to show that there is nothing in the 
 day, and everything in the principle. It was changed 
 as to the day, almost unconsciously, and, as it seems, 
 in recalling the historic fact, almost unintentionally 
 as well. And yet the change was ratified by the per- 
 sonal presence, and sanctioned by the immediate 
 blessing of our Lord who had declared that He was 
 "Lord even of the sabbath day." The ten disciples are 
 met in that upper room of Jerusalem on the first day 
 of the week. It is two days, or, as the Jesus reckoned 
 time, it is the third day, since their Lord was crucified 
 and buried. They meet to mingle their sympathies 
 over a dead faith. They have seen, as they think, the 
 end. And they come to mourn and lament over it. 
 Into their presence there steps, mysteriously and ma- 
 jestically, their risen Lord. He speaks the familiar 
 word. They recognize it and rejoice. It is the watch- 
 word of Christianity, on the sentinel line of the ages, 
 
64 
 
 "peace," "peace." They meet the next week, on the 
 same day, in glad remembrance of that first day of the 
 week when they saw their Lord. He comes to them 
 again. He ratifies and confirms the act. And they 
 observe the day ever after. They have fallen into it 
 without intent. They have been led directly by the 
 Spirit of God, and have been attended by the visible 
 presence of their risen and triumphant Lord. Hence- 
 forth the Sabbath of the christian shall be the Lord's 
 Day — no longer the day He finished creation, but the 
 day He sealed redemption. It thus distinguishes and 
 individualizes our christian faith. Judaism observes 
 the seventh day, and thereby commemorates the 
 material creation. Mohammedanism observes Friday, 
 and signalizes, as it believes, the creation of man. 
 Christianity selects, by the appointment of its Lord, 
 the first day of the week, and recalls the spiritual 
 creation of all souls. 
 
 The Sabbath, the seventh portion of time, as thus 
 ordained of God from the day He rested from His 
 labors— from the time when it was said "the Lord 
 blessed the sabbath day and hallowed it,"— as our Sav- 
 iour declares in the text I have selected "wasmade/or 
 man." It is a means, not an end. An instrumental- 
 ity, not an amulet. A chart, not a charm. The 
 question of Sabbath observance, therefore, to which 
 our attention is turned to-day by the Sabbath Com- 
 mittee of the W. C. T. U., is a question that pertains 
 not so much to the Sabbath as to man. Not so much 
 to the sanctity of the day, as to the welfare of human- 
 
65 
 
 ity. As the truth and the import of our Saviour's 
 words, the day that is thus hallowed and set apart is 
 to be observed, not for anjnhing in itself, but in order 
 to develop and uplift and bless mankind. The one 
 decisive issue then is, How shall we make the Sabbath 
 most a blessing to those around us, and most a bene- 
 diction in our own hearts and lives ? Every man is to 
 answer that question for himself, in the light of his 
 own conscience, and before God. I for myself. You 
 for yourself. I can' t answer thai question for you and 
 and you can't answer it for me. I can give you my 
 ideas, as I propose to to-day. You might give me yours, 
 except that I have the advantage of you on this occa- 
 sion that I always have, that I can say what I please, 
 and you can't say anything back. As usual, I have 
 the floor. But neither you nor I can dictate in this 
 matter. Neither you nor I can command. We can 
 counsel only, and advise. There is no authority on 
 this subject but conscience, enlightened by Christ. 
 Paul insists with vigorous emphasis upon this view I 
 have expressed, as he writes to the Colossians: "Let 
 no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or 
 in respect of an holy day, or of the new moon, or of the 
 sabbath daj-s." Paul places the Sabbath in the class 
 of questions that are relative, and dependent always 
 upon individual views, and personal conviction. The 
 class of questions, where one has a right to differ 
 from another, and is just as good a man as though he 
 agreed. The fundamental principle is set before us, 
 clearly and distinctly, and we must exercise judgment 
 
66 
 
 and common sense and wliatdegree of grace God gives 
 us in its application. The Sabbath is made for man. 
 We must bring every question of casuistry and con- 
 science to this all comprehensive, this infallible test. 
 There is often too much of the spirit that asks vpith 
 reference to each particular thing : Is it right or is it 
 wrong on Sunday I We ought to have that intense hold 
 upon this principle, the seventh portion of time hal- 
 lowed and set apart to make us better and purer and 
 more spiritual, that every question of this character 
 would be dissolved in the focus of its burning light. 
 This should be always the acid that Avould precipitate 
 every perplexed question, every animated discussion, 
 every vexed dispute. 
 
 In the application of this principle, that is basilar 
 and fundamental, there are three classes of actions, 
 about which, as I have suggested, I will give you 
 frankly some of my ideas. They may be Puritanic. 
 But it was the way I was brought up. I owe them, 
 most of all, to a sainted spirit who was all a mother 
 could be to me, who is now in heaven keeping that 
 Sabbath that know^s no end. The first of these three 
 classes of action are those that render at once impos- 
 sible the end for wiiich the Sabbath was ordained — 
 man's best welfare, man's enlargement and spiritual 
 growth. Against these we are to set our faces like a 
 flint. All secular business that is not needful to sus- 
 tenance and life on the Sabbath. Crowding business 
 into Sunday by overwork on Saturday, or late hours 
 on Saturday night. Travelling on Sunday to get to 
 
67 
 
 business sooner, except over the ocean, where we 
 can't get to business without. It would hardly do to 
 stop mid seas on Sunday. There are certain kinds of 
 business that are connected with special necessities 
 that are exceptional. So long as cows give milk on 
 Sunday I am inclined to think it is right to dispose 
 of it. I think indolence and laziness have very much 
 to do with Sabbath breaking. I was delighted not 
 long ago when a certain member of my church had 
 the first well day on Sunday. There is so much Sun- 
 day sickness, the disease at its height at church 
 time. Doctors are so generally victimized on the first 
 day of the week. Our mistake is fatal as it seems to 
 me when we turn God's holy day into man's holi- 
 day, when we devote the day to athletics, or to horse, 
 instead of to the Lord. Sacred concerts are an out- 
 rage on our common Christianity. Excursion trains 
 are as disorderly, in the sight of God, as the drunken 
 spree in which they generally end. Manhattan 
 Beach and Rockaway are the darkest blot on our 
 American civilization. There Sabbath in Summer is a 
 pandemonium. All the salt of the sea whose surf 
 rolls upon them can't purge the gross iniquity. 
 
 A second class of actions involved in this subject 
 are those that can only be settled on the ground of 
 expediency, and so as to minister most effectively and 
 most surely to the welfare and best interest of men. 
 To this alembic of Christian expediency we must 
 bring the question of horse cars on Sunday. No more 
 work is necessitated thereby than to carry so many of 
 
68 
 
 the rich in carriages to church. So, also, a limited 
 number of railroad trains ; the opening of telegraph of- 
 fices and drug stores at certain hours; riding and walk 
 ing on Sunday. I think dinners ought to be such as 
 will most strengthen us for the duties and enjoyment of 
 the day. If cold dinners do not make us amiable they 
 will not farther the ends of the Sabbath. Our read- 
 ing should be such as ministers most to the best that is 
 within us. If novels do that, I have nothing to say, 
 except that I am filled with wonder and surprise. The 
 morals of letter writing on Sunday depends on the 
 letters. 
 
 Then we have the third class of actions that directly 
 contribute to the great object of the day and that be- 
 come obligatory wholly on that ground. Here we 
 place the ordinances and institutions of religion— the 
 service of the sanctuary, and all its attendant minis- 
 try. I am old fashioned enough to believe that the 
 day can not be better spent, than by faithful, habitual 
 attendance upon them all. If the preaching isn't good 
 enough, get rid of the preacher, and have better. But 
 hear the preaching, such as it is. "Forsake not the 
 assembling of yourselves together." 
 
 And as the climax of this subject to-day I desire to 
 assert, with all possible emphasis, impelled by a spirit 
 inherited from our Pilgrim fathers, the right and the 
 prerogative of this American republic, to which I es- 
 teem it the highest civil honor of man to belong, to 
 stand immoveably and adamantine, as a bulwark and 
 defense of the christian Sabbath among the nations of 
 
fi9 
 
 the earth. As a christian nation, founded in prayer, 
 cemented by pious blood, we have a supreme right, an 
 imperative obligation, to enforce all wise and salutary 
 Sabbath laws. If German infidels or native-born atheists 
 don't like it they can leave the country, and we will 
 count ourselves happy to endure the separation. I 
 would like to see an immense tide of emigration set- 
 ting the other way. It would pay to furnish a whole 
 flotilla of ships. I believe the day of visitation is com- 
 ing to continental Europe for her disregard, and her 
 gross violation, of the Sabbath. The anathemas and 
 the denunciations of holy writ gather like clouds to 
 break with thunderbolt and lightning's flash over their 
 heads. May God preserve this American republic 
 from the pestilence and fatal miasms of a continental 
 Sabbath, that is a continental sham; — a stone where 
 humanity asks bread. Against cholera and yellow 
 fever we establish strictest quarantine. We keep 
 them successfully from our shores. We preserve the 
 nation intact. The anti-Sabbatism of Germany and 
 France is a more destroying contagion — a more blasting 
 epidemic of desolation and death. It has plunged 
 those great peoples into infidelity and godlessness. 
 As this American republic inherits the spirit of other 
 days, as we are true to the faith of our fathers, we 
 will establish strictest quarantine, we will stay the fa- 
 tal contagion, and say to this mighty, this inrushing, 
 this destroying, tide: "Hitherto shalt thou come and 
 no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be 
 stayed." 
 
J ehovah. 
 
 HE Jews of old liad a somewliat peculiar, and, in 
 many respects, an abnormal, view of God. So far 
 as we may be able to analyze the idea they enter- 
 tained it was about this: He was a very large man, 
 sitting on a very lofty throne, sending His angels as 
 His messengers to do His bidding, wielding a sceptre 
 of resistless dominion, and unai^proachable in His 
 stern majesty and His exalted greatness. When they 
 came to His name in their Bibles, they passed it over 
 in silence with a reverential pause, afraid to offend 
 that strange and mysterious Being by its pronuncia- 
 tion. They ascribed to Him bodily parts like their 
 own, and supposed Him to be busy opening windows 
 in heaven to let it rain, getting the sun up in the 
 morning, and lighting the stars, as so many lamps, at 
 night. They supposed Him to be susceptible of very 
 weak and childish passions. Who made mistakes and 
 was sorry afterward and cried; Who could love a man 
 like Jacob with all his tergiversations, because he was 
 Abraham's grandson; Who intended great things for 
 the people He had chosen, and proposed to compass 
 the destruction of everybody else. These were some 
 of their misconceptions and distortions of the divine 
 nature, and a few of their prevailing ideas of God. 
 
71 
 
 But side by side with these national perversions, 
 these characteristic mistakes, about God, the Jewish 
 mind laid firm hold of one idea that was at the bot- 
 tom of all their thinking, that distinguished their 
 view of divinity from that of the sister nations around 
 them, and which was inherently, deeply true — which 
 was indeed fundamental to all truth upon this vital 
 and all important theme. That idea, characterizing 
 all their thought, the basis of all their conclusions 
 upon this subject, was of the oneness, the singleness, 
 of Deity. AVhatever misconceptions they entertained, 
 whatever the perversions that might characterize their 
 theology, there is no room for doubt that the Jewish 
 race was thoroughly and sincerely monotheistic. 
 They believed, as a nation, and as long as the nation 
 lasted— they believe as a race to-day wherever that 
 race extends — in one God. And their idea of the unity 
 of God was based lapon the reality, and the absolute 
 necessity, of His nature; upon the inherent demands 
 of His being. Because He was what He was, He must 
 be One. 
 
 This pervading and underlying thought, this under- 
 current of all their ideas about God, wa clearly and 
 forcibly expressed in the name they ascribed to Deity 
 and that they held in such exalted reverence, that 
 they passed it over in silence when they read the law, 
 regarding its utterance too sacred for human lips. In 
 contrast with the names given by other nationalities 
 to the gods they worshijjped, names that denoted no 
 more than their distinctive individuality, as do the 
 
72 
 
 names we give to men, the word the Jew employed 
 was, in its derivation and in its composition, descrii)- 
 tive of absolute and supreme existence It meant the 
 Only Living One. It is a word that wisest orientalist 
 to-day knows not how to pronounce. And because it 
 was never intended by pious Jew to be pronounced; by 
 the Jew, who employed it, never was. As nearly as 
 we know the strange and mystic word that he held in 
 such reverential awe, it is the four letters y, h, v, h 
 — sometimes pronounced Yahveh, or Yehveh; in our 
 Bibles, Jehovah; but, as a fact, excluding pronuncia- 
 tion as an impossibility . A word that, in the pious 
 thought of the Jew, should go down through the ages, 
 the unutterable, because the unpronounceable, word, 
 — Yhvh. And yet, in that mysterious word, there lay 
 hidden the truth of which I have spoken, that was at 
 the basis of all the Jewish ideas of Grod, of absolute, 
 supreme existence — existence that in its nature must 
 be single and alone — tlie one God. It was the combi- 
 nation of the past, present and future tenses of the 
 verb "to be" — put, as far as it was possible to do it, 
 in one word; thus combined to the exclusion of all 
 possible pronunciation. Wherever, in the Hebrew 
 scriptures, the word occurs, it means, therefore, the 
 was, the is, the is to be; that Being who alone can say 
 of all the eternity past, "I was;" of the universal 
 present, "lam;" of the eternity in the future, "I 
 shall be;" that Being who, as the Jew expressed it in 
 the word he employed, is "the same yesterday, and 
 to day and forever." 
 
73 
 
 By that name, by the conception it carries within 
 it, we most truly exalt and honor God. As we think 
 of Him as the absolutely and supremely and solely 
 existing One — who alone in all this universe eternally 
 was, everywhere is, forever s/iallhe. For, in the final 
 analysis, this was not simply a Jewish thought, or a 
 Hebrew conception. It was put supernaturally into 
 the Jewish mind by direct revelation from Him Whose 
 name it is. Whose nature it describes, Whose being it 
 suggests to our thought. So we read: "God spake 
 unto Moses, and said unto him, I am the Lord; 
 and I appeared unto Abraham, and Isaac, and unto 
 Jacob, by the name God Almighty, but by my name 
 Yhvh was I not known to them." Henceforth, by 
 that name, announced to his servant Moses, he shall 
 be known. By that name, in its abbreviated form, yet 
 centering in the same truth, and expressing the same 
 fact of absolute existence, we are enjoined, to "extol 
 Him." As thus conceived, and as we thus contemplate 
 His exalted nature, the supremely and absolutely ex- 
 isting One is worthy of our praise and He alone ! 
 The Being to whom that name can be applied, com- 
 posed of the three parts of the verb "to be," that 
 Being who was, is, and shall be, and He alone, is God. 
 
 Take His material handiwork, the physical uni- 
 verse, or the orders of the brute creation, and how are 
 they dwarfed into insignificance before the gigantic 
 proportions of that incommunicable word. Of these 
 heavens spread over us as a span, of the rolling 
 spheres and the central suns, of the beautiful lands- 
 
74 
 
 cape and the flowing rivers and the deep blae sea, of 
 all these we must say, looking back into the far off 
 past, they were not ; looking into the future when 
 " the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll and 
 the elements shall melt with fervent heat," when 
 suns shall rise and set, and moons shall wax and 
 wane, no more, we are compelled to say, these shall 
 not he. There is only left to these the present tense — 
 they are. They were not ; they are ; tl-iey will not 
 be. 
 
 When we rise to the sphere of the human, then a 
 second of those three parts is added. Gfod has 
 breathed into man's nostrils " the breath of life" — -an 
 effluence of His own immortality, and, although man 
 a little while ago was not, he now is, and he, in all 
 the future, shall be. We rise from the human to the 
 divine, we come at last to God, when we put the three 
 forms together, and, applying that unpronounceable 
 word of the Jew, think of this Being who reigns 
 above us as He of Whom alone in all this universe it 
 can be said that, in eternity past, he was ; in the uni- 
 versal present, he is ; in the eternity to come, he shall 
 be, Yhvh — the was, the is, the is to be. 
 
 In our thoughts of God, as we "extol Him" by His 
 own chosen name, we go back in our imagination to 
 the remotest past. We are thinking of a pei'iod be- 
 fore man, for the fi(St time, trod the garden: before 
 the mountains were brought forth or ever had been 
 formed the earth and the world ; before yonder sun 
 was set in his place or the orbs of night commanded 
 
75 
 
 to shine ; before this vast universe was spoken into 
 being or chaos called into order, or blank space ani- 
 mated with life ; before song of archangel was ever 
 heard in heaven ; before cherubim and seraphim 
 awoke into the consciousness of the effulgent light ; 
 before a created spirit ever soared in divine contem- 
 plation or winged it to its flight amid the illimitable 
 spaces ; and, in that universal solitude, in that 
 august and sublime loneliness, amid the uninhabited 
 realms and the silent abysses, there was God. There, 
 in that solitude, forever in the past, where our 
 thought can go no further, or our feeble conceptions 
 aid us in our search. Standing before that reality of 
 the ages untold and unnumbered that lie in that ex- 
 haustless depth, we exclaim: "Who, by searching 
 can tind out God, or know the Almighty to perfec- 
 tion V ' We can only use the first part of the verb 
 that constitutes His name and say, where our thought 
 is baffled and our conception a blank, only this : 
 " God was.'''' 
 
 We pass on in our thought, and remember- 
 ing His chosen name, by which we would "extol 
 Him," we think of the boundless and limitless present. 
 Of the mighty spaces of this vast universe, through 
 which the myriad solar systems, vaster and more ex- 
 tended than our own, are moving with measured 
 tread ; through the empyrean of which the comets, 
 with their trails measured in the thousands of mil- 
 lions, shoot and thwart and dash madly on by quad- 
 rillions of miles per hour : through which the light 
 
76 
 
 Claris, with its swift pinion, and yet requires millions 
 upon millions of years to reach from one rela- 
 tively minute section of this universe to another, as 
 from one township to another on this continent of 
 earth ; and, overwhelmed Avith the vastness of the 
 present, we know that everywhere, amid all these 
 illimilable spaces, the second part of the verb we are 
 using applies, and " God is " AVe look into these 
 exhaustless depths and we say with the psalmist : 
 ""Whither shall I tlee from tiiy jiresence l and whith- 
 er shall I go from thy sjDirit \ If I ascend into heaven 
 thou art there ; if I make my bed in hell, lo, thou art 
 there ; if I take the wings of the morning and dwell 
 in tlie uttermost parts of the sea," nay, soar to the 
 utmost boundaries of unbounded space — "even there 
 shall thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold 
 me." Everywhere, through all this boundless uni- 
 verse, " God isy 
 
 And then, in our thought, we try for a moment to 
 glance into the future. To think of that eternity far 
 ahead, when the earth and all that is therein shall 
 have been burned up ; when all these forms of mater- 
 ial existence shall have passed away ; when comets 
 shall shoot athwart the heavens, and rolling suns 
 shall shine, and planets move in their orbits, no more; 
 when only immortal spirits shall inhabit the mighty 
 si)aces ; and we see, amid that glory, One sitting up- 
 on the throne, clothed in light, and worshipped of 
 every order of being ; we look ui)on His face, and it 
 is our, and our father's, God. We add the final part 
 
77 
 
 of the verb — He who "was," who "is," is He who 
 forever shall 5e." 
 
 Our thouglit, so far as we can compass it, is com- 
 plete. We have found absolute existence. We have 
 studied the old Jewish nomenclature, and we have 
 discovered the divine — borne to us upon the bosom of 
 that incommunicable name. By that name, then, we 
 will "extol Him that rideth upon the heavens," and 
 we will "rejoice before him." 
 
 The form of the word that is often employed in the 
 present tense— the "I am" adds to the Jewish con- 
 ception of absolute and eternal existence — beins: in it- 
 self — the "was," the "is," the "is to be," two ad- 
 ditional thoughts, by which, if we can, in any meas- 
 ure, attain to their exalted reach, we shall thereby 
 "extol" God. For nothing praises God so truly as 
 true thoughts about Him . The sweetest anthems of 
 praise tliat rise to the throne are correct conceptions 
 in the minds of those who love and worship and 
 adore. 
 
 The first of the two thoughts, then, suggested by 
 this present form of the verb — his name "I am" — is 
 that He who has existed in the eternity past and 
 who will continue to be in the eternity future, lives 
 in an ever present, an eternal, now. That period in 
 the remote past, before the first immortal spirit 
 basked in the sunlight of a new born life ; that period 
 in the far off future, when only spirits shall people 
 this vast universe and all that is material and perish- 
 able shall have passed away; both are present to the 
 
78 
 
 mind of the Almighty, in whose thought time is 
 eliminated, and the succession of days and months 
 and years are no more. He is the "I am." Exist- 
 ing in an eternal present ; all events and beings and 
 things pass before Him in an unchanging now — a 
 thousand years with him as one day, and one day as 
 a thousand years. 
 
 The second thought embodied in the present form 
 of this verb of absolute existence, is that God is im- 
 mediately present, in the exercise of His power, in 
 the control of His wisdom, in the unfolding of His 
 love, in every event that occurs in all this universe, 
 in every purpose that is formed, in every movement 
 that is made, in every deed that is done. Of each 
 alike, from the minutest modification of the molecule 
 to the mightiest impact of the vastest suns, the I Am 
 is the power within and behind it that moves to 
 action, and that controls and sways. 
 
 In addition then to the conception of absolute and 
 supreme existence, these are the supplemental 
 thoughts embodied in the name I Am, by which we 
 would "extol" Him, that every event in eternity 
 past, every issue in eternity future, is now present 
 before the mind of the Almighty, and that, in every 
 event, He is the controlling j^ower, the primal effici- 
 ency, the great First Cause. In that eternal now in 
 which the I Am dwelleth He is acting through all 
 events and beings and things. All are the vehicles of 
 His power ; all are the channels of His action. 
 
 And here, in the light of this thought, it seems to 
 
79 
 
 me, there is a gleam cast upon the darkness of the 
 mystery of election and divine sovereignty. There 
 is no such thing as /preordination with God. That is 
 man's way of putting it. With God there is no be- 
 fore and no after. In one eternal present He ordains 
 the supreme fruition of every creature of His hand. 
 He does not stand in a far off past, and, looking into 
 the distant future, when man should live upon the 
 earth, say arbitrarily and tyranically, " Damn that 
 one," "Save that one;" "Cast those into hell," 
 "Take those up into heaven." But, m the eternal 
 present — the unchanging now — in which He dwells, 
 He IS prompting every created spirit, from Adam in 
 Eden to the latest child of man, to seek the good, and 
 to share its sure rewards. He is, in present action, 
 ordaining every immorta^l soul to immortal life. 
 By the influence of His indwelling spirit, through the 
 blood of His only begotten Son, that, in that eternal 
 present, He now sees flowing, the I Am, acting in and 
 through us all, does by His power, save us all — "if." 
 And there comes the terrible alternative, an alterna- 
 tive that would not arise were w^e not free, did we 
 obey as the morning stars obey, or as the cattle up- 
 on the thousand hills, but the alternative that mates 
 our freedom and responsibility, if we do not prevent 
 Him by our rebellion, our obduracy and our sin. 
 
 I may be able to impress this thought that flows 
 from that wonderful name by analogy. The I Am — 
 immediately present, immediately acting, feeds our 
 bodies. How does He doit ? He gives us the organs of 
 
80 
 
 digestion. He i^uts into us the desire of hunger. 
 He sets before us tile food. He gives us the will to 
 act. And that is the end of His power. He can't 
 make us eat. That is the sole impossibility in all 
 this universe to compel the sjiirit who is free. It is 
 with us, wholly with us, whether, with the desire of 
 hunger within us, possessed of the organs of diges- 
 tion, having within our reach the food, whether we 
 will eat. And so the I Am, immediately present, 
 immediately acting, in vital intercourse with every 
 immortal soul, proposes to feed the immortal part, 
 elects unto everlasting life every living spirit. He 
 puts within us the power of soul digestion, the 
 capacity to be saved. He implants the longing for 
 immortality, the soul's hunger, the desire to be 
 saved. He sets before us the soul's food, salvation 
 in Jesus Christ. He gives us the power to take it 
 and live. And there lies the boundary to His power. 
 He can't make us eat the heavenly food. He will do 
 all but that. That must remain with us. The final 
 issue is imbedded deep down in our own hearts, 
 where the eternities lie open. God will feed us, if 
 we will eat. He will save us, if we will let him. 
 
 Carrying with us, into our daily lives, the thought 
 of such a Grod, shall we not " work out (our) own sal- 
 vation with fear and trembling? " Shall we not par- 
 take the heavenly food, and share heaven's unfailing 
 bounty, encouraged by this remembrance, that He 
 who is the " I Am," the eternally present and the 
 eternally acting One, " worketh in us to will and to 
 do of His good pleasure ? " 
 
Ezek. XYIIl : 3. As I live, saitJi the Lord God, ye 
 shall not have occasion any more to use this 
 proverb in Israel. 
 
 HE proverb that would be some day out of date 
 was one that in varied forms of expression has 
 been prevalent in every age. It is a species 
 of heterodoxy that has come down from the time of 
 Adam. T suppose his sons and daughters adopted it 
 whenever they got into trouble. Cain, perhaps, when 
 his conscience smote him about Abel. It is the old 
 familiar tendency to throw the load of our guilt and 
 the burden of our iniquity back upon the afflicted 
 shoulders of our fathers, and to ascribe all our dark 
 spots and blemishes to a remote ancestry. In the 
 time of the prophet Ezekiel this form of heterodoxy 
 had been gathered into a proverb that was on every 
 tongue: "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the 
 children's teeth are set on edge." Like all familiar 
 errors, this old saying of Ezekiel' s time, this kind of 
 household word, with all its heresy, was based on a 
 minute modicum of truth. It would be difficult, in- 
 deed, to find a heresy that is not. Even christian 
 science, the extreme absurdity of our day, that has 
 gone up like a rocket and come down like a stick, has 
 underneath it the truth that nobody ever doubted, or 
 ever called in question, that the mind has a jjositive 
 
82 
 
 and controlling effect on the body. That many times 
 we are sicker than we otherwise would be, because we 
 think we are. And that often we get well, because 
 we are bound we will. So of any prevalent error, or 
 heresy, however rash or absurd its tenets may be. At 
 their centre there is generally a kernel of truth. The 
 apple may be thoroughly rotten, but there is one good 
 seed at the core. So of this heresy of nearly 2,500 
 years ago. When they used to complain: "The 
 fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's 
 teeth are set on edge" they were turning into a false- 
 hood, as palpable as the joke, a world-wide and an ir- 
 reversible truth. It is the fact of all experience that 
 "the sins of the fathers" are visited "upon the children 
 unto the third and fourth generation." As the invar- 
 iable record of humanity, the changeless experience 
 of the race, the faults of their fathers, in their inevi- 
 table effects, their baneful and blasting results, go 
 down to their children . But the perversion of this 
 truth is in the implication of the proverb that the 
 children suffer the punishment, bear the penalty, of 
 their father's sin. That, in the scourgings of the di- 
 vine hand, the children are whipped for what the 
 fathers do. The penalty for eating sour grapes is the 
 setting the teeth on edge. That is the physical pun- 
 ishment. According to this old time proverb, the 
 fathers do the eating, and the children do the tooth- 
 aching. That is, the children bear the penalty their 
 fathers ought to bear; are punished for what their 
 fathers do. And that isn't so. It was not so in Ezek- 
 
83 
 
 iel's time. And it is not in any other. The state- 
 ment is a heresy, and a lie. The fathers, by eating 
 sour grapes, may get the children into a habit of doing 
 the same things, or may transmit to them tendencies 
 to do it, they may get it into the blood, but the chil- 
 dren's teeth will never be set on edge unless they eat 
 sour grapes themselves. You see the distinction do 
 you not between the truth of inherited tendencies, 
 transmitted qualities from father to son, and the per- 
 version of this proverb of transferred punishment 
 and actual sutfering of the penalty of guilt incurred 
 in other hearts and lives 1 We say a father eats 
 poison, that that poison, though extracted before it 
 proved fatal, has injured his system, that the ini'ury 
 to his system goes down to his sons in impairment 
 and injury. But that is a very different thing from the 
 statement, analogous to this heretical maxim of the 
 ancients, that a father eats poison and his son dies. 
 He don't die. And he never will unless he takes the 
 poison too. A father may commit murder and be 
 hung or electrified, and hand down to his children a 
 name covered with disgrace and a heritage of dishonor. 
 But that is not by any means to say that a father may 
 commit murder, and, in a moment, his son be hung. 
 A father may drink to excess, and transmit tenden- 
 cies and appetites to his son that it will take a life- 
 time to conquer. But it never occurs that a father 
 drinks the liquor and the son does the getting drunk. 
 A father may leap over a precipice, or into a fire, a 
 son may be almost impelled by the force of the ex- 
 
84 
 
 ample, iu the excitement of the moment, to follow his 
 father and take the same fatal leap, bat it will never 
 be true that the father does the jumping and the son 
 has the broken bones or the scars. 
 
 This maxim of twenty-five centuries ago 
 was applied at that time to the condition 
 of Israel in its apostasy and decline. The 
 theory was that because their forefathers, gene- 
 rations before, ate the sour grapes of rebellion and of 
 high handed crime, the "children's teeth were set on 
 edge" in banishment and exile. That the children 
 were bearing the penalty of their fathers' sins. That 
 the punishment was visited on their heads. It wasn't 
 so. It looked so, perhaps, on the surface. For there 
 were the two factors. The abominable coui'ses, the 
 wicked ways, the unrestrained vices, of their fathers. 
 There was do doubt about that. And then there was 
 their present condition. They were in exile and ban- 
 ishment. That was a manifest fact. But the heresy 
 — the error into which they fell — was when they con- 
 nected these two facts in the relation of cause and 
 effect, and reasoned that the one was the result, the 
 penalty, of the other. As though we should find one 
 sick of yellow fever in Jacksonville, Florida, 
 and another of consumption in Montreal, and should 
 say that the consumption in Montreal was caught 
 from the yellow fever in Jacksonville. Two facts 
 may be facts and not causes or effects. So there was 
 nothing the matter with the facts when tnis proverb 
 had its origin. They were indisputable. Their 
 
85 
 
 fathers were a disgrace to humanity. And the sons 
 were in a horrible condition. Bat their philosophy 
 was all wrong. The one was not gallows on which the 
 criminals of other days were hung by proxy. Not 
 the stocks or the pillory where other feet or necks were 
 fastened. Not the setting of teeth on edge for other 
 people's mastication of acrid fiiiit. If they, the sons, 
 had done right, they wouldn't suffer. All the denun- 
 ciations God had pronounced upon the descendants 
 of those outrageous fathers were carried into execu- 
 tion because those descendants were just as bad as, 
 and, as a general thing a great deal woise than, their 
 ancestors. Iniquity and crime had accumulated with 
 the years. Their teeth were tested, because they de, 
 served it. That was all. Tl-ie correct theology on this 
 question, I am inclined to think is about this. The 
 practice of eating sour grapes on the part of the 
 fathers is a very unfortunate and a very dangerous 
 thing. It makes the children unhealty. It inclines 
 them to eat them. But the children's teeth will never 
 be set on edge if the process stops with the conduct of 
 the fathers. If the children do not eat, in the domain 
 of morals, they will have no use for a dentist. Their 
 teeth will be all right, if they let the grapes alone. 
 
 We may apply this principle to bodily and physical 
 influences, transmitted from generation to generation, 
 inherited with the blood. When the fathers eat 
 sour grapes, are guilty of sins against the body, of 
 excess or indulgence, their indiscretions and their ex- 
 cesses injure and harm the children, become an inher- 
 
86 
 
 itaiice of calamity and disease and death. So the na- 
 tions and races of the past have gone into decline. The 
 fathers have eaten sour grapes, they have transmitted 
 the habit to their children, the children have adopted 
 the same diet more gluttonously and more ravenously, 
 and the accumulated burden of physical sins, of vio- 
 lation of physical laws, has rested more and more 
 heavily upon them, until, in their enfeeblement and 
 decline, stronger races have usurped their supremacy, 
 those of purer, more wholesome blood have come 
 upon them, and, in the inevitable law of the survival 
 of the fittest, the debilitated and the reduced by phys- 
 ical excesses have gone to the wall, and the nations of 
 nobler parentage and purer ancestry have supjjlanted 
 them and taken their place. So it was with the em- 
 pire of Rome, in the days of her sad decline. The 
 excesses of the past, the transmitted tendencies to ex- 
 cess iu those later days, these sour grapes of which 
 the fathers ate, and the children still more abundantly, 
 set their teeth on edge, were the ruin and downfall of 
 the empire. Those manlier, athletic nations of the 
 north swept everything before them, and the purer 
 blood that coursed in their veins washed out in obli- 
 vion the tainted and the impure inheritance from the 
 excesses and the indulgences of the past. And yet, 
 as a truth of philosophy and of history as well, we 
 mistake and we misinterpret the ways of God, if we 
 do not remember that all this follows not because the 
 fathers, but because the children after them, follow- 
 ing their example, falling into wilder excesses, plung- 
 
87 
 
 ing into grosser indulgence?, have eaten sour grapes. 
 Therefore, and therefore only, the children's teeth are 
 set on edge. If the children surmount these adverse 
 influences, if the children, in stalwart purpose, in res- 
 olute decision, cease these excesses, their teeth will be 
 all right. On their unfavorable inheritance from the 
 habits of their fathers, as stepping stones, they may 
 mount to nobler achievement, and to grander and 
 more heroic endeavor. 
 
 So of the sour grapes of false theories in philosophy, 
 and erroneous ideas in religion. If the fathers are 
 all twisted and awry on these things, they transmit a 
 fearful inheritance to their children. And if the 
 children accept the inheritance and, m sujjine indiffer- 
 ence, think as their fathers think, and swallow whole 
 their philosophy— keep eating the sour grapes — their 
 teeth will be set on edge. But if, at any point, 
 the children decline the process, and revolt from the 
 dark inheritance, if they seek earnestly after truth, 
 if they inquire humbly at the gates of wisdom, stand- 
 ing at the portals of her doors, nobody's teeth will be 
 set on edge, the perils of the past will be averted, and 
 they will rise, in triumphant ascension, from the bur- 
 den of a calamitous ancestry, from the curse of here- 
 tical fathers or unorthodox mothers, from the bane of 
 error and falsehood that inhere sometimes so tena- 
 ciously in the inmost content of the blood. 
 
 And all that has been said applies with especial and 
 peculiar force to our Calvanistic doctrine of original sin. 
 It would have been a blessed thing for you and me if 
 
88 
 
 Adam and Eve had not commenced the x)rocess, six 
 thousand years ago, of eating sour grapes, if thej' had 
 not introduced into our race the habit of doing wrong. 
 It would be immensely to our advantage, if our inter- 
 vening ancestry, from Adam down, had not continued 
 the process, increased the force of the habit, and so, 
 through the accumulated strength of sixty centuries, 
 inclined us, from the time we know anything, to eat 
 sour grapes, to do wrong. As the habit of the race. 
 As the way we were made. Not by God, hut by God, 
 supplemented by all the inherited tendencies, all the 
 accumulated forces of evil and of wrong, since Adam, 
 created erect, learned to grovel and to bend. But if 
 we, in resolute decision, are ready to resist this in- 
 heritance of sin, to set back this tide flowing down 
 through the centuries, by the grace of God to get out 
 of this atmosphere that floats as a miasm over human- 
 ity, if we will not follow the example of our fathers, 
 if we will not eat sour grapes — positively and wil- 
 fully and personally sin, our teeth will not be touched. 
 We shall not be punished for what Adam did. Nor 
 for what our grandfathers or our grandmothers didn' t. 
 We shall stand before God in our own individual re- 
 sponsibility, and whether our "teeth" shall be "set 
 on edge " or not will depend wholly on whether or not 
 we eat "sour grapes" — whether we ourselves, in our 
 own free and untramnieled volition, do wrong " Ye do 
 the deeds of your fathers," said the Master, in His 
 fierce and fiery denunciation, in the tremendous out- 
 burst of His wrath. They perished, not because of 
 
89 
 
 their fathers' deeds, but because they did them. Our 
 fathers may have been felons, but that don't hurt 
 us if we are saints. 
 
 The prophet applies the philosophical prin- 
 ciple to which we have turned our thought 
 still more broadly in human life, and he 
 not only draws a line of demarcation, of separation, 
 between father and son, but between our past and our 
 present selves as well. And it is the application of 
 the same principle, for, in a very vital and a very 
 practical sense, our past self is the father of which 
 our present self is the son. We are to-day the pro- 
 duct of what we were yesterday. We shall be to- 
 morrow the outgrowth and the fruitage of what we are 
 to day. The child is father of the man not only, but 
 our whole past self is the ancestor of ourself this day 
 and hour. And. in this sphere of experience, this 
 narrow range of life, our principle applies. Our teeth 
 will not be set on edge " for the " sour grapes" we 
 used to eat, if we don't eat them now. We shall 
 never be punished for what we were, if we have be- 
 come better. As Ezekiel expresses it : ''When the 
 wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that 
 he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful 
 and right, he shall save his soul alive. Because he 
 considereth, and turneth away from all his transgres- 
 sions that he hath committed, he shall surely live, he 
 shall not die." No teeth will ache, if no sour grapes 
 are eaten. No penalties impend, if no wrong is doing. 
 
 I wish I could impress this all inclusive principle of 
 
90 
 
 morals upon our inmost thought, and get it deep 
 down into our inmost souls. It is reiterated and rein- 
 forced with exhaustless emphasis at the cross of 
 Christ. So completely does the Crucified atone for 
 our transgression, so to the uttermost does He save us, 
 so to the last stain does His blood wash away sin, that 
 we stand before God as though we had come from His 
 hand pure and sinless this hour. As though He had 
 just created us, as He created Adam in Eden, without 
 a scar or a taint, — when, looking upon that nature, 
 and seeing all that was in it. He "saw that all was 
 very good."' No matter how persistently our fathers 
 have eaten sour grapes . No matter how wildly we 
 once plunged into their transmitted excesses. If we 
 have stojjped altogether and finally, our teeth will be 
 perfectly sound, our souls unstained, our lives com 
 plete. The past we have put away forever. Those 
 sour grapes are trodden under foot. Our fathers we 
 are ashamed of. The inheritance of our ancestry we 
 repudiate. We stand before God all alone. He sees 
 us singly. And to each, standing alone in perfected 
 individuality, apart from all the world. He says, 
 "Come," — " Enter the kingdom." 
 
The Eye. 
 
 Luke XI, 34 : When thine eye is single, thy whole 
 body also is full of light. 
 
 WO factors are involved in every act of percep- 
 tion, the things we see and the way we see them, 
 what we hear and how we hear it. The result, 
 therefore, has a twofold dependence. What we see 
 depends not only on the object at which we look, but 
 on how we look at it. What we hear depends not 
 only on the sound that strikes the air, but on how it 
 strikes the tympanum of the individual ear. So of 
 the inward organs of the mind as well. What we per- 
 ceive with the eye of intellect and thought depends on 
 the object of which we think, and on the way we think 
 about it. Idealism has this basis of truth underneath 
 all its absurdities, that many times things and men 
 are simply what we think they are. Some are the 
 most charming people in the world to us, because we 
 think so. They are not to everybody, which is all the 
 more satisfactory to us. 
 
 Hence it is that we see the same things many 
 times and see them very differently; hear the same 
 sounds and have wholly different impressions; think 
 about the same things and have wholly different 
 thoughts; keep in our minds the same persons and en- 
 tertain wholly different views and wholly opposite 
 
92 
 
 sentiments. Have you ever heard two perfectly hon- 
 est, reliable persons testify before the court on oppo- 
 site sides of a legal case ? Both saw the same thing. 
 Both tell the truth, as they believe it. And they tell 
 a directly opposite story. They contradict each other 
 from beginning to end. Yet neither is a perjurer. 
 They saw differently. Yo^^ask an enthusiastic Dem- 
 ocrat to tell you the bottom facts about the present 
 national administration, and then you sit down by a 
 thorough-going Republican and let him give you the 
 same interesting narrative. It will require a micro- 
 scope of most powerful lens to detect the i)oint of 
 identity. Ask a reformer and an ambitious seeker of 
 office what they think of Civil Service Reform, and 
 the answer will lead along wholly opposite lines and 
 in most divergent directions. The comparative effi- 
 ciency of Prohibitory and High License laws is a per- 
 petual bone of contention. It divides us into two 
 great armies. Battalions that let the enemy alone and 
 hack and hew each other. We can never get at the 
 facts. Because every investigator looks through Pro- 
 hibition or High License glasses, and tells us what he 
 sees, not necessarily what is there. 
 
 Two are walking side by side through a picture 
 gallery. They look upon the same canvas. They 
 contemplate the same products of artistic skill. They 
 see the same lines of beauty, the same delicate shades, 
 the same blending of color and of hue. And yet what 
 a different story they tell us, what different im- 
 pressions they have received, as they leave the gallery 
 
93 
 
 of art behind. What has left an indelible impress 
 npon one, has been wholly forgotten by the other. 
 What was matchless skill in the eyes of one was a 
 daub in the eyes of the other. Some pictured 
 scene, of rarest art, that caused a thrill of rapture in 
 the one, made the cold chills run through the other. 
 What the one admired, the other abhorred. They 
 looked at the same things. They looked differentl^^ 
 So when a company of friends have listened to some 
 great singer, and, when the tones of the voice have 
 died away, give to each other their impressions. The 
 one has been charmed by the sweetness of the song, 
 another by the execution of the singer, another by the 
 pathos of her spirit, another by the grace of her 
 movement, another of the number will be pretty sure 
 to speak first of all of the perfect fit of her dress. 
 They all heard and saw the same prima donna, only 
 they heard and saw differently. It would be interest- 
 ing to listen to the remarks of a congregation, filing 
 out of the church door, after they have heard a par- 
 ticular sermon, except, it may be, to the preacher. 
 A great many, perhaps, would be talking about the 
 bonnets, but some would be talking about the ser- 
 mon, and what a different thing on different lips that 
 same sermon would be. There cut in pieces by criti- 
 cism; there served up in a dish for other people; there 
 etherialized into a kind of angelic communication; and 
 there accepted as a plain and positive message from 
 the depths of an earnest soul. Mr. Gough had in his 
 library one of the matchless representations in art of 
 
94 
 
 the Madonna, and the divine Child. An uncouth, 
 illiterate visitor in Mr. Uough's library stopped be- 
 fore it and said: "A sweet pretty baby, ain't it, Mr. 
 Gough ?" The Blessed among women was there on that 
 canvas; the divine Child was in her arms; but the be- 
 holder could see nothing but bones and pulp. It was 
 said to be a remarkable and yet an invariable fact of 
 the Centennial in Philadelphia, that no two persons, 
 comparing notes after their visit, ever saw the same 
 things. The same things were there. Only they 
 didn't see them. 
 
 This fundamental principle of philosophy was 
 constantly before the mind of the Master and His dis- 
 ciples. How often did that wonderful Teacher, when 
 proclaiming to humanity some great truth, some new 
 revelation from the skies, use, in intense solemnity, 
 this word: "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear." 
 The truth was infallible. But oh there was so much 
 the matter of their ears ! He who taught them was 
 unerring, but they needed so imperatively this ever 
 repeated counsel: "Take heed" — take heed — "how 
 ye hear." Casually, perhaps I may say carelessly, 
 speaking we would say that "the light of the body" 
 is the atoms or waves of material light that float in 
 the atmosphere around us. Those that Grod created 
 sixty centuries ago, or millions and millions of years, 
 according to our geologic theology, when He said, 
 in resistless command: "Let there be light." The 
 Master, basing his utterance on this philosophical 
 principle of which we have been thinking, says: "The 
 
95 
 
 light of the body is the eye." In us, not outside. 
 Here, not all around. The atoms- -the waves — the 
 undulations of atmosphere-^these amount to nothing, 
 unless we have the healthy organ to see them. If the 
 eye is all right then we see. If that is all wrong, 
 then we don't, though the atoms are indestructible 
 and the waves and undulations ceaseless. All depends 
 on the looking. "When thine eye is single, thy 
 whole body also is full of light." Good eyes of soul are 
 transparency. Bad eyes opacity. Good eyes, light. 
 Bad eyes, darkness. 
 
 The principle applies in the material and physical 
 world. No gay deceiver can equal in deception 
 these eyes of ours. They can pervert, and twist, and 
 deform to any extent. When the infant child first 
 sees, there is no conception of distance. Every ob- 
 ject, however remote, is right against the eye. There 
 is no intervening space. AYe do not know this from 
 memory, but from the experience of the blind who 
 have been restored to sight, and, when they saw, saw 
 everythmg close to them, and from the fact that an 
 infant child will dodge when an object is nowhere 
 near. It has not learned to calculate distance, and its 
 little eyes tell it a story. When we put a straight 
 stick in water, our eyes tell us that, at the point of 
 contact with the water, it is bent. There is nothing 
 the matter with the stick. Our eyes are false wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 All this of eyes that are well. AVlien they are 
 diseased, or awry, then the philosophical principle is 
 
96 
 
 all the more forcibly impressed. The astigmatic eye 
 sees indistinctly and imperfectly. The horizontal and 
 the perpendicular lines on the chart are of equal 
 breadth and blackness, only the eye, in its impair- 
 ment, sees a difference. There is not any difference. 
 Only the eye sees it. As our professor in college used 
 to say: "There is no such thing as ghosts, though a 
 great many have seen them." Until middle life one, 
 whom I know, was not aware that there were the 
 minute wavelets of water playing over the surface of 
 the quiet lake that most other people have seen all 
 their lives. The ignorance was a slight defect of 
 vision. The wavelets were there. His eyes did not 
 see them. What anew world opens before the vision 
 of one who has for years neglected the optician, and 
 at last comes to his senses, and obtains glasses that 
 fit him — that virtually open his eyes to see ! Every- 
 thing is just the same as before. And yet everything 
 is changed, every beauty is enhanced, every object is 
 clarified, a new world opens, because he has begun to 
 see. 
 
 The principle before us is of still higher applica- 
 tion when we think of the inner eye of the soul, the 
 perceptive faculty within us, that looks out and 
 draws its own conclusions about the world and all that 
 is upon it. The idealist says that that is all the ex- 
 ternal world there is — what we create by our thinking 
 about it. There are only men and women around us 
 because we think there are. There are only hard sub- 
 stances that we hit and get hurt, because we think we 
 
97 
 
 hit them and think we get hurt. There is a Gk)d in 
 this universe only because we think there is. No 
 Deity but the manufacture of our thoughts. Now this 
 is the last absurdity. We know there are men and 
 women around us, for they make themselves known 
 to us in very many ways, sometimes by the extent to 
 which they make us love them, and sometimes by the 
 degree in which they make us hate, or, perhaps I 
 better say, dislike, them. We get hurt for we bear the 
 scars and the broken bones. There is a God for our 
 inmost soul feels Him. And yet this last absurdity 
 of philosophy is based on the truth that underlies our 
 thought to-day, that men and things are very much 
 what we make them; the men and women around us 
 lovable or hateful as we love or hate them; our in- 
 juries and wounds great or small as we magnify or 
 minimize them; and God a Being of infinite charm, or 
 a consuming fire, as we think of Him in the inmost 
 trend of our silent, deepest thought. Not as we 
 theorize about Him in our theologies, but as we think, 
 and as we feel, when we are alone with Him in the 
 presence of the eternities. There, in that inaccessible 
 chamber of the soul, God is the sunlight or God is 
 the deej), dark gloom. 
 
 Our perceptive faculty, the way we look at 
 things, is determined very largely by these extraneous 
 considerations, these moulding and controlling in- 
 fluences. Our prevailing appetites and passions sway 
 us very largely in our views and opinions. We think 
 many things because we want to think them. And 
 
98 
 
 we refuse to believe others because we don't want to. 
 Our surroundings in life, the character of the parents 
 God has given us, the wife or husband a man or 
 woman has, the dispositions of our children, the tone 
 of the society in which we move, all these enter largely 
 into our philosophies, and give direction to our be- 
 liefs, and modify our opinions. Our education from 
 our childhood until now, the ideas our teachers put 
 into our heads long years ago, the college we went to, 
 the papers we read, the stumj) speakers we hear, the 
 preachers to whom we listen, all these go into the 
 make-up of our minds, and enter largely into what 
 we think and the way we reason. And then our per- 
 sonal, present interests bias and limit us, and narrow 
 the range out of which we cannot easily get because 
 we cannot possibly get out of ourselves. How much 
 these all have to do, for example, with a man's poli- 
 tics. His appetites and passions— his desire for po- 
 sition and place. His surroundings — the class of pol- 
 iticians with whom he trains. His education— the 
 way his fathers used to think, or some master mind 
 into contact with which he has been brought. His 
 present interest, and what it pays to think. Many 
 times these are the ingredients of nine-tenths of a 
 man's politics, leaving one-tenth to conscientiousness 
 and candor. 
 
 In our investigation in any department of science, 
 in our study in any department of art, these influences 
 largely enter, and go to the final and determining re- 
 sults. And we reach those conclusions at last that 
 
99 
 
 are in harmony with the demands of our passions, 
 that coalesce most quickly with our surroundings, 
 that antagonize the least our earlier education, and 
 that fall in most swiftly with our interests and what 
 we want to do. 
 
 When we come to the domain of morals and re- 
 ligion, you see how vitally the principle bears upon 
 all our thought and action. If the eye of the soul "is 
 single, the whole body is full of lighc." If we see 
 rightly, all is right. If we see wrongly, all is wrong. 
 And we see just as the eye of the soul — conscience — 
 is fitted to see. In the material world, we see just 
 what the physical eye detects; in the intellectual 
 world just what the perceptive faculty, the mental eye, 
 discovers; in morals just what conscience, the moral 
 eye, tells us is there. 
 
 And all these influences, of which I have spoken, 
 are operative to warp or to untie conscience. Some- 
 times to enslave it. Sometimes to set it free. 
 
 The single question is, What are they doing with 
 ns i Are the appetites and passions of our natures 
 other messes of pottage for which we, as Esaus, are 
 selling our birthright, in that fatal commerce, where 
 there is "no room for rej^entance though" men seek it 
 "carefully and with tears !" Are they the accumu- 
 lated burden under the weight of which we go away 
 from the Master "sorrowful?" Are the surround- 
 ings of life a fatal miasm, in the damp and chill of 
 whose marshes, health of soul is the great impossibil- 
 ity ? Are all the inlluences of our early education. 
 
100 
 
 coming up from our past, leading us away from 
 truth and the Master and God ? Are personal interest, 
 present ease, earthly emolument, all pointing the 
 other way? Then the eye of the soul is "double" — 
 "the whole body is full of darkness." 
 
 The only hope of salvation is in clarified vision. 
 The single eye. The divine Spirit must lift tlie 
 film. The electric forces of s:race must absorb the 
 cataract. Passion and appetite will then be brought 
 under control. No mess of pottage will betray. The 
 eye of the watchmaker is trained to discover the 
 minutest defect, to see in a moment the most trivial 
 flaw. When the eye of the soul is single, it sees the 
 first defraction from the straight line of virtue, and 
 avoids it. The pilot out on the ocean hears the far 
 off fog signal that to other ears is noiseless. Our 
 trained spirits distinguish far off the heavenly voices, 
 the signals of safety from the skies. And as the eye 
 of spirit is clear, and waxes strong and far reaching, 
 the range of vision opens. It begins to look through 
 the mystic glass of faith, and discerns the glorious 
 things of God . It takes the telescope of its divine 
 communion, it sees a starry heavens, a vast blue 
 dome, and then, the soul that is looking, in one 
 mighty sweep, enters upon its possession, it grasps 
 with open hand them all— "all things" ours- -"we" 
 "Christ's" and "Christ" "God's." 
 
MatJi X \ 32. WJiosoever therefore shall confess me 
 before men, him will I confess also before my 
 Father which is in heaven. 
 
 WO weeks from to day this community will be 
 challenged anew by the mandatory voice of this 
 church. As one man, we who are identified 
 with it, in the accustomed form, and by the divinely 
 instituted ordinance, will together speak the language 
 of our familiar hymn, lifting together this calling 
 voice : 
 
 "We're marching to Canaan with banner and song, 
 We're soldiers enlisted to fight 'gainst the wrong: 
 But, lest in the conflict our strength should divide, 
 We ask, Who among us is on the Lord's side ? 
 Oh, who is there among us, the true and the tried, 
 Who'll stand by his colors— who's on the Lord's side?" 
 
 With this purpose in view as a church, I, as its rep- 
 sentative to-day, would speak to you upon the vital 
 subject of confession, upon the duty and the privilege 
 no less of an open, frank, willing acknowledgement of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ as our personal, present Saviour. 
 May the divine Spirit, with resistless power, carry 
 that duty home to many a heart and conscience while 
 I speak. 
 
 Christianity, in which, as a system, we all heartily 
 believe, is individualized and made distinct among the 
 varied religions of men by its personal element — its 
 
102 
 
 relation fundamentally, not to a truth, nor to a princi- 
 ple, but to a Person. At the centre of this system 
 stands a Man. In a famous temj^le in the east there 
 are four entrances, one to the north, one to the south, 
 one to the east, one to the west. By which ever por- 
 tal yon enter, you pass through a long corridor to one 
 central room, crowned with a vast and ample dome. 
 Christianity has its entrances, its long corridors, its 
 multiplied truths, its eternal principles. All lead 
 alike to the central room beneath the vast and tower- 
 ing dome, the Person, the Lord Jesus Christ. Other 
 religions stop at principles, Christianity stops at 
 Christ. Others present truth, this presents a divine 
 personality. In Him truth centres, duty inheres, life 
 indwells, heaven consists. 
 
 With so great and with so reiterated emphasis did 
 the Master enforce this conception of His religion that 
 the only possible conclusion of him who denies His 
 divinity is the bold blasphemj' of His exhaustless 
 egotism. He put the "I" and the "Me" before every- 
 thing else. Because He was God, or because He had 
 such an exalted conception of Himself. One or the 
 other conclusion is inevitable. 
 
 And so we have this intense personal element, per- 
 vading all His teachings to men. "Come unto" — not 
 a system, not truth, but — "Come unto me, and" not 
 truth, not God, but "I will give you rest." "Fol- 
 low," not what He may teach, the principles He 
 may inculcate, but "follow me." "Without me ye 
 can do nothing." "/am the light of the world." 
 
103 
 
 "If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.'" 
 "No man Cometh unto the Father but by me." No 
 other religion adopts that language. The Vedas of 
 India, the Koran of the Mohammedan, the Shastras of 
 Buddism, the refined metaphysics of our fashionable 
 philosophy, all these are centred in great principles, 
 they present to the soul great truths. Salvation con- 
 sists in the acceptance of principles. In the belief in 
 truths. Here, at the cross, we go back of great prin- 
 ciples, we step behind eternal truths, and we get at 
 last to the Person who is the living soul of all great 
 principles, the vital force of all essential truths, the 
 Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 This conception of our holy religion leads us at 
 once to the duty of confession. If a Mohammedan can 
 be saved by his religion he can be saved without con- 
 fessing Mohammed;or the Buddhist withoutconfessing 
 Buddha ; or the Chinese without confessing Confucius; 
 because each of these was subordinate, and so pro- 
 claimed himself, to the truths he taught. But the 
 christian, to be a christian, must confess Christ, be- 
 cause He placed Himself above all truth, superior to 
 principle, sovereign over a system, and a confession 
 of Christianity becomes essentially a confession of its 
 Christ. "He that confesseth me.'' 
 
 In the tenth chapter of His epistle to the Romans 
 Paul sets the two duties of the Christian life side by 
 side. He makes them alike essential. Belief and 
 confession. Faith and frank avowal. "With the 
 heart man believeth unto righteousness ; and with the 
 
104 
 
 mouth confession is made unto salvation." But be- 
 fore the apostle announces this alliance, He makes the 
 duty of confession, in harmony with our thoughts to- 
 day, intensely, vividly, personal. "If thou shalt con- 
 fess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus." That is the 
 final condition. Confession. Confession, not of a prin- 
 ciple, not of a truth. Rut, as Paul puts it, of a Person . 
 And so the Master had said, long before Paul had a 
 thought of Him: "Whosoever therefore confesseth 
 me before men, him will I confess also before my 
 Father which is in heaven." A Person must confess 
 us. A principle couldn't do that. Truth could not, 
 in the abstract. A Person must do it, and so the Mas- 
 ter proclaims it alike essential that we all confess 
 a Person, — confessing Him — He confessing ua. 
 
 The question is often asked, what doctrines are nec- 
 essary to salvation, wtiat must a man believe in order 
 to be saved? To how much must we give assent to 
 get to heaven ? It is a question from a very low plane. 
 But it is true to human nature. Of any good thing, 
 we are very apt to ask, How much must we do or suf 
 fer to get it ? So on the same principle we ask. How 
 much must we believe to get the believer's reward { 
 I am not prepared to answer that question. I was, 
 when I came out of the theological seminary twenty- 
 six years ago, not then of a very advanced or ma- 
 ture age. But I have been thinking during these 
 twenty-six years, and it comes to me now about like 
 this, that we can not outline theologies for men, we 
 can not grind out confessions. It will be better after 
 
105 
 
 all to stop with the Person of the Lord Jesus Christ — 
 just where the Master did, when He said, "Whosoever 
 therefore shall confess me." 
 
 The time has gone by when, with any authority or 
 accents of command, we can say to men, Believe as we 
 do, or be anathema — think just this way or be lost. 
 The old habit lingers in the disposition down in our 
 hearts quietly to opine that, if men do not think about 
 as we do, there is very little chance for them . Tlie 
 impression is harmless so J ong as we do not give it utter- 
 ance. So long as we do not give it utterance in rack and 
 thumbscrew, as Romedid three hundred years ago; or 
 in denunciation and abuse, as have the bigotry and 
 narrowness of a later day. The essential of all religion 
 ia the Person of the Lord Jesus Christ. There all 
 truth centres. Thence all life flows. Our confession 
 as christians is made, whatever our theology, when we 
 confess Him. The Hottentot and the New Zealander, 
 meeting together, both lovers of a new found Saviour, 
 of a wholly different tongue, could find no method of 
 expression until a familiar word of the language the 
 missionaries spoke came to each, and one shouted 
 enthusiastically "Amen" and the other rapturously re- 
 sponded: "Hallelujah ?" Avery few words can bring 
 the world of believers together, of every land, of every 
 family, of every faith, if they are spoken at the cross, 
 if they voice the praises of Him Whom, with one 
 united anthem, over all the earth, we "crown Lord of 
 all." 
 
 And so the duty of confession flows from the 
 
106 
 
 inmost nature of our religion, as it soars beyond doc- 
 trine and tenet, and finds irs resting place in a divine 
 Personality. Centering in the Person of the living 
 Christ, our allegiance is commanded, and our confes- 
 sion becomes a sacred trust. 
 
 And it is a very natural and befitting thing that we 
 should confess Him, if we love Hina. That act of 
 Peter makes us shudder still. We are still horrified at 
 its inhumanity, because he was cursing and swearing 
 about the one he loved most of all, that had the first 
 place in his heart. Had it been a casual acquaintance, 
 one whom he had known only by a passing nod, that 
 had been arrested and dragged intothe judgment hall, 
 and with whom he liad been declared in sympathy, 
 there would have been no crime in Peter save his cow- 
 ardice and his profanity . There would have been no 
 baseness of treachery, no dark deed of dishonor. But 
 there stood his best Friend, his most intimate Com- 
 panion, beneath that bosom beat the dearest heart he 
 knew. And that was his crime. It is criminal always 
 not to confess those to whom we are under great obli- 
 gations. Here the obligation is in the infinite. Or 
 those to whom we are joined by closest ties. Here 
 the tie is indissoluble. Or those who love us. Here 
 love has laid down its life. 
 
 When we come to the question of methods, we en- 
 ter upon a wide and extended range. Every christian 
 must confess. In what way, rests with his conscience. 
 How, his own heart must tell him. The duty is abso- 
 lute; the method we must decide, in the exercise of 
 
107 
 
 our best judgment-, guided by that Spirit, who, the 
 Master has said, will "lead (us) into all truth." I can 
 say, with absolute authority, you must, in someway, 
 confess the Lord Jesus Christ as your Saviour. Yon 
 must, if you desire Him to confess you. He has said 
 so. He of tlie infallible word. But I cannot say with 
 the same absolute authority that you must confess 
 Him in my way, or in the way of the organized, visi- 
 ble church. There is no "must" at this point. But 
 there is, I am confident, an "incomparably better." 
 Better than any method you, in wisest ingenuity, can 
 devise, is the method, down through the years, of the 
 christian church. The method hallowed by examj^le, 
 ratified by all experience, and sealed with the blessing 
 and fadeless benediction of God. 
 
 When we spread that table of our Lord two weeks 
 from to-day, we present to the world the time hon- 
 ored method of confession. We do it, in close alli- 
 ance with the Master's words when He said: "This do 
 in remembrance of me." The church says to the 
 world: In frank confession sit at the gospel feast. If 
 you love the Lord, sit with those who love hun at His 
 table. This is the significance, and this is the essence, 
 of church membership. It is simply a confession of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ as a personal Saviour. It is 
 obedience to His conditions when He said: "Whoso- 
 ever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I 
 also confess before my Father which is in heaven." 
 
 No little confusion exists upon this subject of 
 church membership. I would like to dispel a few of 
 
108 
 
 the cloud banks. I would like to dissipate part of 
 the mist. 
 
 Some have hesitated, some I doubt not who are 
 present and who listen to my voice at this time, under 
 an impression that the act of connection with the visible 
 church is a profession of superior excellence, of riper 
 spiritual growth. It is a total misconception. It is a 
 perversion, sometimes unintentional, sometimes ma- 
 licious, of the facts of the case. We are in the church 
 not because we have already attained, as Paul the 
 apostle puts it, but because we are very solicitous to 
 attain, and are resolved to employ every possible 
 means in order to attainment. And so it io rather a 
 denial, than a profession, of any superior excellence 
 or spiritual worth. If any man makes that claim, it 
 is he who s rands without, and gives no expression to 
 his desire for a better life by employing the means. 
 His position of all others argues a sense of satisfac- 
 tion, and a spiritual self conceit. The boy who won't 
 go to school claims to know all he wants to. .Not the 
 boy who faithfully ajjplies himself to his books. The 
 man who stays away from dinner de'ilares, by the act, 
 that he is not hungry. Not he who runs at the ring- 
 ing of the bell. He who takes the cars confesses his 
 need of a conveyance. He who walks says he can get 
 get along without. 
 
 What I have already said earlier in this discourse, 
 goes to that erroneous conception of church member- 
 ship that identifies it with a subscription to a system 
 of theology, or acceptance of certain doctrines or his- 
 
109 
 
 toric beliefs. The error has doubtless arisen, in all 
 candor, from the customs of human societies, and the 
 organizations of men. These are generally based ujjon 
 certain articles of a constitution or by-laws, and mem- 
 bership involves subscription to the constitution and 
 laws. The church of Jesus Christ, in this sense, has 
 no constitution or by-laws, except the fundamental 
 law of allegiance and loyalty to the Person of our 
 Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. If we love Him we 
 are qualified for membership, if we are ignorant of the 
 a b c's of theology; if we don't love Him we are not, 
 though we have the catechism at our tongues ends, and 
 though we bristle all over with the sharp points of 
 creeds most rigid and confessions most comprehen- 
 sive and compact. When a poor sufferer came to the 
 Master for help while He was here, there were no 
 questions asked concerning his theology. The church 
 stands to-day in her Master's stead, and throws open 
 her doors and her heart to all that ask for healing, 
 whatever their religious faith. The church makes 
 no conditions essential to membership that her Mas- 
 ter has not made essential to salvation. 
 
 Then the most serious error of all upon this subject of 
 such vital interest is the expectation that the church will 
 prove a kind of life insurance societj;, or membership 
 within it a ticket of security to the skies. Many join 
 the church as they take the cars to Albany — they get 
 a ticket at the office, and take a seat in the car, and 
 dismiss the subject from further consideration and the 
 responsibilities from further care. They expect the 
 
110 
 
 engine of good luck to do the rest. They are sitting 
 very comfortably, but they are nearing a tremendous 
 smash up. Viewing the impendins: collision of infi- 
 nite forces, the prophet exclaims: "Woe," woe, woe 
 "to them that are at ease in Zion." 
 
 Removing from our minds these incorrect impres- 
 sions, I would set before you to day our approaching 
 sacramental Sabbath in its simi)licity, and at the same 
 time its fearful solemnity, as it shall bid you again, 
 as it has so many times before : "Choose j^ou this day 
 whom ye will serve." Around that table two weeks 
 from to-day will sit those who, by their posture before 
 the world, that hour, "Confess (the Master) before 
 men." To whom He has promised, Them "I will also 
 confess before my Father which is in heaven." They 
 who shall sit toe^ether there are they, like all their 
 fellows, of many imperfections, and of many faults. 
 We don't claim anything else. We are there because 
 we need so much help in our weakness, and so much 
 grace in our sin. But, by that act before the world, 
 we confess the Lord Jesus Christ. He is onr only 
 Hope. He is our only Salvation. We trust only in 
 that name, than which there is "none other under 
 heaven given among men wherebj^ we must be saved." 
 
 Friends of mine, I would like to take you each by 
 the hand this morning, in all kindness and in all af- 
 fection, and ask you one question i When that issue 
 shall be joined, where will you be happiest, when 
 you shall stand before God, if you have been found ( 
 At that table, or away from il For Christ or against 
 
Ill 
 
 Him ? And while I ask the question, a scene of the 
 coming days rises before me. The days, perhaps, not 
 very far on. I am gazing upon a vast and innumer- 
 able multitude, among them the loved and the cher- 
 ished of your own heart, all standing before God, 
 around the great white throne. And they are look- 
 ing intently, with their whole natures, upon you, as 
 your spirit passes into their presence, and up to the 
 throne around wtiich they gather. They are waiting 
 there, their hearts going out, oh how fondly, for you, 
 waiting for one thing. They are looking, ah how 
 eagerly, to see what the Master will do. And now I 
 behold that Master step down from the throne on 
 which He sits by the side of the Father. If you have 
 confessed Him here, I see Him take you by the hand, 
 I see Him beckon to those loved ones of the days gone 
 by, to that mother who taught you to pray, to that 
 pastor who led you to Jesus, to that Sunday school 
 teacher who told yoxi so sweetly the story, to all who 
 bore you on the wings of prayer, I hear Him call them 
 to come nearer and see ; and then, as I look. He leads 
 you up to the Father, He puts His hand of endless 
 benediction upon your head, and He says in sweetest 
 tones ear ever heard, "This is my disciple — He con- 
 fessed me before men, I fulfill my promise, I confess 
 (Him) before my Father and the holy angels. I put 
 the new name upon his forehead. I make him a pil- 
 lar in the temple of my God. And he shall go no 
 more out forever. ' 
 
 And then I behold another scene. It is dark and 
 
112 
 
 dreadful. For a moment it makes those loving hearts 
 in heaven weep. But only for a moment, for they 
 understand the ways of God to men, and they bow, 
 and are at peace. But the rest of that picture I will 
 not limn. My heart fails me. My pencil droi:)s from 
 my hand. 1 turn away. And while it lingers like 
 some fearful dream I ask you, Will you come '. Will 
 you come ? 
 
Separation. 
 
 Math. XIII: 30 Let both grow together until— 
 ^^,^^NTIL." Then they shall grow together no 
 more. Then there shall be separation, final, 
 Icrever. Wheat and tares will remain apait 
 thereafter through the eternities. 
 
 There is a tremendous sifting process going on 
 in this world of ours, going on all the while, going on 
 everywhere. You may trace it, if you please, from 
 the lowest up to the highest orders of being and of 
 life. Everywhere separation. He "whose fan is in 
 His hand" is "thoroughly purging His floor." "The 
 axe is laid to the root of the tree." Begin at the bot- 
 tom. Take the lowest stratum of material existence. 
 In mechanics and in the arts there is constant and inev- 
 vitable separation. Notning can be done without it. 
 We cannot use theiron, unless we separate it from the 
 slag. We cannot turn our coin into gold, unless we 
 burn away the dross. We cannot erect our buildings of 
 granite and stone, unless we chisel the seams. Ascend 
 one step, and we meet the same necessity. Our farm- 
 ers cannot bring their produce into market unless they 
 have a thresher and a fanning mill. They have got 
 to get rid of the chaflf and the husks, before they can 
 fill our granaries and enrich our produce exchange. 
 Taking another step, the whole study and care upon 
 
114 
 
 our stock farms is to secure everywhere the survival 
 of the fittest. To separate the finer from the inferior 
 grades. Poor from good blood. The superior are 
 lolling in the meadows, the inferior are sent to the 
 slaughterhouse. Or, if of that class that cannot be 
 eaten, the less promising are harnessed to horse cars, 
 and the more are appareled in nickle and gilt. I re- 
 fer to city horse cars . We drive very respectable 
 horses before them up here. It is the sifting process 
 that is going on everywhere in this world of ours, con- 
 stant]}^, inevitably as it seems, inherent in the very 
 nature of things. 
 
 Is there any exception to this law, when we 
 come to man ? Is not this race to which we belong 
 being sifted, in every department of life, in every de- 
 main of action ? The strong and the vigorous and the 
 manly prevail. The weaker go to the wall. It is true 
 of races. It is true of men. In the competition of bus- 
 iness, here and there one becomes a millionaire, ten 
 thousand by his side become jDaupers. In politics, one 
 learns the trick of successful manipulation, comes to 
 comprehend the mystery of pulling wares, sits in the 
 legislature, occupies some chair of state; others in- 
 comparably more worthy are remanded to the shades 
 of private life. In the professions, one in a decade 
 shines as a pole star: the rest hold candles. Is not 
 the sifting sure ? Is it not pervasive ? Is it not inev- 
 itable as well ? Is it not a law imbedded in the in- 
 most nature of things ? This world isn' t arranged by 
 haphazard. It isn't a huge box of letters thrown 
 
115 
 
 into a pile. The letters are spelled. It isn't amass 
 of unhewn stones cast up into a heap; it is a building 
 fitly framed together. "Order is heaven's lirst law." 
 And the law of the mother counti y up yonder stands 
 first in the statute book of this earthly colony. 
 
 And so when you come to the sphere of morals, 
 to the domain of religion, you are prepared to pause 
 a moment and take in the force of that little word of 
 five letters — ^^untiiy Here as everywheie the sift- 
 ing process must go onward. Here as everywhere sep- 
 aration must come. It is in the nature of things. It 
 is inevitable in the order of this universe. There is 
 nothing about it that is arbitrary or wilful on the part 
 of any being beyond or above us. No blind fatality 
 is pursuing us. No "Mara," as the Indiaman 
 dreams, is hotly after us. No chance is playing with 
 us. Nothing is going to 7iappen. The eternities are in 
 our hands. A man's future is his own creation. 
 He makes the only heaven or hell he ever goes to. 
 
 Consider that parable of the tares a moment. In 
 that metaphor God is the owner of the field. The 
 ownerof that field did not, by some determined, reso- 
 lute act, make a part of the growth of that field wheat 
 and a part tares. Neither did He put a part of the 
 growth of the field into his barns, and a part into the 
 fire, indiscriminately. He put a part into his barn 
 and a part into the fire because a part in its own na- 
 ture, and by its own inherent processes of growth, 
 was wheat, and a part, by the same inherent processes, 
 was tares. And in the discussion that is coming on 
 
116 
 
 in our beloved cli arch, that is going to be settled in 
 christian harmony and love, it is going to be under- 
 stood that Presbj- terianism does not teach, and, how- 
 ever stern its statements, never did teach, that God 
 makes a certain part of the I'ace wheat and a certain 
 part tares, and then at last stores up the one and burns 
 up the other. 
 
 Neither vs^ill there be any separation when the 
 great "until" has come, save that which has been 
 made voluntarily ere that final moment is at hand. 
 The sifting is taking nlace now. The fanning mill is 
 working. We are taking our places to-day for the 
 final roll call. When the "until" has come it will 
 simply be manifest to all worlds what we were here — 
 wheat or tares. The one will be burned. The other 
 will be gathered into barns. The one burned, because 
 that is the nature of tares. The other in the granaries 
 of Grod, because that is where wheat belongs. 
 
 Or, take that other judgment scene, as our Sav- 
 iour dei)icts it so thrillingly in the 25th of Math. He 
 uses the language there: '"He shall separate them." 
 "When the Son of Man shall come in His glory and 
 all the holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon 
 the throne of His glory, and before Him shall be gath- 
 ered all nations . And He shall separate them as the 
 shepherd divides the sheep from the goats." How 
 does the shepherd do that ? Simply by getting the 
 sheep on one side because they are sheep, and the 
 goats on the other because they are goats. There is 
 nothing arbitrary. Nothing wilful. It is not because 
 
117 
 
 the shepherd feels at one time like putting some an- 
 imals on one side, and then at another feels like put- 
 ting some on the other. I don't think we can get this 
 truth too positively or too deeply into our conception 
 of the ways of God. I believe it is fundamental and 
 all inclusive. Grod made no separation in eternity 
 past. He did not decree so many sheep and so many 
 goats, and make them sheep and goats. He does not 
 separate them in the end, save as they separate them- 
 selves by being, of their own accord, sheep or goats. 
 
 Or to lay aside the figure that contains a little 
 embarrassment in the physical difference of genus, 
 God did not separate humanity years ago by decree- 
 ing rhatso many should be good and so many should 
 be bad, making them good or bad. God will not sep- 
 arate humanity at last, setting so many on His right 
 hand and so many on His left, because he wants so 
 many on that side and so many on the other. He 
 will do that ultimately, because so many have, in the 
 sifting processes of time, here where the separation is 
 going on every day, taken the upward path, and so 
 many have followed the down grade. As the posture 
 of their souls, as the attitude of their lives, have cho- 
 sen good or loved evil, ^re sheep after the heavenly 
 pattern, or goats after the satanic design. 
 
 In society, for its protection and defense, we build 
 houses of refuge, reformatories, penitentiaries. State 
 prisons. We don't build them simply that we may 
 put a certain number of our fellow men within their 
 walls, for the sake of having them inhabited. We 
 
118 
 
 build them that the criminal classes who choose crime, 
 who revel in evil courses, who imperil society, who 
 are dangerous to have abroad, may be securely barred 
 and bolted within them. Because they are criminals, 
 and because society must be protected, and our rights 
 of person and property secured . The criminals who 
 are within the walls make that separation from those 
 who are without them, by their criminal courses, by 
 their wilfnl, malicious, persistent violation of law. 
 These are the only walls. They are not built of stone 
 and mortar. They are constructed of perverse i)as- 
 sions ; they are erected of wicked wills. Bad natures 
 build them. And we who act on these principles of inher- 
 ent justice are human. Do you tell me that God builds 
 the penitentiaries of the eternities simply because He 
 wants to have them populated with a j)ortion of the 
 race ? Because he wants to see so many unfortunates 
 within them and see them writhe? I object to any 
 such interpretation of the ways of God. ''As the 
 heavens are higher than the earth so His ways are 
 higher than ours," — higher and better and more kind. 
 No chains of punishment are welded save for wrists 
 that immerse themselves in crime. No prison walls 
 save for those who would be dangerous outside of 
 them. No separation save for those who separate 
 themselves. 
 
 And in this unerring arbitrament no mistakes are 
 committed, no unjust decisions of courts and juries 
 can distort facts or change virtue into crime. The 
 glad news has just reached us from Kansas that the 
 
119 
 
 brother-in-law of your beloved former pastor has been 
 shown, by satisfactory evidence, after an imprison- 
 ment of six years, to be an innocent man. Nothing 
 can right that wrong. Nothing save this. The mem- 
 ory, deep down in his conscience, that those prison 
 walls' have left upon his character no stain, upon his 
 soul not one dark blot, for, during all these years, he 
 was separated by his stainless innocence from the 
 guilt and criminality around him by an infinite re- 
 move. No mistakes of that character are possible in 
 the presence of the eternities. Unrepented sin is the 
 only imprisonment. A bad heart the only hell. 
 Tliere will be no pangs In the penitentiaries of God 
 save of those who must say with Milton's Satan every 
 one, "Myself am hell." 
 
 It seems to me that society ought to get down on 
 its knees to the man it has unjustly imprisoned by its 
 defective processes of law, its imperfect courts and ju- 
 ries, and say : I can never atone for this cruel wrong, 
 I can never undo this crime with which I have dark- 
 ened, perhaps destroyed, your life, but come to the 
 warmest place in my heart, and live in my deepest 
 sympathies. Let me atone by loving ! In the pres- 
 ence of eternal realities, under the government of that 
 Being Who makes no mistakes, we maybe sure, infal- 
 libly sure, that no lines will ever be drawn, the direc- 
 tion of which we do not trace, trace to the minutest 
 detail, in the present time and the earthly life. These 
 years that are rolling on, not some decree in eternity 
 past, not some stern arbitrament in the ages ahead, 
 
120 
 
 these A^ars an fi wliat we are thinking and what we 
 are doing within them, these determine the issue, and 
 fix onr destiny, and these only in the solemn, the 
 fearful, the changeless ''until." 
 
 And what an absolute separation that is ! One 
 that is in the inmost nature of things, in the very 
 warp and woof of our natures. Separated from each 
 other by what we are. What a separation that is al- 
 ready in the present time. We try to get over those 
 distances between each other, and get close to each 
 other, we who are separated far by nature, but it is 
 the great impossibility. We can't do it. We may 
 live in the same houses, work in the same stores, sit 
 in the same churches, and we are wide apart as the 
 poles. Between a man whose instincts are pure and 
 true and noble, and liis next door neighbor whose pro- 
 pensities are all perverse there is an unfathomable 
 abyss. No plummet can sound its depths. Between 
 sweet womanhood and her sister on the streets there 
 is a '■•great gulf fixedy A gulf no loving heart can 
 cross. Wealth and luxury may take indigence and 
 want by the hand, the reformer and the philanthro- 
 pist may lay hold of th"^ palm that is black with crime, 
 yes' that is red with blood, but in that close contact 
 of person, those natures are millions and millions of 
 miles away. When the sympathizing, loving lips of 
 purity give the kiss to the brow wrinkled with pollu- 
 tion, stamped with defilement, that kiss that brings the 
 lips so closecannot bring those natures one step nearer 
 to each other in the inevitability of their separation. 
 
121 
 
 The heart of the Master Went out proudly and warmly 
 to that wanderer from the streets, as her tears fell so 
 fast upon His holy feet. His sympathy drew Him very 
 close. But between that Masterand that woman there 
 was an infinite remove, until she repented. Tears 
 brought them together. Tears are, after all, the might- 
 iest enginery in this universe. They bring natures 
 together. They unite souls and God. 
 
 If this separation that exists in the inmost na- 
 ture of things were made by some outward influence, 
 that influence might be changed and the act undone — 
 this separation cease. If God had made it by some de- 
 cree of the past, God might- reverse it sometime in the 
 coming days. If God made it by a moment's decision 
 in judgment, some where, sometime, He might relent, 
 and for good behaviour commute the sentence and 
 set us free. But, no. It is in the nature of things. 
 In the texture of soul. In the substance of being. 
 Interwoven in our thoughts; inwrought in our lives; 
 intertwined in all our future. Revealed in Ihe solemn 
 "until." 
 
 I do not know of a sadder word than that in all 
 our human speech — separation. Two friends knit to- 
 gether by sweetest, purest ties, and, by some blow of 
 sudden misuderstanding, separated for all the years. 
 The youth and the maiden going forth from the home 
 of fond affection toother interests in life, the home 
 circle broken, the Lived and the dearones separated — 
 wrenched apart. And oh ! At the bed side of the be- 
 loved — can I speak of it, will my voice serve me in 
 
112 
 
 dreadful. For a moment it makes those loving hearts 
 in lieaven weep. But only for a moment, for they 
 understand the ways of God to men, and they bow, 
 and are at jieace. But the rest of that picture I will 
 not limn. My heart fails me. My pencil droj^s from 
 my hand. I turn away. And while it lingers like 
 some fearful dream I ask you, Will you come Will 
 you come ? 
 
Separation. 
 
 Math. XIII: 30 Let both grow together until— 
 ^^,^^NTIL." Then they shall grow together no 
 more. Then there shall be separation, final, 
 ^ 1( rever. Wheat and tares will remain apait 
 thereafter through the eternities. 
 
 There is a tremendous sifting process going on 
 in this world of ours, going on all the while, going on 
 everywhere. You may trace it, if you please, from 
 the lowest up to the highest orders of being and of 
 life. Everywhere separation. He "whose fan is in 
 His hand" is "thoroughly purging His floor." "The 
 axe is laid to the root of the tree." Begin at the bot- 
 tom. Take the lowest stratum of material existence. 
 In mechanics and in the arts there is constant and inev- 
 vitable separation. Nothing can be done without it. 
 We cannot use theiron, unless we separate it from the 
 slag. We cannot turn our coin into gold, unless we 
 burn away the dross. We cannot erect our buildings of 
 granite and stone, unless we chisel the seams. Ascend 
 one step, and we meet the same necessity. Our farm- 
 ers cannot bring their produce into market unless they 
 have a thresher and a fanning mill. They have got 
 to get rid of the chaff and the husks, before they can 
 fill our granaries and enrich our produce exchange. 
 Taking another step, the whole study and care upon 
 
114 
 
 our stock farms is to secure everywhere the survival 
 of the fittest. To separate the finer from the inferior 
 grades. Poor from good blood. The superior are 
 lolling in the meadows, the inferior are sent to the 
 slaughter house. Or, if of that class that cannot be 
 eaten, the less promising are harnessed to horse cars, 
 and the more are appareled in nickle and gilt. I re- 
 fer to city horse cars. We drive very respectable 
 horses before them up here. It is the sifting process 
 that is going on everywhere in this world of ours, con- 
 stantly, inevitably as it seems, inherent in the very 
 nature of things. 
 
 Is there any exception to this law, when we 
 come to man ? Is not this race to which we belong 
 being sifted, in every department of life, in every de- 
 main of action ? The strong and the vigorous and the 
 manly prevail. The weaker go to the wall. It is true 
 of races. It is true of men. In the competition of bus- 
 iness, here and there one becomes a millionaire, ten 
 thousand by his side become pauj^ers. In politics, one 
 learns the trick of successful manipulation, comes to 
 comprehend the mystery of pulling wires, sits in the 
 legislature, occupies some chair of state; others in- 
 comparably more worthy are remanded to the shades 
 of private life. In the professions, one in a decade 
 shines as a pole star: the rest hold candles. Is not 
 the sifting sure % Is it not pervasive \ Is it not inev- 
 itable as well ? Is it not a law imbedded in the in- 
 most nature of things ? This world isn't arranged by 
 haphazard. It isn't a huge box of letters thrown 
 
115 
 
 into a pile. The letters are spelled. It isn't amass 
 of unhewn stones cast up into a heap; it is a building 
 fitly framed too;ether. "Order is heaven's first hxw.'" 
 And the law of the mother country up yonder stands 
 first in the statute book of tliis earthly colony. 
 
 And so when you come to the sphere of morals, 
 to the domain of religion, you are prepared to pause 
 a moment and take in the force of that little word of 
 five letters — ^'■untt'l." Here as everywhere the sift- 
 ing process must go onward. Here as everywhere sep- 
 aration must come. It is in the nature of things. It 
 is inevitable in the order of this univeree. There is 
 nothing about it that is arbitrary or wilful on the part 
 of any being beyond or above us. No blind fatality 
 is pursuing us. No "Mara," as the Indiaman 
 dreams, is hotly after us. No chance is playing with 
 us. Nothing is going to happen. The eternities are in 
 our hands. A man's future is his own creation. 
 He makes the only heaven or hell he ever goes to. 
 
 Consider that parable of the tares a moment. In 
 that metaphor God is the owner of the field. The 
 ownerof that field did not, by some determined, reso- 
 lute act, make a part of the growth of that field wheat 
 and a part tares. Neither did He put a part of the 
 growth of the field into his barns, and a part into the 
 fire, indiscriminately. He put a part into his barn 
 and a part into the fire because a part in its own na- 
 ture, and by its own inherent processes of growth, 
 was wheat, and a part, by the same inherent processes 
 was tares. And in the discussion that is coming on 
 
116 
 
 in our beloved church, that is going to be settled in 
 christian harmony and love, it is going to be under- 
 stood that Presbj terianism does not teach, and, how- 
 ever stern its statements, never did teach, that God 
 makes a certain part of the race wheat and a certain 
 part tares, and then at last stores ujd the one and burns 
 up the other. 
 
 Neither will there be any separation when the 
 great "until" has come, save that which has been 
 made voluntarily ere that final moment is at hand. 
 The sifting is taking iilace now. The fanning mill is 
 working. We are taking our places to-day for the 
 final roll call. When the "until" has come it will 
 simply be manifest to all worlds what we were here — 
 wheat or tares. The one will be burned. The other 
 will be gathered into barns. The one burned, because 
 that is the nature of tares. The other in the granaries 
 of God, because that is where wheat belongs. 
 
 Or, take that other judgment scene, as our Sav- 
 iour deincts it so thrillingly in the 25th of Math. He 
 uses the language there: '"He shall separate them." 
 "When the Son of Manshiill come in His glory and 
 all the holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon 
 the throne of His glory, and before Him shall be gath- 
 ered all nations. And He shall separate them as the 
 shepherd divides the sheep from the goats." How 
 does the shepherd do that ? Simply by getting the 
 sheep on one side because they are sheep, and the 
 goats on the other because they are goats. There is 
 nothing arbitrary. Nothing wilful. It is not because 
 
117 
 
 the shepherd feels at one time like putting some an- 
 imals on one side, and then at another feels like put- 
 ting some on the other. I don't think we can get this 
 truth too positively or too deeply into our conception 
 of the ways of God. I believe it is fundamental and 
 all inclusive. God made no separation in eternity 
 past. He did not decree so many sheepand so many 
 goats, and make them sheep and goats. He does not 
 separate them in the end, save as they separate them- 
 selves by being, of their own accord, sheep or goats. 
 
 Or to lay aside the figure that contains a little 
 embarrassment in the physical difference of genus, 
 God did not separate humanity years ago by decree- 
 ing that so many should be good and so many should 
 be bad, making them good or bad. God will not sep- 
 arate humanity at last, setting so many on His right 
 hand and so many on His left, because he wants so 
 many on that side and so many on the other. He 
 will do that ultimately, because so many have, in the 
 sifting processes of time, hei-e where the separation is 
 going on every day, taken the upward path, and so 
 many have followed the down grade. As the posture 
 of their souls, as the attitude of their lives, have cho- 
 sen good or loved evil. e sheep after the heavenly 
 pattern, or goats after the satanic design. 
 
 In society, for its protection and defense, we build 
 houses of refuge, reformatories, penitentiaries, State 
 prisons. We don't build them simply that we may 
 put a certain number of our fellow men within their 
 walls, for the sake of having them inhabited. We 
 
118 
 
 build them that the criminal classes who choose crime, 
 who revel in evil courses, who imperil society, who 
 are dangerous to have abroad, may be securely barred 
 and bolted within them. Because they are criminals, 
 and because society must be protected, and our rights 
 of person and property secured. The criminals who 
 are within the walls make that separation from those 
 who are without them, by their criminal courses, by 
 their wilful, malicious, persistent violation of law. 
 These are the only walls. They are not built of stone 
 and mortar. They are constructed of perverse ]ias- 
 sions ; they are erected of wicked wills. Bad natures 
 build them. And we who act on these principles of inher- 
 ent justice are human. Do you tell me that God builds 
 the penitentiaries of the eternities simply because He 
 wants to have them populated with a portion of the 
 race ? Because he wants to see so many unfortunates 
 within them and see tli^m writhe? I object to any 
 such interpretation of the ways of God. ''As the 
 heavens are higher than the earth so His ways are 
 higher than ours," — higher and better and more kind. 
 No chains of iiunishment are welded save for wrists 
 that immerse themselves in crime. No prison walls 
 save for those who would be dangerous outside of 
 them. No separation save for those who separate 
 themselves. 
 
 And in this unerring arbitrament no mistakes are 
 committed, no unjust decisions of courts and juries 
 can distort facts or change virtue into crime. The 
 glad news has just reached us from Kansas that the 
 
119 
 
 brother-in-law of your beloved former pastor has been 
 shown, by satisfactory evidence, after an imprison- 
 ment of six years, to be an innocent man. Nothing 
 can right that wrong. Nothing save this. The mem- 
 ory, deep down in his conscience, that those prison 
 walls have left upon his character no stain, upon his 
 soul not one dark blot, for, during all these years, he 
 was separated by his stainless innocence from the 
 guilt and criminality around him by an infinite re- 
 move. No mistakes of that character are possible in 
 the presence of the eternities. Unrepented sin is the 
 only imprisonment. A bad heart the only hell. 
 Tliere will be no pangs in the penitentiaries of God 
 save of those who must say with Milton's Satan every 
 one, "Myself am hell." 
 
 It seems to me that society ought to get down on 
 its knees to the man it has unjustly imprisoned by its 
 defective processes of law, its imperfect courts and ju- 
 ries, and say : I can never atone for this cruel wrong, 
 I can never undo this crime with which I have dark- 
 ened, perhaps destroyed, your life, but come to the 
 warmest place in my heart, and live in my deepest 
 sympathies. Let me atone by loving ! In the pres- 
 ence of eternal realities, under the government of that 
 Being Who makes no mistakes, we maybe sure, infal- 
 libly sure, that no lines will ever be drawn, the direc- 
 tion of which we do not trace, trace to the minutest 
 detail, in the present time and the earthly life. These 
 years that are rolling on, not some decree in eternity 
 past, not some stern arbitrament in the ages ahead, 
 
120 
 
 thesp ynars and what we are thinking and what we 
 are doing within them, these determine the issue, and 
 fix onr destiny, and these only in the solemn, the 
 fearful, the changeless ''until." 
 
 And what an absolute separation that is ! One 
 that is in the inmost nature of things, in the very 
 warp and woof of our natures. Separated from each 
 other by what we are. What a separation that is al- 
 ready in the present time. We try to get over those 
 distances between each other, and get close to each 
 other, we who are separated far by nature, but it is 
 the great impossibility. We can't do it. We may 
 live in the same houses, work in the same stores, sit 
 in the same churches, and we are wide apart as the 
 poles. Between a man whose instincts are pure and 
 true and noble, and his next door neighbor whose pro- 
 pensities are all perverse there is an unfathomable 
 abyss. No plummet can sound its depths. Between 
 sweet womanhood and her sister on the streets there 
 is a '■'great gulf fixedy A gulf no loving heart can 
 cross. Wealth and luxury may take indigence and 
 want by the hand, the reformer and the philanthro- 
 pist may lay hold of the palm that is black with crime, 
 yes' that is red with blood, but in that close contact 
 of person, those natures are millions and millions of 
 miles away. When the sympathizing, loving lips of 
 purity give the kiss to the brow wrinkled with pollu- 
 tion, stamped with defilement, that kiss that brings the 
 lips so closecannot bring those natures one step nearer 
 to each other in the inevitability of their separation. 
 
121 
 
 The heart of the Master went out proudly and warmly 
 to that wanderer from the streets, as her tears fell so 
 fast upon His holy feet. His sympathy drew Him very 
 close. But between that Masterand that woman there 
 was an infinite remove, until she repented. Tears 
 brought them together. Tears are, after all, the might- 
 iest enginery in this universe. They bring natures 
 together. They lanite souls and Grod. 
 
 If this separation that exists in the inmost na- 
 ture of things were made by some outward influence, 
 that influence might be changed and the act undone — 
 this separation cease . If God had made it by some de- 
 cree of the past, Grod might- reverse it sometime in the 
 coming days. If God made it by a moment's decision 
 in judgment, some where, sometime. He might relent, 
 and for good behaviour commute the sentence and 
 set us free. But, no. It is in the nature of things. 
 In the texture of soul. In the substance of being. 
 Interwoven in our thoughts; inwrought in our lives; 
 intertwined in all our future. Revealed in Xhe solemn, 
 "until." 
 
 I do not know of a sadder word than that in all 
 our human speech — separation. Two friends knit to- 
 gether by sweetest, purest ties, and, by some blow of 
 sudden misuderstanding, separated iov the years. 
 The youth and the maiden going forth from the home 
 of fond affection to other interests in life, the home 
 circle broken, the h^ved and the dear ones seiiarated— 
 wrenched apart. And oh ! At the bed side of the be- 
 loved—can I speak of it, will my voice serve me in 
 
122 
 
 that chamber of death ? But to all these there comes 
 alleviation. In the sorrow there is assilagement. In 
 the darkness, light. These separations are not in the 
 natnre of things. They are not inwrought in life and 
 being. And so they may easily be erased, and these 
 separations cease. Those friends may return from their 
 estrangement, for misundersladings can be corrected, 
 and the natures are allied. The son and the daughter 
 may come back and the desolated hearth be relighted. 
 Our loved ones taken from us by the last sad visitor 
 may be given back to us in the glad reunions of the 
 skies. At these bed sides we part, but oh, to meet 
 again ! These separations are only on the surface. 
 Only on the edges. As fleeting as time. Like the 
 swift post. Not for long. Not for long. But that 
 separation which is working out in character, that is 
 inhering more and more in the inmost nature of things, 
 that is separating men and women for the eternities, 
 to the sadness of that thought I can see no alleviation, 
 to that cloud I can discern no silver lining. When a 
 mother and her child are thus separated, separated by 
 nature, they can never get together again. Friends 
 thus severed may never reunite. There is no cohesive 
 power in this universe that can bring natures together 
 that, in their inmost essence, are apart. No centripe- 
 tal power that can draw to itself that which in its 
 own inherent centrifugence will fly away, and go off 
 into the infinite spaces. 
 
 When God says to a soul: "Come," He sim- 
 ply opens the way for that soul to take its own course 
 
123 
 
 and, in its allegiance and its loyalty and its love, it 
 goes up at once to God. When God says to a soul 
 "Depart," He does the same thing. He lets that soul 
 take its own course, follow its own choice. And, by 
 the irresistible propulsion of its own nature, it goes 
 into the darkness and into the night. Anything to 
 get away from God. 
 
 I may speak to you some time about the process 
 of this separation that is now working out in human 
 life for all the future. Let us remember to-day the 
 fact. If separation comes at last, we make it. Not 
 fate. Not God. Not bad luck. We, with the hearts 
 that beat in these bosoms, with the immortal spirits 
 that somewhere in these bodies inhere. In the final 
 analysis we shall be all self made men and women. 
 The process of construction is our own, under God. 
 We are our own architects. We build mansions, or 
 dig great gulfs. We acquire the tastes and the hab- 
 its of the citizens of the New Jerusalem, or we get 
 into the ways of the inhabitants of the pit. We step 
 into the companionship of the pure and the good and 
 the true, or we court the society of the vicious, the 
 abandoned, the depraved, of all ages and times. God 
 has never done a thing to prevent us from our own 
 untrameled choice. He has never put a pebble in 
 our way to hinder, and has done every thing possible to 
 help. And when the great "until" has come He will 
 simply lift the veil, uncover the secresy of hearts, and 
 show to the world what we were and where we pleased 
 to go. Every day we live tells on the eternities. Each 
 
124 
 
 thought we think moulds our hereafters. Each deed 
 is deathless. We hold in our hands two worlds. 
 Which, which, which shall we let go ? 
 
JUST OPENED. 
 The New Eurniture Store. 
 
 FULL STOCK OF FIRST-CLASS FURNITURE IN ALL 
 THE LATEST STYLES. 
 
 GREER & RILEY, 
 
 MAIN STREET, OPPOSITE PEARL ST., SANDY HILL, N. Y. 
 
 AT IT AGAIN. 
 
 m Ho niLE/^^E mm. 
 
 THEODORE U. CROSS. 
 
 Some of the coffee you luiy is so weak that it wouldn't run dovTii deviot 
 hill. Some is so stroni; that it would aliuost run up. It has plenty 
 of strength but no i ink rrAvoK. Good Coffee has 
 
 both srUKM.lll ANI> FI.AVOK. 
 
 QTY STORE COMPANY, 90 Main St., Sandy Hill, 
 
 Sells the finest of hk.h i.kaio. i dfff.k and high class 
 (iitocEKii> of all kinds. 
 
 Is always a great bargain month at GALLAGHER'S. 
 
 See that you take advantage of these things and wear good 
 clothes at a very small price. Bargains all this 
 month in all dei)artiiients. 
 
 GALLAGHER, The Originator of Low Prices, 
 88 /ICiain St., SaiiDvi Ibill. 
 
^ Power of Kindness. ^ 
 
 '^^HE subject to-day is a brief poem, recently 
 brought, by a friend, to my attention, the stan- 
 zas of w hich I will read. 
 
 We trust in man to save him; 
 
 Make him think he is a man; 
 Then the good that is within him; 
 
 Strives to do the best it can. 
 
 Call him rascal, and we drive him 
 F'rom all goodness by the ban ; 
 
 And the bad that is within him 
 Strives to do the worst it can. 
 
 Distrust never yet has gathered 
 
 One poor soul to God and life ; 
 But has often further forced him 
 
 On to hatred and to strife. 
 
 As man thinketh, so he can be ; 
 
 Make him think he can be great, 
 And the best that is within him 
 
 Strives to reach the wished-for state. 
 
 The author of these lines I do not know. You will 
 agree with me that he adds to the capacity of rhyme 
 not a little of the knowledge of human nature. Dr. 
 Fennel, so long the beloved pastor at Glens Falls, 
 delivering a charge to a people, at the installation of 
 
2 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 a pastor, impressed most forcibly upon their minds 
 the ease with which they could talk their minister 
 up, or, as surelv, talk him down. The poem I have 
 read suggests the same thought, as of universal 
 application. It is as true of everybod}' as it is of 
 pastors, that we can talk them either way — talk 
 them up or talk them down. The talk of people is 
 the atmosphere in which, as social beings, we are 
 compelled to live. It makes all the difference in the 
 •world whether the air is bracing and healthful, full 
 of generous sentiments and kind words ; or whether 
 it is malarial and feverous with bitter innuendo, and 
 harsh criticism, rising from the murk\' marshes of 
 gossip and of slander. Breathing the pure air of 
 kindness, men and women a re strong and courageous 
 for the best that is in them. Inhaling the fetid air of 
 the marshes, they are driven many times, as b}' a 
 deadK" disease, to base and wicked courses, to all 
 that is vilest and worst. 
 
 Permit me to premise that, in what I shall have 
 to say about charity, and kindly thoughts, and, 
 gentlest consideration, in this present discourse, I 
 intend no extenuation of sin, and no palliation of 
 what is wrong, and, because wrong, utterly hateful 
 and detestable. The exceeding sinfulness of sin lies 
 at the basis of all morals. We have no right to 
 teach ethics without this as a starting point. Sin is 
 that which God hates, and we too, if we are in any 
 kind of aUiance with Him. The interesting feature 
 in the late political campaign was its claim to a high 
 moral character. The one side were asking the suf- 
 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 3 
 
 iVages of the people because the crimes on the canals 
 had been so gross, and the other because crime was 
 embodied so offensively in Croker. Both sides were 
 appealing to the instinctive consciousness, deep 
 down in our natures, that evil doing is a hateful 
 thing, and wherever we find it, in whatever political 
 partv or clique, ought to be voted against. Any 
 amount of charity for the sinner, but no patience 
 with the sin. This it seems to me, is essential ethics. 
 
 The great distinction, as I conceive it, between 
 Judaism and Christianity was in the clearness and 
 positive ness with which this separation was made 
 b}' Christianit3% while it was often overlooked and 
 forgotten by Judaism. Judaism, many times, in 
 order to get at the sin, slew the sinner. This seemed 
 to be the only way in the earlier centuries; and man 
 seemed so identified with his wrong doing that the 
 only way to get at his iniquity was to extinguish 
 him. The only way that the prevailing abomina- 
 tions that were polluting this fair earth, so fresh 
 from the hand of God, could be abolished, was by 
 abolishing the race that produced them, and so, all, 
 but eight, were drowned. If there had been ten 
 righteous men within them, that would have saved 
 Sodom and Gomorrah. As there were not, the only 
 way to dispense with Sodom and Gomorrah was to 
 burn up the people who made them what they were. 
 Nadab's and Abihu's sin can be reached only by the 
 extinguishment of Nadab and Abihu. Korah, 
 Dathan and Abiram's rebellion is punished only 
 when the earth opens and swallows the rebels. The 
 
4 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 instinct thirty-five years ago that so many times snid 
 "Hang Jeff Davis" was on this principle. The rebel- 
 lion was to be punished in the person of the rebel. 
 
 The wars with the Canaanites — the cruelties and 
 the seeming crimes against humanit}^ on the part of 
 the heaven-appointed conquerors — what is the 
 explanation ? Why simply this. That in that age 
 of the world, and at that period in the evolution of 
 humanity, it was impossible to sepHrate the sinner 
 from his sin, and the only wav to make men better 
 was to kill off a large portion of them, and begin 
 again. As civilization advances, and man begins to 
 get a little way from his sin, begins to have an indi- 
 viduality apart from his sin, so that the sin and the 
 sinner begin to.be two distinct and separate enti- 
 ties, a new principle is introduced, and, what was for- 
 gotten so many times by thejudaism of our Saviour's 
 time, characterizes the Old Testament ethics. A 
 distinction, sharply accentuated, clearly cut, is now 
 drawn between the sinner and his sin. The morals 
 of the Old Testament are thus immeasurably exalted 
 above the custodians of the Old Testament who, in 
 our Saviour's day, prided themselves on their ortho- 
 doxy. They sat in Moses' seat and had not an iota 
 of Moses' spirit. In the LVth of Isaiah, we have 
 the clear cut distinction as the announcement of Old 
 Testament ethics. "Let the wicked forsake his way, 
 and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him 
 return unto the Lord and He will have mercy upon 
 him, and to our God, for He will abundantly- par- 
 don." Here the sin and the sinner are as distinctly 
 
THE POWER OF KIXDNRSS. 
 
 5 
 
 n])ai-t as the poles. They are two wholly separate 
 entities. The one is to be aiianrloned and cast out. 
 The other is to be re<ienerated and saved. The sin is 
 to he annihilated. The sinner is to be ii])lifted to 
 God. See in Ezek. xviii. The entire chapter is 
 devoted to the confirmation ot the central truth of 
 all ethics, that a man's morrd relation consists in his 
 present attitude tow ard sin. It does n(^t <^o to the 
 vital issue that a man's ancestors were virtuous or 
 vicious. "The son shall not bear the inicjuitv of the 
 father." Neither does a man's |»ast determine his 
 present. What he was has nothin;^- to do, in the 
 ultimate decision, with what he is. "If the wicked 
 will turn from all his sins which he hath connnitted, 
 and keej) .-dl my statutes, and do th^t which is law- 
 ful find I'iyht, he shall surelv live, he shall not die. 
 All his transj»ressions that hehalh committed, thev 
 shall not be mentioned unto him : in his ri<ihteous- 
 ness that he hath done he shall live. " "The right- 
 eousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the 
 wickedness of the wicked shall be u]K)n him." And 
 the reason so clearly announced by the jjrojjhet is 
 that when a man turns awtiv from sin he is sepji- 
 rated from it just as a brand, plucked out, is saved 
 trom the burning. The sinner is cis distinct from the 
 sin as the brand from the fire from which it has been 
 plucked. "Because he considereth, and turneth awav 
 from all his transgressions that he hath committed, 
 he shall surely live, he shall not die. " This essential 
 ethics of their own Scriptures scribe and pharisee of 
 our Saviour's day had forgotten, and so they were 
 
 r 
 
6 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 confoundiTig, in their treatment of the offender, the 
 sinner and his sin. Their way oi visiting with ven- 
 geance the one was by blotting out the other. Their 
 way of abolishing moral disease was by killing the 
 morally sick. A man wouldn't be sick any more, if 
 they stoned him hard enough. The New Teacher, 
 before whom they stood in amaze. He who "taught 
 as one having authority, and not as the scribes," 
 simply went back to the principles of their own 
 prophets, and resurrected the forgotten basis of all 
 true morals, that the sinner and his sin are two very 
 different entities and that, in the highest ethics, the 
 one is ultimately to be saved hy his separation from 
 the other, and b}^ the extinction of sin out of his 
 range of thought and atmosphere of life. In this 
 restitution of the lost chord, in the harmonv of essen- 
 tial ethics, it was intensely true, as he said : "I am 
 not come to destroy the law and the prophets, but 
 to fulfil." 
 
 Do you know that with the tenderest. gentlest 
 heart in His bosom that ever beat, the most loving 
 nature within Him that ever went out to man, no 
 moralist of the ages ever entertained such a glaring 
 indignation, such a consuming hatred, of sin? He 
 saw it the quickest. He denounced it the most 
 unqualifiedly. And he punished it with the besom of 
 His swift destruction. That "generation of vipers" 
 whom He saw through with eagle glance, shrank 
 away from His presence feeling the mighty weight 
 of His scathing lash. This was the attitude of the 
 Master toward sin. But the moment he traced an 
 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 7 
 
 emotion in a human soul, a first uprising of desire, 
 an earliest breathing of aspiration, away fi-om sin, 
 then the two were at once distinguished; the dif- 
 ference between the Nazarene and the Jewish scribe 
 was clearly accentuated ; and whom the scribe would 
 destro}' in order to get at his sin, the Moralist from 
 Galilee would save to get him awa_v from his sin. 
 He was, as the scribes and pharisees charged so 
 angrily. He was indeed "the friend of publicans and 
 sinners." He was their "Friend" just as scribe and 
 pharisee were their enemies. The moment publican 
 or sinner stood arrayed, by an emotion of penitence, 
 against sin, that moment the Master blessed him, 
 while scribe and pharisee cursed. At that point this 
 new Moralist would save them from their sin. Right 
 there scribe and pharisee would annihilate them with 
 their sin. And so the issue was joined. To scribe 
 and pharisee Jesus was a participant in men's sins. 
 In the mind of Jesus scribe and pharisee were hypo- 
 crites and dissemblers, "shutting up the kingdom of 
 heaven," "neithei entering in (themselves) nor suffer- 
 ing them that would enter to go in." From a 
 scribe's and pharisee's standpoint, declarations such 
 as these were unintelligible. They were an unknown 
 tongue. "They that are whole need not a physician, 
 but they that are sick." "I am come not to call the 
 righteous but sinners to repentance." "The son of 
 man is come to seek and to save them that are lost." 
 "There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repent- 
 eth more than over ninet3'-nine just persons that 
 need no repentance." Such language was revolu- 
 
8 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 tionarv. The Xazarcne was an Iconoclast. This 
 axe tliat was laid at iheroot of the tree, was cutting 
 up ever\ tliiiiii. This fan, with which He could 
 thoroughlv ])urge His floor, would blow aw;iv the 
 whole building. And so thev stood, Master and 
 Jewish scribe, during those three vears, at swords' 
 points. So thev were, in their natures, always in 
 hostile array. That woman, caught in the very act, 
 scribe and ]>hansce would stone. To that woman 
 Jesus would say : "Neither do I condemn thee; go and 
 sin no more." He could say the word because He 
 saw down into her soul and knew that she would 
 obey the command, "sin no more." Those j^retended 
 successors of Moses would have left that Samaritan 
 wonuui at tlie \Aell, and Zaccheus uj) in the tree. 
 The Christ would seize the oi)]jortunitv to save a 
 citv full ol Samaritans. He would call down the 
 other with the glad assurance that "this day is sal- 
 vation come to this house." It was a difterence, ^'ou 
 see, of nature. It was a contrast of constitutional 
 temperament. The one, vilest of sinners, cared not 
 lor sinners; the Other, sinless, saved them. He looked 
 for the good that was in men. Aristotle was, on 
 one occasion, rebuked for giving alms to an unwor- 
 thy person. He replied ; "I gave; but it was to man- 
 kind." 
 
 Among the legends of our Lord there is one that 
 He saw in the marketplace ateventide a large crowd 
 of peo])le looking intently at some object, and con- 
 versing excitedly over it. Drawing nearer. He saw 
 that it was a dead dog, with a halter about his 
 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 9 
 
 neck, with which he seemed to have been dragged 
 through the streets. A viler object could hardly 
 meet the eye. The people were giving utterance 
 to their unrestrained disgust. One said, "Ah, it 
 ]jollutes the air." Another, "How long shall this 
 foul beast offend our sight?" "Look at his torn 
 hide" said a third, "one could not even cut a shoe 
 out of it." "And his ears," said a fourth, "all drag- 
 gled and torn." "No doubt," said a fifth, a genuine 
 Pharisee, "he has been hanged for thieving." A 
 Pharisee would discover immorality even in a dog. 
 Jesiis listened, looked upon the abused, maltreated 
 brute, and said, "Pearls are not equal to the white- 
 ness of his teeth." 
 
 In this atmosphere of the Master's spirit, we 
 revert to our poem once more. 
 
 "We trust in man to save Iiim ; 
 
 Make him think he is a man ; 
 Then the g-ood that is witliin him ; 
 
 Strives to do the best it can." 
 
 "Love believeth all things." "Love thinketh no 
 evil." "Love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in 
 the truth." If we go to our fellow man, in great 
 temptation, overwhelmed perhaps and overcome ; if 
 we go to him in this spirit, having faith in him, the 
 spirit within us will be an inspiration to him, it will 
 draw out always the best that is within him. Our 
 teachers will recognize this as an essential principle 
 of discipline in the school room. There must be faith 
 that there is something good in a scholar, or he is a 
 lost case. In our prisons and penitentiaries, this is 
 
10 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 the basis of all measures of reform, that, in our 
 criminal classes, there is some element of good, and 
 that faith can build upon it, and, b\' its dynamic 
 force, make them better men. In societ}'^ todav there 
 are multitudes around us, touching our lives onevery 
 side, who are no longer scholars in the school room, 
 for they are men and women now ; who never have 
 been in jail ; but in whom, if we have a degree of confi- 
 dence, if \ve])reserve our faith, vveimplant the noblest 
 impulses of which they are capable, whom we inspire 
 to the best that is in them, w hom we may lead with 
 a gentle, loving hand out of prison houses of discour- 
 agement, out of penitentiaries of hopelessness and 
 despair, into liberty and into light. If, in our 
 reformatory institutions, it is the spirit of the age to 
 conduct this ameliorating work for the vicious and 
 the criminal classes, then I say it will be a good 
 thing, outside of reformatory institutions, to have a 
 little consideration for comparatively respectable 
 men and women, who are tempted and, it may be, 
 led astray in life. Underneath the evil there is good. 
 Let us find it, and, by s\^mpathy and kindly 
 thoughts, let us call it forth. 
 
 A rough looking man brought his boy to school, 
 and left him with the request that the teachers should 
 see if they could do anything for him, because of all 
 the bad boys his father believed him to be the worst. 
 One da}^ as the teacher was passing by, he laid his 
 hand gently on the boy's shoulder, when the boy 
 shuddered and winced. "What is the matter?" said 
 the teacher. "I thought you wasgoingto strike me," 
 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 11 
 
 said the boy. "Why should I strike you?" "Because 
 I am a bad I)()y." "Who says 3'ou area bad boy?" 
 "Father says I am a bad boy, and mother saA^s so, 
 and every body says so." "But you are not a bad 
 boy. I do not think you are," and the teacher passed 
 on. The bo}- became, from that hour, one of the best 
 and most orderly in the school. It is the difference 
 between saying to boy or man, to girl or woman, 
 "you are bad" and saying "you are good." 
 
 The Quaker, Isaac T. Hopper, encountered a pro- 
 fane colored man named Cain, and took him before a 
 magistrate, who fined him for blasphemy. Tvvent\^ 
 years after the Quaker met Cain, who had gone from 
 bad to worse. Moved with a feeling of warmest sym- 
 pathy-, he took Cain by the hand, dnd said : "Dost 
 thou remember me, how I had thee fined for swear- 
 ing?" "Yes indeed I do; I remember what I paid as 
 well as yesterday." "Well, did it do thee any good?" 
 "No, never a bit : it made me mad to have nn^ money 
 taken from me." The Quaker had him reckon up the 
 interest on the fine for twentv vears, and paid him 
 principal and interest, with the friendly words: "I 
 meant it for thy good, Cain, and I am soiTy I did 
 thee any harm." Cain's countenance changed. The 
 tears ran down his cheeks. He never swore anv 
 more. The old Quaker was twenty years behind 
 with his Christianitv, that was all. 
 
 A returned colored soldier was walking along the 
 streets in Denver. Some boys passing that way- 
 taunted him as "that nigger." "I don't think," said 
 
12 
 
 THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 he, "that I ought to be called a nigger any more, 
 when I have fonght for country." 
 
 '"Call him rascal, and we drive him 
 From all j^ooilness by the ban: 
 
 And the bad that is within him 
 Strives to do the worst it can."" 
 
 A tramp who has been on the road a good manv 
 3'ears writes an article for' "The Forum" on 
 "Tramps." He expresses this sentiment : "If a voung 
 man, who gets into a bad way, loses his job, and goes 
 forth despairing into the streets to beg, though the 
 humihation burns him to the soul, be taken bv every 
 sensible person for an idle, lazy vagabond and quasi 
 criminal, he will speedily bL-conie one. It is easv at 
 besttoroll down hill; and when every (one) kicksyou 
 it .requires a lion's heart and a hero's faith to keep 
 from going to the dogs at a tremendous rate. * * 
 You may give a man a dime and a kick, and damn 
 him to deeper degradation. But give him a word of 
 cheer, give him a chance — in the name of God, a 
 chance — and you begin to save him." 
 
 ■"Distrust never yet has g'athered 
 One poor soul to God and lifj : 
 
 But has often further forced him 
 On to hatred and to strife." 
 
 Moving, as we are, in our quiet and what we 
 consider at least respectable range of society, do we 
 ever give a thought to that most needful class, who 
 most need, not money or coin alone, but sympathy 
 and a heart, our released convicts from our peniten- 
 tiaries and state prisons? Some one has said, with 
 
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 13 
 
 only too much truth, that we bar all doors against 
 them except the saloon and the gambling hell and 
 the low dive. Stores are fastened against them. 
 Homes are tightlv shut. Churches close their pews." 
 "I was ;n prison," says the Master, "and ye visited 
 me not." What must He say when he is repre- 
 sented in the person of a penitent soul who has come 
 out of prison, and against whom, with a cold, hard 
 heart, society slams the door? An organ of many 
 stops and pipes and diapasons, when the skillful fin- 
 gers played upon the key board, gave no sound. 
 There was an obstruction in the supph* pipe of the 
 motor. The mighty organ was voiceless. Natures 
 around us, capable of sweetest music, full of life's 
 softest harmonies, are silent because our unkindness 
 and harshness and severity, as a fatal obstruction, 
 cut off the suppl\^ and the organ is forever still. 
 
 "As man thinketh, so he can be; 
 • Make him think he can be great. 
 And the best that is within him 
 
 Strives to reach the wished-for state." 
 
 I believe that kindly compliments and words of 
 praise, when they are honest, possess within them a 
 saving grace. It is our duty, in all affection, to utter 
 them. They are the incentives many times to 
 noblest action, to sublimest endeavor. Our words 
 may be the mystic ozone, that some manly nature 
 may imbreathe, and, in the stalwart strength of its 
 ins])iration, mount to noblest heights, and tread the 
 loftiest planes. We make men best as we speak most 
 often of the best that is in them. When we make 
 men think so, then we make them so. 
 
Is Life Worth Living ? 
 
 Yea, better is hr than both they, ("thedead" or 
 "the living") which hath not yet been, who 
 hath not sr;EN the evil work that is done 
 under the sun. — Eccl. IV, j. 
 
 "^^HIS is pessimism, earned to the last extreme. It is 
 a look out into the universe that sees everything 
 black. All is midnight in this world of ours. The 
 dead are better off than the living, for they have got 
 through with the curse of having to live. Far better 
 is it never to have been born — for then the calamity 
 of living does not befall. 
 
 It follows from this philosophy that there is a 
 being in this universe who has created an order of 
 existences to make them as miserable as he can; an 
 order of existences who will curse him forever that 
 they were made at all. What kind of a being is that? 
 What shall we call him? God or devil? Ormuzd or 
 Ahriman? Goodness, or innate, inherent evil ? You 
 and I don't believe any such abnormity as this. The 
 Christ did not, when He said : "God so loved the 
 world that He gave His only begotten son, that 
 whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but 
 have everlasting life." That is optimism ; optimism, 
 bright and dazzling, from the lips of Jesus. Love is 
 
16 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 the deity of this universe. Love is going to do all 
 the good it is possible to do, and work out in hu- 
 manity forever the highest and the best things. 
 Because it is love. 
 
 Now these two conceptions are utterly con- 
 tradictory. They are absolutely exclusive the one 
 of the other. If the one is true, the other is false; 
 and if the one is false, the other is true. They 
 can't be reconciled. There is no ground of comprom- 
 mise between them. They are the two masters of 
 human thought. We can not serve them both. It 
 is an impossibility in the nature of the case. As 
 between these two masters of all human philosophy, 
 of all religions, we will, as the Saviour said, "either 
 hate the one and love the other ; or else we will hold 
 to the one, and despise the other." If we accept one 
 of these conceptions we must, in the necessity of 
 things, cast away the other. Acceptance of the one 
 is, in its nature, exclusion of the other. The pessim- 
 ist and the optimist are the antipodes. They never 
 come together. They are poles, pointing opposite. 
 And yet both these ideas I have quoted are in the 
 Bible, in the authori2ed canon of inspired scripture. 
 My text is in Eccl. iv : 3. The words of Jesus are in 
 Johniii:16. There has been little question of the 
 inspiration of either of these books. Ecclesiastes 
 was in the Bible the Master read when He was in 
 the svnagogue. The gospel of John was early incor- 
 porated in the New Testament canon, and accepted 
 as the production of John the beloved disciple. 
 What shall we do then with such opposite and con- 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 17 
 
 tradictory statements? With these ideas that are 
 absolutely exclusive the one of the other? They can 
 not be brought to any common ground. Theie is 
 no neiitral territory. If we say that it is better in 
 this world, as it is now constructed and governed, 
 never to have been born, surely we can't talk about 
 love and the glorious things that love will do. Or if 
 we believe with the Master in the love, we can't use 
 any such language of abject pessimism as this text, 
 that it is better to be in our graves than on the 
 earth, and better than either never to have had exist- 
 ence, never to have been compelled to live! 
 
 I \\ ould like to consider this question, if you will 
 permit me to day. For I think that a Christian 
 optimist can easily sift this pessimism of the 
 preacher in Jerusalem. And I am inclined to think 
 that the explanation of the seeming contradiction is 
 found in the standpoint from which Solomon and 
 the Master speak ; in the posture in life in which they 
 are doing their thinking while they speak. The 
 Master was in the clear sunshine. His vision was 
 undimmed. His e3'e was clear. His heart was all 
 right. His spirit was in alliance with the divine. 
 His life was faultless and pure. From that stand- 
 point, talking with Nicodemus b}- night. He looked 
 out upon this universe, and up into the face of God. 
 He saw love everywhere — love doing its utmost — 
 love giving itself. His clear e^-e could easily discern 
 it. His true heart could beat in harmony with it. 
 His pure spirit could breathe its sweet aroma. His 
 life, so unstained and so guileless, could bathe in it 
 
18 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 
 
 as in an ocean of sweet delights. And so it flowed 
 as from a fountain, out of the depths of His nature, 
 to say, "God so loved the world that he gave his 
 only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him 
 should not perish, but have everlasting life." That 
 was the normal Ijreath of The Christ when He 
 breathed aloud. That was the language of His 
 spirit, when His spirit was audible. That was the 
 nuisic of His soul, when, with gentlest touch, He 
 played u])on its keys. Could you have leaned, with 
 John, upon His bosom, and listened to the beating of 
 His heart, that was the silent voice of its gentle 
 throbbings within. 
 
 But King Solomon! We pass into a different 
 world at the pronunciation of the name. We enter 
 a wholly different realm of spirit. Now everything 
 is twisted and awrv. The universe is all wrong. 
 And God does not care. Something is the matter. 
 Something is the matter with God or with Solo- 
 mon. As the first supposition is impossible, as. 
 according to our theology, nothing can be wrong 
 with God, we are driven to the latter conclusion, 
 that something was terribly and fatally wrong 
 with Solomon. And certainly there was. He 
 gives himself wholh' away in this sermoa of his 
 from which I have taken my text, and continues the 
 process of self exposure in the entire tone of his 
 preaching, and the whole tenor of the method of his 
 thought. 
 
 This famous king became a preacher at an ad- 
 vanced stage in life. Some six years beyond what 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 19 
 
 is called in our dav the dead line. He was about 
 fifty-six years of age. He did not graduate at a the- 
 ological seminai'y. He was no worse for that. He 
 had had no theological training. F'erhaps he was 
 all the better for that. But he was a man of vast 
 culture, and widely extended erudition. He had 
 explored all departments of knowledge and was a 
 voluminous author, a fr.ignient of whose literary 
 works only remains in the three books of Proverbs, 
 Ecclesiastes and the Song of Solomon. If you will 
 turn some time to 1 Kings, iv : 32, 83, vou will get a 
 ]:)artial idea of the extended character of his literary 
 labor, among the cares and responsibilities of ro^^al 
 state. He spake three thousand proverbs. We have 
 not more than one-fourth of them in the book we 
 entitle by that name. He composed one thousand 
 and five songs. We have but one. He wrote more 
 poetry than Homer and. Virgil and Milton and Ten- 
 nyson combined. He prepared a text book on bot- 
 any. As the author of Kings exj^resses it : " He spake 
 of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even 
 unto the hyssop that syjringeth out of the wall." 
 
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 tend Haley's Business Institute and 
 School of Shorthand and Typewriting, 
 Fort Edward, N. Y. 
 • Every graduate has employment. 
 
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 ESTABLISHED 9 YEARS. 
 
20 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 He was an authority also as a zoologist: "He 
 spake of beasts and of fowl and creeping things and 
 of fishes." He was admirably qualified intellect- 
 ually to shine as a preacher, and to make a sensa- 
 tion in Jerusalem. He knew enough to be the best 
 preacher the world ever saw. There was nothing- 
 the matter with his head. That was as clear as a 
 bell. 
 
 But the heart down in that royal bosom, that 
 was the seat of the difficulty, that was the primal 
 source of all the trouble. He kept it pure for about 
 forty years. During that time he devoted his grow- 
 ing wealth to the honor of Jehovah. He exercised 
 his royalty iti obedience to the divine command. He 
 was greater and wiser and better than all the king.-; 
 of the earth. His fame extended far and wide. 
 Unfortunately, it reached to distant Sheba. In sore 
 calamity to King Solomon, the queen of the south 
 came in royal state to hear his wisdom and to 
 admire his magnificence. "And when the queen of 
 Sheba had seen all Solomon's wisdom, and the house 
 that he had built, and the meat of his table, and the 
 sitting of his servants, and the attendance of his 
 ministers, and their apparel, and his cupbearers, and 
 his ascent bv which he went up unto the house of the 
 Lord, there was no more spirit in her. And she said 
 to the king : 'It was a true report that I heard in 
 mine own land of thv acts and of thy wisdom. 
 Howbeit, I believed not the words until I cffme, 
 and mine eyes had seen it, and, behold, the half 
 was not told me ; thy wisdom and prosperity 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 21 
 
 exceedetli the fame which I heard.'" This was the 
 turning point in King Solomon's career. His flirta- 
 tion with tlie queen of" Sheba seemed to upset him. 
 Not that the queen of Sheba was at all to blame. It 
 was his own susce])tibilitv and selfishness. And 
 as he walked with her about his palace and the royal 
 grounds, as he boastingly showed her his greatness, 
 and as she politely and coquettishly flattered him, 
 the whole thing turned his head, his vanity ran 
 away with him, and from that day his sun began to 
 go into an eclipse. He forgot the God of his fathers. 
 He plunged u]:)on a career of excess and dissipation, 
 and whirled hencei'orth in the vortex of a sixteen 
 A'cars' debauch. At the expiration of that time, when 
 he was about fifty-six years of age, he became a 
 preacher, strangely qualified to preach by his mad 
 career of indulgence and excess. He was inspired to 
 preach from that standpoint. As a worn out world- 
 ling, exhausted and blase. In that capacity he was 
 inspired to tell to humanity, in all the ages, so that 
 none might need to learn the lesson again, just what 
 life lived in that way- was worth, and his estimate 
 we have in this text and its prelude, it is better to 
 be dead than to live, and it is better than either 
 never to have been born. Have we not the explana- 
 tion of his pessimism ? Do we not see, at once, 
 just what was the matter? His sermon, if we take 
 it as a unit, exposes the preacher, and we see him in 
 his true character — a godless, dissipated, selfish man, 
 finding, in his godlessness and his dissipation and 
 his selfishness, just what life was worth, and then 
 
22 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING 
 
 pouring out his disgust and his dissatisfaction, as 
 the preacher in Jerusalem. 
 
 And he can fairly claim, as he does in this ser- 
 mon, to be (jualified to judge, and to pronounce a 
 decisive decision. His verdict is relial)le. He had 
 sat for sixteen years at the feet of the most com- 
 petent teacher, though seldom the pleasantest — 
 experience, and he was the victim of her instruction. 
 He was not so happy as he was sixteen years 
 before, but he knew more. The range of excesses 
 upon which he had entered was a wide one; I 
 might almost say, illimitable. He tried first the 
 paths of philosophical and scientific investigation, 
 pursued without achildHke faith and trust in Israel's 
 God. He posed as a sceptic, and prided himself as 
 an unbeliever — the vainest kind of vanity. As he 
 puts it : "I gave mv heart to seek find search out 
 wisdom concerning all things that are done under 
 heaven." This does not seem on the surface a very 
 vicious course. But the vileness of it was in the 
 spirit in which it was done. It was undertaken in 
 a spirit of criticism and faultfiiiding with the ways 
 of the Almighty'. A kind of sitting in judgment upon 
 God. Solomon, the preacher's, first step downward, 
 be it remembered, when he lost his head, was along 
 the path of philosophical speculation, calling in ques- 
 tion, and criticising, the wa^-s of God. Adjudicating 
 deitv in this language of the self constituted and 
 utterly incompetent court: "That which is crooked 
 cannot be made straight and that which is wanting 
 cannot be numbered." No wonder that in this spirit 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 
 
 23 
 
 of scepticism, in this obduracy and hardness of heart, 
 the investigator should lose his temper, and, when 
 he was completel}' broken up, should render this ver- 
 dict: "In much wisdom is much grief : and he that 
 incieaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." 
 
 And so, as his next step, he proposes to abnegate 
 wisdom, and plav the fool. He goes to all excesses. 
 He throws his money in all directions. He builds him 
 houses, and ])lants him vinevards, and makes him 
 pools of water, jind has great possessions, "above all 
 that were in Jerusalem before him." When he has 
 scattered money in all directions like water, he looks 
 it all over, and pronounces it "vanitv and vexation 
 of spirit." The whole thing, after all, doesn't pay. 
 "There was no profit under the sun." At this point 
 he blossoms into a pessimist, fully ripe. "Therefore 
 I hntt'd life." "Yea, I hated all my labor which I 
 had taken under the sun." He is out of sorts with 
 everything, and so everything is wrong, and life is a 
 failure, and God has made a tremendous mistake. 
 He ought never to have created man, never to have 
 called mortals into being. 
 
 But the ])reacher has not got to the bottom 
 yet. In his utter disgust and dissatisfaction he 
 goes to drinking in a day when there are no re- 
 formatory institutions and no white ribbons. He 
 becomes a victim of intemperance and of still 
 grosser vices that shall be nameless, and flaunts 
 himself before the people in the streets of .Jeru- 
 salem, he who has been known for a generation as 
 the wisest of men, a drunkard and a roue. Ah, if the 
 
24 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING 
 
 queen of Sheika could see him now I What a different 
 report she would take back to her own country I 
 How would the fame dwindle, and the glamour for- 
 ever fade ! 
 
 When the royal faculties had become blunted by 
 the royal vices, and thought incapacitated by a bad 
 and wicked heart, when that matchless brain had 
 become muddled, then the preacher undertook to 
 solve the deep mysteries of life. He lay hold of some 
 of its hard problems. The injustice in high places. 
 The oppressions and cruelties of the strong against 
 the weak, of the rich against the poor. The efficiency 
 of one sleepless night to sap all real enjovment of 
 life. The strange tricks and turns in life, the queer 
 juxtaposition on which results are hinged, where 
 "the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the 
 strong." And then the uncertainty of what comes 
 after. After death, what? From such a standpoint, 
 viewing life as Solomon, in the maelstrom of his 
 vices, views it, do you wonder at his conclusion that 
 death is better than life, that it is better than either 
 never to have been born ? Seldom has a more logical 
 conclusion been drawn by a human mind than this 
 conclusion of the preacher's, from the standpoint 
 from which he was in,spired to speak. As a philo- 
 sophical sceptic, as an extravagant waster, as a dis- 
 sipated indulger, plunged in lowest vice, pessimism 
 was his normal plane, and life was a calamity and 
 never to have been born the peerless boon I 
 
 The whole thing resolves itself in this, and this is, 
 the peroration of the sermon of "the preacher in Jer- 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 25 
 
 usalem" — life is what we make it vinder God. It is 
 clay in our hands, pliable and plastic to any design we 
 please. "In much wisdom is much grief," or ceaseless 
 satisfaction, just as is the spirit in which we seek it. 
 Pleasures minister to our better natures, or they pull 
 us down as dragnets, just as is the spirit in which we 
 enjoy them. Life is vanity or life is a benediction, as 
 is the spirit in which we live it. From his stand- 
 ])oint Solomon was right. If you are willing to live 
 as he lived you will reach his conclusion. You will 
 agree with him without hesitation that it were bet- 
 ter never to have been born. The following verses, 
 contained in an issue of a popular periodical, will 
 then express your final thought : 
 
 •'Whenever life'.s .song- i.s out of rhyme, 
 
 And fate and my plans wont thrive; 
 Then I love to muse on that g-Iorious time, 
 
 The time when I wasn't alive. 
 
 "Those dear old days! how they haunt me yet 
 
 With dreams of content and bliss; 
 Where there was not a hurt I could possibly get, 
 
 Nor a joj' I could lose or miss. 
 
 "They may prate of the wondrous things that are, 
 
 Which existence alone can give; 
 But I know that my happiest day.s by far 
 
 Were the days when I did not live. 
 
 "I don't care a jot how fortune flows 
 
 To the men on each side of me; 
 For the fellows I envy most are those, 
 
 Who have not begun to be. " 
 
 But if our whole nature rebels, if there is revul- 
 sion from all this philosophy deep down in our 
 souls, if some silent influence points us to nobler and 
 
26 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LmNG ? 
 
 higher and better things, we shall find a reality in life 
 and a fruition, now and in the ages ahead, that the 
 loving Being who superintends this universe wisely 
 and lovingly purposed v^'hen he said : "Let us make 
 man." Simply, we want life with God in it. 
 
 A pastor, visiting one of his parishioners who 
 was in deep despondency, as she held her infant child 
 in her arms, said, "Drop that little one to the floor." 
 With an air of wonder at such a request, she refused. 
 "Well," said he, "for what price would you doit?" 
 "Not for as many diamonds as there are stars." "You 
 would not?" "No, I would not." "Do you really 
 think that 3'ou love that child more than God loves 
 you?" This is the final explanation of life. Above all 
 its pitfalls and its snares, God is holding us in the hol- 
 low of his hand. Because He is lo%'e, He can not let 
 us fall, unless, with the preacher in Jerusalem, we 
 wrench ourselves by violent distortion out of His 
 hands. Love makes life what it is. Love, whose 
 dwelling place is the bosom of God. 
 
 "There is no fire place so grand. 
 
 So richly tiled, so wide and splendid, 
 
 That it can spare tlie i^'-lowing- brand 
 
 In which its warmth and cheer are blended. 
 
 "There is no life so proud and stern. 
 So far removed from human weakness, 
 
 But holds -some nook where love must burn 
 To save it from a chilling- bleakness." 
 
 Let God go, and all is gone. Put out love and all 
 is midnight. Better, far better then, as the preacher 
 said, "never to have been born." 
 
I @ The Bright Side. @ | 
 
 As HAVING NOTHING, AND YF.T POSSESSING ALL 
 THINGS. — // Cor. VI: 10. 
 
 '^'HE great apostle is opening a page of his own 
 experience. He is telling to the world the 
 secrets of his inmost heart. Having outlined the 
 varied and multiform character ofthe events through 
 which he has been called, as an apostle, to pass, he 
 completes the page, and shuts to the door of his 
 heart, with the sublime antitheses, of which the text 
 is at once the conclusion and the consummation. 
 Seemingh' they are contradictions and mutually 
 exclusive, each ofthe other. He has been treated by 
 men as a deceiver ; he has brought to them unerring- 
 truth. He has kept himself in obscurity and seclu- 
 sion; yet the world has hung upon his words. He 
 has been willing to die; in that willingness he has 
 found the only true life. He has been smitten with 
 sore sorrow ; he has not been wholly slain. He has 
 lived in penury ; he has made the multitude rich. He 
 has had nothing; he has held on to all things. These 
 are the antitheses of his apostolic life. These attest 
 the regularity of his ordination, where bishops and 
 presbytery took no part. 
 
28 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 Let ns look, for a little while, at the last of these 
 apparent contradictions— "having nothing, yet pos- 
 sessing all things." In the language Paul employed, 
 the word "possess" was the word "have" with an 
 additional prefix, that denoted still stronger adhe- 
 sion. "Having nothing, \'et having firm hold of all 
 things." Nothing belonging to him; everything 
 absolutely and forever his. It sounds like a positive 
 and a clear cut contradiction. And ^et, if we look 
 into his wonderful life with a little care, we can see 
 how in several ways the statement was unqualifiedly' 
 true, and the antithesis was in perfect accord. 
 
 This was evidenced, first of all, in his disposition 
 to enjoy- In the temperament with which he had 
 been endowed by nature, and that had been multi- 
 pHed, in its resources, by grace. He was a poor man, 
 compelled to earn his livelihood by the labor of his 
 hands. He would not take any-thing for preaching, 
 and so he had to earn his daily bread by the sweat 
 of his brow. He labored under certain phy-sical 
 weaknesses that made him as he says, often the 
 object of derision and contempt. Tradition sa\-s he 
 was a hunch-back. Whatever the phy-sical deform- 
 itv was, he felt it soreh% and his enemies used it as a 
 weapon of attack and abuse. He had no social 
 enjoyments, no domestic felicities. He was a bach- 
 elor, and devoid, as it seemed, of the capacity of 
 enjoyment in the qualities of the other sex. He 
 never understood women, and his personal opinion 
 of them, based on ignorance, was very low. His 
 opinion, however, seemed to change when he 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 29 
 
 learned what matchless workers they were in the 
 rising church ; and he speaks about them with a good 
 deal of enthusiasm a little later on. He had a repu- 
 tation among the people for fanaticism, and was 
 denounced as a disturber and a revolutionist where 
 he was not outlawed as a fool. He had no place to 
 live, and continued all his life on the road. Abso- 
 lutely, as he says, he had "nothing." And yet he 
 "held on" to all things. The disposition which God 
 had given, and with which He had crowned, as with 
 a halo, and ensphered his whole life, plucked pleas- 
 ure out of everything, found satisfaction everywhere, 
 and .so entered into full and supreme possession, 
 "possessing all things." That disposition of his was 
 a bee that sucked honey from every flower, heljjing 
 the flower to cfllorcscc, and securing sweetness for 
 itself From what seemed the nightshade of re- 
 ])roach and ])ovcrty find humiliation and shame, that 
 frame of spirit could extract the medicine of healing 
 that was a matchless balm, an unfailing belledonna. 
 
 And then the apostle had a genius, we might say, 
 a kind of exhaustlcss tact, that transformed the 
 nothings into wealth, the zeros into benedictions. 
 Out of poverty, he developed industry. Out of 
 thorns in the flesh, sustaining grace. Out of soli- 
 tude and loneliness, the deep consciousness of the 
 presence of the divine. Out of no reputation, fade- 
 less laurels and a peerless crown. Out of banish- 
 ment, a home. Out of exile, a refuge in the heart of 
 God. And so the man, of all others, who seemed to 
 let things go, was the man that held them, in most 
 
30 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 successful appropriation. "Having nothing, yet pos- 
 sessing all things." 
 
 He had also down in his heart that love for human- 
 ity, for the world, that made all men's possessions 
 his own. If others had them, he was satisfied. If 
 others were prospered, so was he. If others were 
 happy, he was happier still. Pleasure, wealth, desir- 
 able surroundings, every resource of delight and joy 
 — because the men and women around him had them, 
 he had them too ; and he found in them all a higher 
 and a sweeter delight and joy than they. While, as 
 a Christian man, full of the spirit of the Christ, 
 modelled, in his inmost attitude of soul, after Him, 
 he had the spirit of all true possession, he was the 
 inheritor of all things, "all thiligs" were his, for he 
 was Christ's, and Christ was God's. He actualized 
 his own philosophy. He was the embodiment of his 
 own theor)\ He seized the things of spirit, and all 
 things were his. 
 
 As we have been looking a little into the life and 
 character of the great apostle, we have found him,— 
 have we not? — the typal man. He may well say, as 
 he does, in one of his epistles, "walk so as ye have 
 us for an ensample." As we apply the exalted and 
 exacting standard he thus presents to us, we find, at 
 once, that there are two opposite and diverse classes 
 of men. We meet them both in the familiar inter- 
 course of society-. Both are equally pronounced and 
 positive. W'e may term them Paul's opposites and 
 Paul's allies in the realm of spirit, or, as distin- 
 guished by the text, they are those that have every- 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 31 
 
 thing and possess nothing, and those that "having 
 nothing, possess all things." 
 
 These opposite experiences are conditioned, first of 
 all, upon the lack or the possession of the spirit to 
 enjoy, the disposition with which Paul was en- 
 dowed so richly, that plucks pleasure from every 
 petal, and sweetness from every flower that grows 
 along the pathway- of our lives. There are natures 
 that are so constituted, whether by heredity or by 
 innate perversity, that they can not, by any possi- 
 bility, be happy. They are devoid of all capacity to 
 enjoy. They may have wealth, reputation, friends, 
 culture, a kind of religious faith, and they will be 
 miserable with them all. This is because, whatever 
 they have, they are sure to distort it by anticipa- 
 tion of evil or fear of loss. The springs of water to 
 which they come they defile and spoil by stirring up 
 what mud at the bottom the}' can. To a sick man 
 all sweets are bitter. Those of whom we are speak- 
 ing are constitutionalK' sick; the taste is morbid, 
 and there can 1)c n(yLhing sweet. Their way of look- 
 ing at things is a kind of haze in the atmosphere of 
 of their .-ibid ing impressions, that distorts molehills 
 inlo mountains and pebbles into precipices. The 
 desire, deep and strong, for some blessing they have 
 not, takes away the joy that would otherwise be 
 theirs in the blessings they have. They want two 
 days jnanna instead of one, and so a process of cor- 
 ruption is going on in the whole, and all the manna 
 is s])oiled. A canary and a gold fish were in the 
 same room, the one in his cage the other in theaqua- 
 
32 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 rium. One hot day, the owner heard the gold fish 
 sa}': "How I wish I could sing as sweeth' as m}' 
 friend up there." The canary was looking with envi- 
 ous e3'e upon the gold fish and said: "How cool it 
 looks, I wish rti}' lot were there." The owner complied 
 with their wishes, and put the fish up in the air and 
 the bird in the pool. The fish couldn't breathe and 
 the bird only floundered. 
 
 Sometimes conscience, in this class of which I 
 speak, doth make cowards of them all, and they can 
 not be at peace. The voice that is within them pro- 
 hibits ever}' joy, and expels every guest who wears a 
 smiling face, or has a pleasant word. And so, in one 
 way or another, they stand in that attitude of 
 spirit, they dwell habitually in that frame of mind, 
 where, though the\' may have everything, thev pos- 
 sess nothing— millionaires in outward title they are 
 paupers in their souls. 
 
 And then there are the opposite natures, who have 
 the spirit to enjoy, the disposition to be pleased, the 
 "merr\- heart" of which Solomon speaks, that "doeth 
 good like a medicine" — that "is a continual feast." 
 "Having nothing " they "possess all things." Con- 
 tentment is alwaj's an exhaustless mine, the vein of 
 which grows richer the deeper we delve, and the 
 farther we explore. A poor widow not having bed 
 clothes sufficient to shelter her boy from the snow 
 that blew through the cracks of her miserable hovel, 
 used to cover him with boards. One night he said 
 smilingly and contentedly : "Ma, what do poor folks 
 do these cold nights, that haven't any boards to 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 33 
 
 cover up their children with?" One whose disposi- 
 tion had been wholly chan-red from crabbedness and 
 crossness to marvellous sweetness and amiability 
 gave the explanation in these words: "To tell you 
 the truth, I have been all my life struggling for a 
 contented mind, and finally concluded to sit down 
 contented without it." 
 
 " Some murmur, when their sky is clear 
 
 Ami wholly brij^ht to view. 
 If one sm.ill speck of dark appear 
 
 111 their -reat heaven of lilue; 
 And some with thankful love are filled 
 
 If but one strealc of li^'"ht — 
 One ray of God's <;<iod mercy — 
 
 Gild the darkness of their night. 
 
 In palaces are hearts that ask. 
 
 In discontent and pride. 
 Why life is such a tireary task, 
 
 Ami all .i^ood thinf^s denied? 
 And liearts in pocirest huts admire 
 
 How love has, in their aid — 
 Love tliat not ever seems to tire — 
 
 Such rich provision made." 
 
 One stands before a piece of ingenious needlework 
 skillfully and tastefully wrought, and is fascinated 
 with its beauties; anotherseesonly a defective stitch. 
 One is thrilled by a beautiful jKiinting; another turns 
 the rough side of the canvas and thinks how coarse 
 it is. One partakes of the basket of luscious fruits, 
 another hunts out the unripe grapes and puckers up 
 the mouth. One enters a palace of delights, the 
 other finds the cobwebs, and is disgusted with the 
 dust. 
 
34 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 It is just as the apostle so wisely suggested, both 
 ill what he said and in what he did not say. There 
 are men and women who have everything and pos- 
 sess nothing, and there are those who have nothing, 
 and possess all things. 
 
 And there is a deep philosophy underlying all this. 
 We have hinted at it, in what we have said of Paul. 
 He plucked the principle as a ripe fruit from the tree 
 of his own experience. It was a nugget he discov- 
 ered, as he was delving deep down in his own soul. 
 The Master comprehended it all in a very few words 
 when he contrasted those that have and those that 
 have not. "Unto him that hath shall be given, and 
 he shall have abundance; but from him that hath 
 not shall be taken away that which he hath." In 
 that parable of the talents the man who is con- 
 demned and impoverished had one talent. And yet 
 he didn't have it. He didn't have it, because he 
 didn't know what to do with it, and didn't care 
 that he didn't know. So he was a man that "had 
 not." The rest had, because the\' knew enough to 
 make use respectively of the five and the two talents, 
 and had enc«igh energy to appK' the knowledge. 
 That was having. That was what Paul calls pos- 
 sessing — laying hold of— hanging on. Multitudes 
 follow in the steps of the one talent economist, and 
 fold in the napkin of selfishness and bury in the earth 
 of neglect. They have wealth and hide it in their 
 vaults. They have culture, and are cultured leeches, 
 drawing in the life blood ofother men's best thoughts, 
 iind never giving out an idea. Omnivorous readers, 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 35 
 
 and with not a word to say. They have reHgion, as 
 they call it, and keep it a secret all their lives. Secret- 
 iveness always crushes. And there are others. If 
 they have but a crust of bread, they divide it with 
 the first hungry man they meet. "Unlearned and 
 ignorant men," like the apostles, they spread around 
 the little knowledge they have so sedulously and so 
 persistently and so prayerfully that they bless the 
 world, and "turn it upside down." They have dis- 
 covered a religion that consists in giving itself— a 
 salvation that is found in losing. 
 
 At the basis of this distinction there is the lack or 
 the presence of a quality of spirit that explains the 
 whole thing. On the one hand there is indifference, 
 on the other there is love, to our fellow men. On the 
 one hand a cold, hard nature, impervious and im- 
 penetrable ; on the other a heart pulsating and 
 warm. The ha]ipiness of others produces only envv 
 in these adamantine natures. It is of the very es- 
 sence of things that they should occasion just as lit- 
 tle of it as possible. Men and women with hearts 
 arc happy because somebody else is. Love has a 
 sweeter thrill in the joy of somebody else than it has 
 in its own. This may seem romantic. It may sound 
 sentimental. It is the most practical thing in the 
 world. The lever that is going to move everything 
 upward in this world is love. The centripetal force 
 that is going to draw all souls in unison at last is 
 love. And love "sccketh not her own." vShe finds 
 herself in the joy of other li ves and in the fruition of a 
 world outside. In this way love lays hold of the 
 
36 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 deep realities of spirit; love enters into full possession 
 of the things not seen. And so, do 3'ou not see that 
 "having nothing," love "possesseth all things?" 
 
 All things here, life's pleasures and emoluments, 
 wealth, culture, fame, reward — all are lent to the 
 man who has not love. He is a borrower only. His 
 assets are all hypothecated. All he has is mort- 
 gaged at infinite per cent. Having all things, he 
 possesses nothing. If he looks ahead, bankruptcy 
 stares him in the face. Judgment is a sherifiTs sale. 
 The voice of the eternities is always this: "Thou 
 fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee, 
 then whose shall those things be which thou hast 
 provided?" Whose? Whose? There is just one 
 answer to that question: "Anybod^-'s but mine." 
 Hell is helpless impoverishment. The lake that burn- 
 eth "with fire and brimstone" is a soul that never 
 had a thought but for itself, and so kindled the "fire." 
 and manufactured all through life the "brimstone." 
 
 To the believer, to the man or the woman who 
 loves, the loan becomes the gift; in the place of the 
 borrower you see now the owner. "All things are 
 ours" if we love ; if we 'give them all away. The 
 dynamos of the spiritual world, the more the3- gene- 
 rate, the more they send forth in beatific influence, in 
 electric currents of blessing, to all mankind. 
 
 We say, in the parlance of the market place, in the 
 sentiment of socity, that that man is rich who has so 
 many millions ; that man is wise who has monopo- 
 lized so many books; that man is famous whose 
 name is floating on so many lips, familiar as house- 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 37 
 
 hold words. This thought of Paul's we have had 
 upon our hearts to-day says, No. The rich are they 
 that possess all things, having, to give away. The 
 wise are the true inheritors, who look with clear vis- 
 ion into the unseen things, and so open other eyes.* 
 The famed are wearers of "the crown of righteous- 
 ness," because they have prepared other brows to 
 wear it. The thirteenth chapter of First Corinth- 
 ians is the final settlement of all theologies. Before 
 it all confessions, and creeds, and catechisms, and 
 councils, stand in judgment. If we have not 'iove" 
 we are "a sounding bi-ass and a tinkling cvmbal." 
 We have nothing, because we are nothing. Cyphers 
 have no capacity of possession; nonentities have no 
 grip. If we love, then we are of that element in this 
 viniver.se that ''never faileth." We have entered into 
 full possession. "All things are ovirs." Knowledge, 
 gifts of tongues, fountains of pleasure, stores of 
 wealth — these vanish away. He who has onlv these 
 has nothing. Love endureth forever. Love inherits 
 the kingdom. lie who breathes its hallowed inspi- 
 ration po.s.sesses "all things." Tills world is his. 
 All that is worth an3'thing in it, he has. The next 
 world is his. "In the world to come life everlasting." 
 God is his. "He that abidcth in love abideth in Ood, 
 and God abideth in him." When a man or a woman 
 is in God, there isn't much left outside of that that 
 either of them wants. The world may sa v that such 
 an one has nothing. Somebody else says: "Having 
 nothing, yet possessing all things." 
 
I ^ I Excellent Greatness. \^ 
 
 Excellent Greatness. — Ps. CL: 2. 
 
 WHEN the greatest preacher of France, the sil- 
 ver tongued Massillon, was called to 
 preach the funeral sermon of King Louis, 
 in the cathedral -At Paris, in the presence of the royal 
 family, the legislators and the diplomatic corps, with 
 the more exalted of the nobility of France, he took 
 with him to the sacred desk a little golden urn con- 
 taining a lock of hair of the late king. The immense 
 audience was seated, and the stillness as of death 
 reigned throughout the vast assemblage. Massillon 
 arose, holding the urn in his fingers, his hand resting 
 upon the sacred cushion. All eyes were fixed upon 
 him. Seconds, then minutes passed. Massillon stood 
 motionless, pale as a statue. The feeling became in- 
 tense. Many believed he was struck dumb before 
 the vast assembly ; many sighed and groaned aloud ; 
 many eyes were suffused with tears ; when the hand 
 of Massillon was seen slowly raising the little golden 
 urn, his eyes fixed upon the new king. As the hand 
 was returned to its resting place upon the cushion, 
 the loud, clear voice ot Massillon rang throughout 
 the great cathedral, echoing in its arches above, 
 
40 
 
 EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 "God alone is great." With no golden urn in his 
 hand, as he plays upon the strings of his immortal 
 hai-]3, a greater and more eloquent than Massillon, 
 sang long before him, "Great is the Lord, and greatly 
 to be praised in the cit\^ of our God, in the mountain 
 of his holiness." 
 
 "A certain pasha, dead five thousand years, 
 Once from his harem fled in sudden fears, 
 And had this sentence on the citj-'s gate 
 Deeply graven; 'Only God is great.' 
 So these four words above the pity's noise 
 Hung like the accents of an angel's voice, 
 And evermore from the high barbican 
 Saluted each returning caravan. 
 Lost is that city's glory. Every gust 
 Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown pasha's dust; 
 And all is ruin, save one wrinkled gate, 
 Whereon is written: 'Only God is great.' " 
 
 "Ascribe 3'e gi-eatness unto our God." 
 
 But that which most impresses me, in my thought 
 upon this subject, is the conjunction of the words 
 "excellent greatness." I have been thinking more 
 about the adjective than about the noun. The noun 
 is a fact, the adjective is a quality-. The one tells us 
 about a thing; the other tells us what Jcind of a 
 thing it is. "Excellent greatness." And these, as 
 they have come to me, are the reasons. 
 
 It is "excellent" because it is great all round. On 
 every -side. In every direction. Great eveK'Aviler<?. 
 When vou descend td the plain of human' gfeatness^! 
 you come into an entirely different titmospherfe. It 
 is like descending from the Himalayas to some insig- 
 nificant knoll. Here you have greatness with limita, 
 
EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 41 
 
 tions. Men and women are great, if great at all, only 
 in some ways, in certain directions, in a limited range 
 of character. Great in some things, and very dimin- 
 utive in others. You do not very often find a man 
 or a woman who is great all round — on ever}' side, 
 in every direction. Of whom you can sa}', in the lan- 
 guage of Mr. Vrooman, speaking of Chauncey M. De- 
 pew, "the distinguished all-around man of the world." 
 Somewhere, if you know a man long enough, or 
 a woman, you will discover a microscopic minuteness, 
 and you will find that jonr great one is very small. 
 Xerxes was indisputably great as he stood at the 
 head of his vast legions. He was infinitesimally 
 small when, in his petulance, he was whipping the 
 waves of the Hellespont because they would not back 
 at his bidding. Alexander was great. History thus 
 entitles him. Buthe was a baby, when he wept that 
 there were not other worlds to conquer. Cfesar was 
 great. But he was little in that qualitv his immor- 
 tal eulogist must admit when he sa3's: "They tell 
 me Cfesar was ambitious." England's most illus- 
 trious queen was great in noble qualities; no mon- 
 arch ever wore a crown more gracefully; but she 
 was small in her hatred of the Queen of Scots, 
 smaller yet in her flirtation with Leicester. Napol- 
 eon was great. Superlatively great. But I read this 
 about him the other day: "The first Napoleon had 
 a cowardly dread of satire, and could endure any 
 hardship rather than be made to appear ridiculous. 
 This accounts for his enmity to the witty Madame 
 DeStael, whose merciless tongue spared ^^no one. 
 
42 
 
 EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 There is something more than ludicrous in the spec- 
 tacle of this rude soldier with a million armed men 
 under his command, and half Europe at his feet, sit- 
 ting down in rage and affright to order Fouche to 
 send a little woman over the frontiers lest she should 
 say something about him for the drawing rooms of 
 Paris to laugh at. Yet history votes this man a 
 hero." England's matchless statesman measured 
 nearest, perhaps, to our ideal because he was great 
 in so many directions. Great as a scholar, great as a 
 philosopher, great as a politician, great as a philan- 
 thropist, great as a reformer, great as a Christian. 
 Nearest, perhaps, of any man of an}' age to "great all 
 round." Bismarck, his rival, shrinks into a pigmy, 
 because, in so many elements of character, he is small, 
 very small. 
 
 It is the familiar fact of humanity. Somewhere, in 
 all human greatness, there is the factor of weakness. 
 The old maxim says that "no man is great to his 
 valet." His valet knows him too well. His Httle- 
 ness is sure somewhere to crop out. And I think this 
 is one of the saddest facts of human life. The fact 
 that our ideals always, at some point, go back on 
 us. Our idols, if we have them, prove of clay. Our 
 Achilles have always their vulnerable heel. Perhaps 
 some public man to-day, some great preacher in 
 the pulpit, or some author over whose books 3'ou 
 pore, embodies vour conception of greatness. How 
 sad would be the discovery, should you summer and 
 winter with that'subject of your wildest admiration, 
 that here and there were the weak points and amid 
 
EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 43 
 
 all the greatness the littleness as well ! It is the limi- 
 tation of our nature. Great though a man or a 
 woman may be, and great as they may be, some- 
 where they are small, somewhere greatness gives 
 out. 
 
 But we are thinking in contrast to-day of the excel- 
 lent greatness, that is great everywhere, great on 
 every side, harmoniously great, where in all that 
 infinite nature there is no discordant note. The 
 greatness of Him who is great in every thought He 
 ever thinks, in every emotion He ever feels, in every 
 plan He ever adopts, in every deed He ever does and 
 in the way He always does it. "Excellent greatness" 
 that is great everywhere. 
 
 God's "greatness" is "excellent" also because it is 
 independent and only in Himself. Influences from 
 without have nothing to do with it. Circumstances 
 have played no part in its completeness — have not 
 
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44 
 
 EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 contributed an iota to its perfection. God would be 
 just as great if there were not another being, nor a 
 created thing, in this universe. Great independent!}'. 
 Great in Himself With us, greatness is very largely 
 the creature of circumstances. Our surroundings, 
 very often, make us what we are. We mount with 
 ladders, where God is on high in His nature. We 
 seize the "tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at 
 the flood, leads on to fortune," or omit it, when, 
 omitted, "all the vo^^age of our life is bound in shal- 
 lows and in miseries." 
 
 Voltaire observes in his sententious way that "it 
 was fortunate for Cromwell that he appeared upon 
 the stage at the precise moment when the people 
 were tired of kings; and as unfortunate for his son 
 Richard, that he had to make good his pretensions 
 at a moment when the people were equally tired of 
 protectors." Had there been no Civil War where 
 would be the tanner of Galena, whom a nation and 
 a world to-day delight to honor? Our surround- 
 ings so largely, mould us. Greatness is so much a 
 creature of the men and things outside of us. So 
 much a product of where and when we are. 
 
 The "greatness" of our God is "excellent great- 
 ness," because it is all His own. What He is in Him- 
 self. "Who hath directed the spirit of the Lord, or 
 being His counsellor hath taught Him? With whom 
 took Hecounsel, and whoinstructed Him, and taught 
 Him in the path of judgment, and taught Him knowl- 
 edge, and shewed to Him the way of understanding?" 
 Who had anything to do with His greatness? "Ex- 
 
EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 45 
 
 cellent greatness" because it is all His own. 
 
 It is "excellent" also because it is pure. It is the 
 gold of character where there is no alloy. 
 
 "Greatness and p^oodness are not means, hut ends, 
 
 Hatli he nut always treasures, always friends, 
 
 The fjreat man? three treasures, l(p\e and li^'ht, 
 
 And cahn thoiig-hts, reg-ular as infant's breath ; 
 
 And three firm friends, more sure than day and nig-ht. 
 
 Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death." 
 
 The poet is dreaming in the realm of the ideal, 
 The good great man is, as the world goes, a chimera 
 and a m^^th. Goodness and greatness seldom marry. 
 Nine out of ten would rather be called "great" than 
 "good" because the one, in a measure, crowds out 
 the other. When we sav, he is a verv good man, 
 what do we generally mean? We mean, if ho is a 
 politician, that he is not very shrewd ; if !ic is ri law- 
 yer, that he is not very successful with juries; if he is 
 in business, that he will never get very rich; if lie is 
 in the pulpit, that he isn't much of a preacher. Is 
 not this so? Why, in our method of speech, good- 
 ness and greatness are divorced, and, in our way of 
 thinking, the one excludes the other; or, if not that, 
 puts it in the realm of the imjirobable. The "excel- 
 lent greatness" of our God is without a stain, spot- 
 lessly pure. Infinitely good. 
 
 It is excellent, because it is humble. He who im- 
 personated it, in human flesh, said "I am meek and 
 lowly in heart." That was his analysis of the divine 
 that was in Him. That was His description of the 
 "excellent greatness" of our God. The greatness 
 
46 
 
 EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 that became "of no reputation and took upon him 
 the form of a servant;" that opens to humanity 
 this path to greatness: "If any man will come after 
 me, let him deny himseli' and take up his cross, and 
 follow me." 
 
 "That man is great, and he alone 
 Who serves a g-reatness not his own, 
 
 For neither praise nor pelf : 
 Content to know and be unknown; 
 
 Whole in himself." 
 
 "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." 
 
 So much of the greatness of this world is balloon 
 greatness. The result of a process of inflation. 
 "Knowledge," says Paul, "puffeth up.^' "A little 
 knowledge," says theproverb, "is adangerousthing," 
 We so easily lose ourselves, if we get a little wa3- up. 
 It is dangerous for those who have a weakness of 
 heart action to climb mountains. There is a heart 
 weakness that afflicts us all, of pride and conceit, 
 that makes it fatal to get very high. So God, in in- 
 finite consideration, keeps us down. There is so lit- 
 tle greatness in this world that is humble. 
 
 "But man, proud man. 
 Dressed in a little brief authority. 
 Most i^'-norant of what he's most assur'd, — 
 His g-lassy cs^,ence — like an ang-ry ape. 
 Plays such lant.istic tricks before high Heaven, 
 As make tlie angels weep." 
 
 The "excellent greatness" is the greatness of Him 
 who "came not to be ministered unto but to minis- 
 ter." And whose greatness is revealed in lowliest 
 
EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 47 
 
 acts. Who "maketh small the drops of water." 
 
 It is excellent, also, because it is gentle and kind. 
 It is the tendency of strength to be severe — of human 
 greatness to be harsh and arrogant. 
 
 "O, it is excellent 
 
 To have a giant's strengfth ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it as a giant." 
 
 A thing the giant is very apt to do. The "excel- 
 lent greatness" is gentle, and oh ! it is wondrous kind. 
 The east and the west winds, Talmage tells us, once 
 entered into dispute as to which was greater. 
 "Don't you wish" said the East wind to the West, 
 "that you had my power? When I start they hail 
 me by storm signals all along the coast. With one 
 sweep of my wing I have strewn the coast from New- 
 foundland to Key West with parted shij) timber. I 
 can lift the Atlantic ocean. I am the terror of all 
 invalidism, and to fight me back forests must be cut 
 down for fires and the mines of continents are called 
 on to feed the furnaces. Under my breath the nations 
 crouch into sepulchres. Don't you wish you had my 
 power?" "The west wind," the story goes, "made no 
 answer, but started on its mis.sion, coming some- 
 where out of the rosy bowers of the sky, and all the 
 rivers and lakes and seas smiled at its coming. The 
 gardens bloomed, and the orchards ripened, and the 
 wheat fields turned their silver into gold, and health 
 clapped its hands, and joy shouted from the hill tops, 
 and the nations lifted their foreheads into light, 
 and the earth had a doxology for the sky, and the 
 
48 
 
 EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 sky an anthem for the earth, and the warmth, and 
 the sparkle, and the gladness, and the foliage, and 
 the flowers, and the fruits, and the beauty, and the 
 life were the answer the west wind gave to the inso- 
 lence of the east wind's interrogation." "Excellent 
 greatness," because so gentle and so kind. 
 
 In Cromwell's time a soldier was condemned to be 
 executed "at the ringilig of the curfew." He was en- 
 gaged to be married to a fair and beautiful maiden. 
 The maiden pleaded with the judge and with Crom- 
 well for pardon, hxit in vain. All preparations for 
 the execution were made, and all awaited the signal 
 bell. The sexton, old and deaf, threw himself upon 
 the rope, as was his custom, but there was no sound. 
 The young lady had climbed the belfry stair, and 
 caught and held the tongue of the bell at the risk of 
 her life. At length the bell ceased to swing. The 
 deaf old sexton supposed he had rung the curfew. 
 The brave lady descended, woimded and bleeding. 
 Cromwell came to demand why the bell was silent. 
 She met him, and, as the poem reads, 
 
 "At his feet she tokl her storj', showed her hands all bruised 
 and torn; 
 
 And her sweet young- face, still hag-gard with the anyuish it 
 had worn, 
 
 Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty 
 light : 
 
 'Go, your lover lives, 'cried Cromwell, 'curfew shall not ring 
 to nig-ht. ' " 
 
 It was the greatness of that love that gives itself- 
 The "excellent greatness" that lays down its life for 
 its friends. 
 
EXCELLENT GREATNESS. 
 
 49 
 
 We witness its supreme expression in Him Who 
 came to us from the throne and the glory, Who saved 
 us in infinite sacrifice, and, standing Ijefore His cross 
 of ignomin\^ and shame, we sav with the immortal 
 Massillon: "Only God is great." On Calvary, where 
 the Son of God is bleeding, where He breathes out 
 His life for humanity, amid those tears of infinite 
 compassion, amid the torture and the pangs of dis- 
 solution, we see, in final and in supreme expression, 
 the ''excellent greatness." 
 
 "In the cross of Christ I glory, 
 
 Towering o'er the wrecks of time, 
 All the light of sacred storj' — " 
 
 All that is great, all that is glorious, all that is 
 beatific, in this world, or an\' other, 
 
 "Gathers round its liead sublime," 
 "Excellent greatness." 
 
What's in a INamc ? 
 
 Judas (not Iscariot)— /o-^w XIV:22. 
 
 HAT deep interest and what hallowed asso- 
 ciationsinvest that memorable roll of twelve 
 men that we call familiarly the disci])les of our Lord ; 
 eleven of whom are afterward known in history as 
 His inspired apostles, who, in their infallibility and 
 authority, have no peers, and, in their endowments 
 and gifts, have no successors. That ini|)erish- 
 able roll is written three times upon the ])afies of 
 this revealed word where it will last while ])aper and 
 printing press remain; and it is written uj) yondei", 
 graven in the foundations of the walls ot the cit\', 
 there to remain forever when ])a])cr and ])rinting 
 press are no more. As we read over that illustrious 
 roll, written thrice upon these ]);iges, with a single 
 change graven in those walls on liigh, we are con- 
 scious of different £uid varied im])rcssions. Some 
 have attained grcjit proininencc, and what we inav 
 .'ilmost call ]jrimacy, in the historic Church. Otiicrs 
 {)f the twelve are of less ])romiiience, and yet clcarlv 
 identified in liistorv, allcrward imniortalipccd in tra- 
 dition. But an interest attaches to still others of 
 
52 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 this memoraljle roll from the fact that, though their 
 names arc written here three times and graven in 
 those walls of immortality, we do not know any- 
 thing about them, and, in their imperishable fame, 
 they are in utter obscurity. The immortal unknown! 
 Philip, one of the very first the Saviour met and 
 called to His side, and never heard of except on three 
 occasions, ; once when, if Andrew will go with him, 
 he will tell Jesus that some Greeks want to see Him ; 
 another, when he expresses the sentiment that 
 $28.00 worth of bread will not be sufficient that all 
 that multitude may take a little; and the third, 
 when he asks to see the Father, and says he 
 will be satisfied, compelling the rebuke of his Mas- 
 ter: "Havel been so long time with you and yet 
 hast thou not known me, Philip?" That is his biog- 
 raphy ! All there is of it. One of the twelve apos- 
 tles of the Lord, a name inscribed in material up 
 yonder that will not crumble when granite melts 
 and marble pulverizes. Simon, the Canaanite. 
 How much do we know about him? A man who 
 spent three years under the shadow of another 
 Simon, illustrious, renowned, and is distinguished 
 from jiini by his gcograjjh}-. "Judas, not Iscariot." 
 Who once asked the Master a question. One inquir- 
 ing thought in three years. One manifestation of 
 interest in one thousand days spent with Jesus. So 
 far as history tells us anything. "Judas saith imto 
 Him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt 
 manifest th^'self unto us, and not unto the world?" 
 A momentous question. The wonder is that he 
 
what's in a name ? 
 
 53 
 
 never asked any more. One who could put such a 
 question as that, and who had such a marvelous op- 
 poi tunity, such a grand chance, to get good answers. 
 In the roll of disciples, as given by Matthias, his 
 name does not appear. There is mention of one 
 Lebbaeus, whose surname was Thaddeus. It is the 
 same man. This Judas, the record of whose life is 
 that he put one question to his Lord, is unknown to 
 us, although he is named so particularly, "Judas, the 
 brother of James," "Lebbaeus, whose surname is 
 Thaddeus," Judas Lebbaeus Thaddeus, brother of 
 James, not Iscariot. It seems as though we were 
 hunting after him in the woods of a multitudinous 
 name. He is identified, but about in the same way as 
 the company of laborers that work on our canals and 
 railroads, who are known by the number on their 
 hats. This disciple was number ten in that circle of 
 twelve, number ten on those walls immortal. 
 
 How considerate and thoughtful was the historian, 
 John, when he recalled that incident, and knew how 
 little this brother of his would be known, that he 
 should say, in all kindness and gentleness, "Judas 
 saith unto him, not Iscariot." It was just like John 
 to do that. It was just like John's Master, on Whose 
 bosom he leaned, and Whose inspiration he caught. 
 There is so much in a name. A rose would not smell 
 as sweet by any other name, nor mvrrh taste as bit- 
 ter. The name ro.sc, in all that it recalls, is a pleas- 
 ant prompter of tlie olfactories, and mvrrh is suo- 
 gestive of bitterness. There is so much in a name. 
 That name Judas stands for treason. It at once sug- 
 
54 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 gests Iscariot. The biographer who doesn't mean 
 Iscariot has to say so, or he. will be misunderstood. 
 If John had not made this qualification, everybody 
 would have thought that that vile traitor was once 
 inspired to ask a sensible question, that once in his 
 life he got on the edge of an exalted spirituality ! 
 But no, it was not Iscariot. It was "Judas, not Is- 
 cariot" — the other Judas, who is known only that he 
 was not that one. 
 
 Or, on the other hand, and differently, take the 
 name Peter. We almost see a rock spring up at our 
 feet at the mention of the word, and assume massive 
 proportions and gigantic strength. Thomas! It 
 means doubt. It represents the agnosticism of 1850 
 years ago. John! It is the s\'non3'm of love. 
 
 Or go back farther still. Recall those Old Testament 
 names. And how much there is in them. Abraham, 
 the father of vast multitudes, of the millions upon 
 millions upon millions that should believe, father of 
 the faithful. Israel, a man mighty with God, who 
 has struggled and prevailed I Elijah, strong and 
 valiant and heroic in the Lord his God! What a 
 transformation in a name when Saul of Tarsus be- 
 came Paul, the apostle ! Saul, the persecutor; Saul, the 
 bigoted Jew; Saul, of the blood red hands and the 
 murderous heart. Paul, the penitent preacher ; Paul, 
 the master builder of the early Church ; Paul, count- 
 ing "all things but loss for the excellency of Christ 
 Jesus, his Lord." Saul! Paul! John Knox I It 
 seems almost to sound with the reverberations of the 
 granite hills of Scotland he consecrated to Christ for 
 
what's in a name? 
 
 55 
 
 all time ! Florence Nightingale ! Miss Dix ! Clara 
 Barton ! How like a canvass do these names loom 
 before us, and, in fairest shades and softest col- 
 ors, how do we see limned upon their imperishable 
 texture self sacrifice, endurance, heroism, "pure and 
 undefiled religion." And what shall I say of that 
 Name that is above every name — the Name at which 
 every knee shall bow and every tongue confess? 
 
 "There is no name so sweet on earth, 
 
 No name so dear in heaven — 
 The name that at our Saviour's birth 
 
 Was by the angels given. " 
 
 "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds 
 
 In the believer's ear ; 
 It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 
 
 And drives away his fear." 
 
 Or take the dark and revolting colors, as we look 
 upon a very different picture, as we recall the names 
 that are identified with earth's scenes of base iniq- 
 
 SUCCESS CROWNS ALL who attend 
 
 — Haley's Business Institute and School of 
 
 — Shorthand and Typewriting, Fort Ed- 
 "T ward, N. Y. 
 
 Every graduate has employment. 
 
 J. W. HALEY, Principal. 
 
 ESTABLISHED 9 YEARS. 
 
56 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 uity and ever recurring crime, and how much there 
 is in a name! The brand was on Cain's forehead 
 while he lived, and the brand has been upon his name 
 ever since the day he slew his brother. We almost 
 see the tawny skin and listen to the woes of the col- 
 ored race in the name of Ham. How Delilah sounds 
 of trcjichery ! How the name of Sisera hisses with 
 the hostility of the enemies of the Lord ! How does 
 Ahab reverberate with the rebellion and apostacy 
 that closed the windows of heaven and kept back 
 the rain, according to the word of Elijah ! Nero! It 
 seems to trickle with the blood of martyrs, and to 
 gleam with the lurid fires he kindled at their feet ! 
 
 Sometimes a name that is applied in derision and 
 scorn becomes historic, and, through the deeds of 
 those who bear it, is typical of elemental principles 
 and immortal truths. We read in the Acts that 
 "believers were first called Christians in Antioch." 
 It was a term of abuse. It identified them with 
 Christ the Crucified, the executed criminal of Galilee, 
 with a man who had been hanged. "Christians." 
 But how that name, has been ennobled, hallowed, 
 transfigured b\- the heroism of the ages, by the self 
 sacrifice of the pure and the true and the good of all 
 ages and times, b}- the amelioration of humanity, hy 
 the civilization of the peoples, by the regeneration of 
 the world ! That word "Christian," applied in con- 
 tempt in Antioch, bounds the world's progi-ess. 
 outlines the world's hope. 
 
 The term "Whig" was applied in early English 
 history as a term of derision, denoting whey, 
 
what's in a name 
 
 57 
 
 that which has no solid substance, no fixed con- 
 sistency ; it meant dough-face and trimmer. But 
 so worthy and so stalwart and so true were they 
 who bore that name, that it took on a new 
 aspect, and unnumbered have- been the statesmen 
 of Britain, down to the greatest statesmen of them 
 all, who have been ]3roud to wear it, and who 
 have emblazoned it as an insignia of honor. 
 
 Methodist was a term applied to the followers of 
 Wesle\-, in ridicule of the new methods of worship they 
 introduced into England's quiet ritual. Those meth- 
 ods gave it life, they have been carried over the sea 
 and have filled this land of ours with the warmth of 
 Christian love, the glowing ardor of religious zeal, 
 and there is no nobler name in Christendom, no 
 grander title of the followers of the Lord. The hum- 
 blest child of God who walks under that banner of 
 Methodism has reason to be proud of his colors. 
 Those colors have been made radiant and magnificent 
 with the devotion of her gallant, her heroic sons. 
 
 How does the romancist, Scott, throw a whole 
 volume of history into the boast of his hero, in Rob 
 Roy, in the force of his name as it falls like hot shot 
 from a gun : 
 
 "My foot is on my native heath, 
 And my name i.s MacGregor!" 
 
 In our familiar intercourse of every day, how disa- 
 greeable and revolting become the names of those 
 whose characters we dislike, by whose natures we 
 are repelled. And how sweet are the names of those 
 
58 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 we love. I have not much doubt that the j^oung men 
 who fell in love with Job's daughters thought their 
 names were charmingly sweet, and they were these : 
 "Jemima," "Kezia" and "Keren-happuch." They 
 were lovely to those who loved them. 
 
 "Who hath not owned, with rapture smitten frame. 
 The power of grace, the magic of a name?" 
 
 The explanation that the disciple, John, thought it 
 necessary to make in this text, that the Judas who 
 asked this question was not Iscariot, is suggestive 
 of the alarming fact that a good name, a name of 
 honor and dignity, can, by a base and wicked life, 
 become a title of disgrace, and a synonym of dis- 
 honor. Judas Iscariot! It is sulphurous with the 
 atmosphere of the lost. It savers of utterest pollu- 
 tion. And yet, that name Judas, when it was given 
 by his mother to that babe who would one day dis- 
 grace it, was one of the most honored and exalted in 
 Israel. It was the same as Judah in Hebrew, and 
 was identified with all the glamour and grandeur 
 that encircled that chosen tribe from whom should 
 come some day the Lion of the tribe of Judah — whom 
 a Judah should betray. When he took that mone\', 
 when the clank of those pieces of silver was heard, 
 he plunged that name of highest honor into the pit 
 of lowest infamy, and, the glory it portrayed was 
 covered with the slime of the perfidy that made it 
 a hissing forever. 
 
 The monument erected, in such matchless beauty-, 
 on the hill side in Saratoga county, N. Y., overlook- 
 
what's in a name? 
 
 59 
 
 ing the plains that witnessed the surrender of Bur- 
 goync, has a statue in each of three of its four cor- 
 ners above its base, while the fourth is a vacant 
 niche. The other three are generals who were asso- 
 ciated in command, the fourth bears the name of 
 Benedict Arnold, where there stands no statue. He 
 deserved none. The name is vocal of his base betrayal 
 and the vacant space is eloquent of his dishonor. 
 
 The legend goes that Reputation, Love and Death 
 once started forth to travel in different directions 
 over the earth. At parting, each told where he 
 might be found. Death said they would hear of him 
 in battles, hospitals, and where famine or disease 
 were raging. Love said they might look for him 
 among the children of the poor, at marriage feasts, 
 and always among the virtuous and pure. Reputa- 
 tion said reluctantly, that if he once left a man, they 
 might never look for him there again. 
 
 "Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord, 
 I.s the immediate jewel of their souls." 
 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash : 't is something, nothing-; 
 'T was mine, 't is his ; and has been slave to thousands : 
 But he that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him. 
 And makes me poor indeed." 
 
 He who sells the birthright of his name finds "no 
 room for repentance though he (seek) it carefully 
 and with tears." The Jezebels, the Borgias, the 
 Philijjs II, the Henry VIII, the De Medici— these 
 are names that will resound through the ages with 
 the clamor of their crimes, and the eternities will 
 re-echo with the outcry of their cruelties. 
 
60 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 The lesson is a serious and practical one. What 
 are we doing with the name we bear? It is the name 
 that will be ours through the eternities. Up yonder 
 all titles will be forgotten and we shall be known by 
 thenameourmothers gave us. What meaning arewe 
 attaching in these lives of ours to the names we bear? 
 As the product of character, as the ripe fruit of 
 what we are, what shall be the significance of that 
 name when it shall be pronounced for the first time 
 at the bar of judgment, and as it shall remain for- 
 ever? Shall it be an insignia of ineffable glory, or a 
 badge of dark dishonor? Shall it be a name written 
 in the book of life, or a name never mentioned in the 
 converse of heaven, in the memories of the skies? 
 
 As I have suggested, it was a humble and lowly 
 station that was assigned to this disciple of our text, 
 when he was identified only by what he was not. 
 "Not /scc^r^o^." Not the bad one. A negative char- 
 acter only. Not known to us for any good he ever 
 did, but only that he did not do the base and wicked 
 deed that was consummated in the presence of the 
 priests. And 3'et, how many and how multiplied are 
 his com]:)anions in every age and time. Negative 
 quantities only. Who have not done much hurt, be- 
 cause thev have not done much of auA'thing. "Not 
 Iscariot." In the family, simply living on, eating 
 their three meals a day, and sleeping their eight or 
 ten hours. In society, dead weights. So much bag- 
 gage to be carried. In the Church, pillows, not pillars; 
 sleepers, not beams. Not notoriously bad. And not 
 much of anything else. 
 
what's in a name? 
 
 61 
 
 And vet, I do not know but that it will be a very • 
 blessed thing when we come to the close of these 
 fitful, changeful lives of ours, if it can then be truly 
 said, even if nothing more can be said, that we are 
 not of the bad, and vicious, and depraved — "not 
 Iscariot." It was ver^^ much the encomium of the 
 Master upon the approaching Nathanael : "Behold 
 an Israelite indeed in whom there is no guile." Noth- 
 ing bad. If we shall escape the evil of the world, 
 where there are so many temptations, somany hostile 
 forces, so many unseen powers, moving mightily 
 upon our souls; if we shall come off unscathed, 
 our garments undefiled, "conquerors and more than 
 conquerors through Him that loved us," — not Iscar- 
 iot, not allies of evil, not lost victims of sin, not ca])- 
 tives at last of the great enemy ; surelv this will be 
 the anthem of our endless song, and the theme of 
 loudest praise. If, in our opinions, where there are 
 so many vagaries, so many refuges of lies, we are not 
 led into fatal error. If these hearts are not burned 
 away by base, unworthy loves. If these souls are 
 not bcirtered for the world, and that final question 
 \nit, "what shrill a man give in exchange lor his 
 soul?" 
 
 The only reason that this Judas of our text was 
 "not Iscariot," was that the Master kej)t him from 
 being that, and held him in the hollow of His hand 
 By the grace of God we are what we tire. There 
 were the two Judases in the immediate presence < <f the 
 Christ. Judas Iscariot sold his Master. "Judas, the 
 brother of James," "Lebbaeus, vviiose surname was 
 
62 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 •Thaddens," "not Iscariot," wrote that epistle of Jude, 
 that thunders down through the ages with its de- 
 nunciation of sin, its ceaseless cannonade against the 
 ungodly. Where was the difference ? In that sover- 
 eign grace on which we are absolutely dependent, 
 without which a world would be Iscariot, but by 
 which we shall be lions, every one, of the tribe of 
 Judah. 
 
Go, Call Thy Husband.— yoZ/w IV:i6. 
 
 ■^^HE Master is conversing with a woman, who 
 has had no advantages in life, who, in the es- 
 teem of His race, is reprobate and an outcast, and 
 who, on the terms of Jewish theology, has not the 
 remotest chance of getting to heaven. He has probed 
 into her inmost soul, has found there a spark of gen- 
 uine spiritualit}', and has kindled it, in a moment, 
 into a flame. She is an aspirant for the ' 'living water. ' ' 
 She wants to be a good woman, and, so far as the 
 idea has taken tangible shape, she proposes to be a 
 christian. The first duty the Master suggests, as .she 
 forms this resolve, is that she shall go, call her hus- 
 band, and, in his companionship and society, follow 
 her Lord. 
 
 This incident leads us at once to think of the ab- 
 sent husbands to-day. The absent fathers, brothers 
 and sons come with them to our thought. The 
 milder weather of returning spring and the favorable 
 condition of the roads emphasize forcibly and im- 
 pressively the theme of the hour. The preacher's 
 most alarming rival, in this year 1899, is the 
 
64 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 wheel. It threatens wholly to supplant him. I 
 would rather preach in the open air, in a high wind 
 dead againat me, than against a wheel, whatever 
 the manufacture. The best friend a preacher has to- 
 day is a punctured tire. 
 
 Where the wheel is outgrown, and where scorching 
 has no attractions, the cares of business and the inter- 
 ests of politics take their place. It becomes difficult 
 for a spiritual influence to squeeze in edgeways. Al- 
 most any device to attract attention would be legiti- 
 mate. Would that the Church had the ingenuity to 
 invent it. If wecould provide some such entertainment 
 as a town caticus for instance, we should be confident 
 of success. I tried a prayer meeting side b}' side with 
 one of these institutions a few years ago. The prayer 
 meeting came out several lengths behind, and the 
 caucus scored one. It was not because the caucus 
 had under consideration subjects of greater import- 
 ance, or interests more vital to men, though the men 
 were all there. The caucus considered the nomina- 
 tion for village offices, for which nine out of ten care 
 not a flip. The prayer meeting was called for the 
 consideration of a theme for which men, no less than 
 women, care everything. I saw at one hour, one 
 evening, about thirt}^ at a prayer meeting, including 
 seven men, and, at another hour the same evening, 
 seven hundred at a minstrel show, and the propor- 
 tion of men in no degree deficient. It was a very 
 good minstrel show. It was conducted by some of 
 our brightest and most interesting young men. But 
 the prayer meeting was as important, view it from 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 65 
 
 any aspect of thought you please. It was as intel- 
 lectual, as ennobling, as spiritualizing, whatever the 
 multiplicity of its imperfections. 
 
 Now all this is utterly unnatural. If a town cau- 
 cus or a minstrel show were held once a week, and a 
 praj'er meeting once a year, perhaps the apparent inter- 
 est, and the comparative numbers, would be reversed. 
 Perhaps there would be empty benches at the caucus 
 and therninstrel show, and a jam at the prayer meet- 
 ing. Novelty goes a great ways. The famous Athe- 
 nians have many successors who spend "their time 
 in nothing else, but either to tell or to hear some new 
 thing." Paul conducted the first prayer meeting 
 among those citizens of Athens, and the streets were 
 thronged. Had he made a weekly appointment, the 
 numbers might have diminished and the interest 
 dwindled. This is the most satisfactory explanation 
 of the contrast between the crowd at a circus and the 
 scarcit\^ atachurch service, especially of the masculine 
 gender. In themselves there is no superior attrac- 
 tion, bad as human nature is, in a ring over a church 
 parlor, or in a clown over a preacher. The infrequency 
 largely explains the apparent success. 
 
 I believe that when a baby is born, there is no es- 
 sential difference of moral and spiritual tendencies in- 
 wrought in its sex. There are certain constitutional 
 and temperamental contrasts that are a matter of sex. 
 And the baby boys will incline to play horse, and the 
 baby girls to play doll. And yet these contrasts are 
 often found wanting, and the boy will take the doll, 
 and the girl the horse. Certainly there are no moral ele- 
 
66 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 merits that are wrapped up in the composition of a 
 baby girl, and that are not found in a baby boy. 
 One is just as good as the other at the starting point 
 in the race of life, and, other things being equal, they 
 will keep pretty nearly neck to neck all the way 
 along. The surroundings and the environment in 
 the early life of the boy are all against him, while, in 
 the growing period of girlhood, they are very gener- 
 ally favorable. It is the noise and bustle and confu- 
 sion of the street against the quiet and calm and or- 
 derliness of the home. At the period when the best 
 fellow means the best fighter, the best girl means the 
 sweetest and the gentlest specimen of her sex. But 
 as the boy and the girl are made, there is no essential 
 inferiority, as to intellect, or, more important still, as 
 to morals. The one wants to be good and go to 
 heaven just as naturally as the other. The one holds 
 the head just as high as the other — alike poised 
 toward the stars. 
 
 I therefore reject, most resoluteljs any explanation 
 of present conditions that argues an essential differ- 
 ence, a temperamental contrast, in the one sex as 
 compared with the other. I believe that men con- 
 stitutionally and temperamentally are just as much 
 inclined to all that is worthy and noble and upright 
 and good as women, and that Paul's counsel as to 
 " whatsoever things are lovely and of good report " 
 is addressed with equal force and with equal appli- 
 cability to either sex. Nature's nobleman is man, 
 male and female, created in the image of God, with do- 
 minion, joint and separate, overthecreatures. God's 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 67 
 
 image is on the soul, where there rises no question of 
 sex. Everybody is reading David Harum. I confess 
 frankly that I do not Hke the book. The love story 
 that runs through parts of it is excessively dull. 
 The dialect becomes wearisomely tedious. The 
 whiskey drinking gives the whole thing a bad odor. 
 And David Harum's summary dismission of church 
 going is an insult to respectable society, and utterly 
 unworthy of any respectable man. 
 
 I am inclined, entertaining these convictions, to ac- 
 count for the alarming conditions that confront us, 
 our women generally in church and considerablv in 
 prayer meeting, our men at theofFice or the club or the 
 store or at the factory or on the lounge, in two ways. 
 First, the loss, temjjorarily, on the part of the men, 
 of the sense of fairness and equity in this whole mat- 
 ter; and, secondly, a serious mistake on tiieir part, 
 also, as to the relative importance of conflicting 
 claims, when certain interests clash, and when busi- 
 ness and affairs call one way, and the services of re- 
 
 SUCCEvSS CROWNS ALL who attend 
 Haley's Business Institute and School of 
 — Shorthand and Typewriting, Fort Ed- 
 W ward, N. Y. 
 
 Every graduate has em]3lo3'ment. 
 
 J. W. HALEY, Principal. 
 
 ESTABLISHED 9 YEARS. 
 
68 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 ligion call the other. First, I think that many of my 
 sex, of which I am grateful to be a member, are for- 
 getting the sense of fairness and equity, that has 
 been so honorably and so worthily- displayed in other 
 ways toward the gentler sex. Wehave been devoting 
 a large share of our time in recent legislation, and a 
 considerable space upon the pages of our statute 
 books, to the emancipation and elevation of woman. 
 It is the brightest spot in our SA'stem of legal enact- 
 ment. It most clearly manifests the essential nobil- 
 ity that inheres in the manliness of man. The male 
 man. We have been dissolving fetters that once were 
 forged. We have been severing chains that once 
 were welded. We have been repudiating yokes that 
 once were galling. We have made the slave our 
 queen. And all doors are flying open. All avenues 
 invite. The academy, the college, the university, the 
 counting room, the office, the professions — all stand 
 before woman to day with open gates, bidding her 
 enter, and enjoy their amplest, largest awards. This 
 has been the essential, the inherent, fairness, that 
 dwells in the bosom of an honorable and a manly 
 man. It has compelled equality for woman. Not 
 many years from now, under the same compulsion of 
 absolute equity, by the laws enacted by men, she will 
 teach and doctor and preach and vote, in equal num- 
 bers, and with equal success, with the voluntary' 
 donor of her coming rights, and her growing obliga- 
 tions. 
 
 But this same sense of fairness, that has compelled 
 this result, in the vital interests of our holy religion 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 69 
 
 has been forgotten. Here man has lost sometimes 
 his chivalry. In the services of the sanctuar3% four- 
 fifths many times are women. In the circle for 
 prayer, sometimes seven-eighths. In Sunday school 
 work, nine-tenths. May we not appeal to this inher- 
 ent sense of fairness and equity in the manly bosom, 
 that in so many spheres, has done so much and so 
 noblv for woman? As we have emancipated her 
 from grossest, basest servitude, as we have opened 
 to her widely every door of usefulness and opportu- 
 nity, let us not leave her so alone to do the world's 
 most vital work, to conserve the most sacred inter- 
 ests, to uphold the citadel of our most holy faith. 
 For it is unmanly, it is dishonorable thus to desert 
 her. The abandonment and the glaring discourtesy 
 should mantle all our cheeks with shame. 
 
 Then the second consideration that I have suggested 
 seems to me pertinent to this subject. In the present 
 conditions that confront us, I think that many of our 
 men have not only forgotten the sense of fairness and 
 equity to the gentler sex, but that they have also 
 seriously mistaken the relative importance of the inter- 
 ests that are to-day committed to their trust. In 
 their conduct, if not in their hearts, they have res- 
 olutely and deliberately concluded to place business, 
 and public affairs above the services of rcHgion, and to 
 give the former and not the latter the first place. That 
 is a simple matter of fact. I think it will be ad- 
 mitted. When the two interests clash, the larger 
 portion of our men propose to attend to business 
 and affairs, and leave religion to the women. Some 
 
70 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 of those who are under forty years of age, and, in 
 sporadic cases, beyond that limit, have put the wheel 
 in this highest, most demanding place. It has be- 
 come a substitute for the sanctuary. The statel}' 
 tone of the church bell has no longer a melody in 
 the ears, amid the tinkling of a little bell to which 
 they have given their real selves. Now, I am not go- 
 ing to ad vance any radical theories. I have not a 
 syllable to say about the use of the wheel on Sunday. 
 Simply a suggestion as to the use of the wheel when 
 our conscience tells us we ought to bein Church; when 
 we prefer a spin to a sermon, and a ride over the 
 hills to a seat in the congregation. I say that is a 
 reversal of all right relations. That is a betra^-al of 
 highest trusts. That is treason to our truest self. 
 
 And I would not, by any means, belittle the claims 
 of business and the professions, or the importance of 
 public affairs in which many are so manfully and so 
 honorably engaged. If they should neglect their bus- 
 iness, it would be a cold day for the Church. If they 
 did not keep money in their till, I don't know what 
 would become of missions. And if they who are 
 loyal to the interests of honesty and integrity in pub- 
 lic affairs, and who are laboring for puritj' in politics, 
 should withdraw from the contest, the reign of right- 
 eousness would cease, and the Church would go to 
 the wall. 
 
 This industry in business, this fidelity in public af- 
 fairs, are vital to the Church, and not one word of 
 mine shall diminish or chill the manly enthusiasm, 
 or the untiring spirit that is displayed. But may I 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MEN 
 
 71 
 
 not enter this plea ? That we shall put the interests 
 of our holy religion close beside these interests that 
 so many times are uppermost ? That we shall 
 thoughtfully arrange the appointments of the one 
 with reference to the arrangements of the other. That 
 the two may not be in conflict but in harmony. 
 That there may not be collision, as heretofore, but 
 co-operation. That the industry that has been dis- 
 played in our own, may characterize our attention 
 to the Lord's, business. That our fidelity to public 
 affairs may extend to the affairs of the soul. I stood 
 with unqualified and unbounded admiration, a few 
 years ago, in the presence of an audience of noble 
 and manly men, at the banquet of the Knights Tem- 
 plar. I recognize the claims of that most worthy or- 
 der. I am glad that it has enlisted in its service 
 many of our best and ablest men. Men who, at its 
 bidding, will march through driving rain, and 
 throng a church service if it is appointed by the or- 
 der. But the Chief Captain of the Commandcry is 
 the Head of the Church. The Church is His Own or- 
 dained institution before the first knight templar 
 was born. Nay, that little band of heroic men and 
 women in the first centuries who laid down their 
 lives for that Master were knights templar every 
 one, and when we follow in their steps, and give our- 
 selves, we reflect most clearly the spirit of this noble 
 order, and we rise to holiest knighthood. 
 
 The Church needs, needs imperatively our men. 
 Woman may do her work never so well, as woman 
 does, and for which her praise shall be forever within 
 
72 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MEN. 
 
 the gates. But she cannot do the work of men. 
 Our men cannot discharge their responsibility, hang- 
 ing some day to her skirts. He Who once said, "Go, 
 call thy husband," says to day: "Come husband, 
 father, brother, son; come, where mightiest interests 
 summon you, where claims that are vital are utter- 
 ing their voice, where the Church stands waiting for 
 your ministry." 
 
The Ascension of Our Lord. 
 
 Is Not This The Carpenter? — Mark VI: j. 
 
 '^'HE ascension of our Lord was the event of su- 
 preme exaltation in His earthly life, of which sin- 
 gle moments in His past gave glimpses, and of which 
 those moments were the sublime foretelling. Now 
 and then, in the days gone b}', there were flashes of 
 the ineffable glory into which He now passed, 
 glimpses of the majesty, and supremacy, and domin- 
 ion, upon which He now entered. 
 
 There was a flash of that supreme exaltation in 
 the presence of the doctors, when, at twelve years of 
 age, the boy in their midst astonished them with His 
 questions and answers. It gleamed forth again at 
 Jordan when, at His bajjtism, the heavens were 
 opened, and the Spirit, in the form of a dove, de- 
 scended and rested upon Him. It flashed and flamed 
 and glowed with dazzling brilliance, when, on that 
 moment of Transfiguration, "His face shone as the 
 sun," and "His raiment was white as the light." 
 The mob, on that last night, caught a glimpse of it 
 and fell before Him, prostrate and hcl])k'ss, until He 
 veiled it again, and surrendered Himself meekly into 
 their hands, "led as a sheep to the slaughter," and 
 
74 
 
 THE ASCENSION OF OUR I^ORD. 
 
 "as a lamb dumb before her shearers" opening "not 
 His mouth." In the moment of dissolution, when 
 the Author of Life gave up His spirit, the glory 
 flashed in the gloom of the world's universal night, 
 and the graves were opened, and the rocks rent, and 
 the veil of the temple was torn in twain, and the 
 testimony was compelled from the lips of an enemj', 
 "Truly this was the Son of God." These were 
 glimpses only, along that lowly and that humble 
 life, of the glory from which the wonderful Son of 
 Mary came, and back to which, in His ascension, He 
 returned. 
 
 When, on that eventful Sabbath that this ques- 
 tion of the text was put, the people were astonished 
 at His wisdom, and impressed with the manifesta- 
 tions of His j)ower, we are told that the}- were 
 offended in Him. Because He was "the carpenter," 
 thev would have nothing more to do with Him. 
 With wholly different emotions we stand before that 
 still more thrilling scene, that sublime consumma- 
 tion, as the clouds receive Him, and the sky opens 
 its door, and, in wrapt contemplation, we put the 
 (juestion again : "Is not this the carpenter .''" 
 
 Lowliest humiliation, in that ascension hour, 
 culminates in highest exaltation. He who rises to 
 I lis throne, conies to it from the carpenter's bench. 
 He sits upon the one because He toiled at the other. 
 "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." The 
 glory of that hour, the open heavens, the angelic 
 convoy, the clouds His choristers, cast the halo of 
 their grandeur and sublimit\' around that humble. 
 
THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 75 
 
 lowly life, and it is "the carpenter" of Nazareth 
 whom all worlds adore. 
 
 In that event so wonderful, as the path to the 
 throne lies open, all those conditions in life that we 
 consider favorable are put in a subordinate place, 
 and those we deem adverse and hostile are uplifted 
 in this sublime exaltation. The ascension of our 
 Lord is the reversal of all our ways of looking at 
 things, and of our view of life, and its highest, best 
 bestowal. It will not be denied that Olivet, with its 
 crowning scene, was the supreme consummation of 
 human life. There the earthly evolved into the 
 heavenly in highest apotheosis. When Jesus "as- 
 cended into heaven, and sat down at the right hand 
 of God the Father Almighty," He exalted those con- 
 ditions of life He had chosen, and tho.se surroundings 
 He had selected, to the supreme plane, and the first 
 place. In their ultimate results, therefore, they were 
 the conditions that were most to be desired, and 
 that could be wrought out, in character and life, into 
 the highest and subliniest sovereignty of soul. And 
 what were they? The answer lies in this question, 
 put so many years ago, "Is not this" — this m.'in so 
 wonderful, so exalted, so unapproachable in His 
 sublime nature, "Is not this the carpenter?" 
 
 Our first and most familiar distinction in society 
 is that between capital and labor. Capital is en- 
 vied, and labor is desj)ised. To be of the cajiitalistic 
 chiss, we will resort to an\' degree of ingenuity, and 
 ])ut forth any amount of effort, and devote cverv 
 capacity and encrg}' and activity of soul. If we arc 
 
76 
 
 THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 members of what we call the laboring class, we deem 
 it a misfortune of birth or of surroundings, and live 
 always in hopes that we may pass out of it into the 
 envied estate of capitalistic possession and control. 
 There is a degree of confusion the while in the dis- 
 tinction itself. Some of the hardest workers in the 
 world's work today are of the class we call capital. 
 The eight hour system is with them more often ex- 
 changed for sixteen, while the eight allotted to rest 
 and sleep are sorely disturbed. On the other hand, 
 many a man is finding genuine rest in honest labor 
 and worthy toil, of whom the wisest of men has 
 said that "the sleep of the laboring man is sweet." 
 The bulk of the unhappiness of this world is in 
 brown stone fronts, and most of the anxiety is in 
 gilded offices and costly counting rooms. But let 
 that pass. These are the two classes: the one, as we 
 theorize about it, to be envied, and the other, to be 
 scorned, capital and labor. 
 
 He who ascended from Olivet, He who was "the 
 carpenter," was a laboring man; He never owned a 
 dollar of capital. Up to thirty years of age, Hishands 
 were calloused, and His muscles hardened, and His 
 days laborious. He was enured to hard work. 
 Whenever we draw this distinction, whenever we 
 envy capital and despise labor, it will be well to re- 
 member that the ascending Saviour, mounting to 
 his universal throne, was not a capitalist ; He was a 
 laboring man. This will serve to keep us humble if 
 we are favored with this world's goods, if we are of 
 the class the world calls capital. And it will remind 
 
THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 77 
 
 us that we are in the best of company, our compan- 
 ionship is the most exalted because it is divine, if we 
 are familiar with toil, if we are, as the world pro- 
 nounces its judgment, ot the laboring class. 
 
 Then there is the second distinction we draw so 
 familiarly between riches and poverty — those who 
 have their good things in this life, and those who 
 have not. However true it may be, and however 
 well we may know it to be true that the rich are 
 characteristically unhappy and prevailingly 
 wretched, crippled with care and cankered with 
 anxiety, and the poor are in comparison moderately 
 happy for the very reason that they have so few 
 expectations, still we envy the rich, and we commis- 
 erate the poor. As between Dives on his divan and 
 Lazarus at his gate, we would take our part with 
 Dives, and leave Lazarus to the dogs. Money makes 
 the mare go, because money is a desirable thing, and 
 we don't believe we can have too much of it. And 
 yet that ascending Saviour never had enough to pay 
 for a night's lodging. As he said, He had "not 
 where to lay His head." He had no way to pay for 
 it. He was a poor man. In His ascension. He ])ut 
 the crown not on wealth but on poverty ; the corona 
 that hour was not upon the brow of the rich, but of 
 the poor. 
 
 The distinction that we draw so deeply between 
 the educated and the uneducated met with a singtdar 
 reversal on that ascension dny. In the technical in- 
 struction of the schools, the Nazarene was an unedu- 
 cated man. When the crowd were confounded with 
 
78 
 
 THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 His matchless insight into truth, His universal 
 knowledge of affairs, they put the question that 
 seemed to have no answer: "Howknoweth this man 
 letters, having never learned?" He hadn't been to 
 school since He was a little boy. Yery early in life 
 He had to work, and help His father earn a living. 
 Blessed are the boys and girls whose parents can 
 send them forth into life with a liberal education. 
 One of the saddest things I know is where a boy or 
 girl, whose parents are abundantly able to furnish 
 it, scorns a good education and does not want to go 
 to school. It is a life long encripplement, and so a 
 life long calamity. The Lincolns and the Johnsons 
 and the Oarhelds, masterspirits as they were, would 
 have risen to mightier master^' still had they had 
 favorable surroundings, and the advantages of 
 school and college. . Rail splitting and the tailor's 
 bench and the tow path were educators, and the3' 
 drew forth matchless qualities of manhood; but 
 they could have been improved upon, and could have 
 well given jilace to the languages and mathematics. 
 
 But the ascending Lord on Olivet was an unedu- 
 cated man. He knew nothing of the wisdom of the 
 schools. Fie had no advantages. His youth was 
 si)ent amidst His tools. And our distinction is re- 
 versed again. The crown is on the brow of depriva- 
 tion of highest privilege. Refinement and culture are 
 in the bnckground. The school room and the col- 
 1cl;c hall ilo not enter into the problem. Rising from 
 that mountain top, in the glory of the clouds, there 
 passes from our view not only a laboring man, a 
 
THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 79 
 
 poor man, but one who had no advantages of edu- 
 cation, who had never followed the curriculum of the 
 schools. 
 
 But the humiliation that culminated in su- 
 supreme exaltation on Olivet, comprehended still 
 lower depths. That ascending Jesus, amid the 
 clouds, hcciven open to greet him, the Father wait- 
 ing to receive Him at flis right hand, was an exconi- 
 municHtcd man. Society had cast him out. Juda- 
 ism had rejected Him. He had been excluded from 
 the synagogue. He was turned out of the chnrch. 
 Another distinction, and a very wide and searching 
 one, is reversed in that ascension. If there is any- 
 thing we regard as desiraljle in life, anything that 
 we think of as essential, as a kind of sine cpia non, 
 without which we would not want to live, it is 
 reputation, a good name, to stand well with society, 
 and if we are Christian men and momen, to be recog- 
 nized and fcllowshipped in the church. 
 
 How it would startle us to awake some morn- 
 ing, and find that we were outlawed from societv, 
 and disfell()\vshi])])ed from some chosen fraternity, 
 and excluded from the membership of the church ! 
 That society would not recognize us, and the church 
 would not have our name on its roll ! Life would be 
 a burden, and we would not know which way to 
 turn. This was the position for about two years of 
 that ascending Lord. Had you mentioned His name 
 to any regularly constituted Jew, you would have 
 learned that the name was to be whispered with 
 
80 
 
 THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 withering scorn, because the name of an excommun- 
 icated man. 
 
 Still one step lower, the only one left to the bot- 
 tom, from which the ascending Son of Man mounts 
 that day to the top — He was an executed man. We 
 all hope to stay out of the courts, save as unim- 
 peached and unimpeachable witnesses, or those who 
 take an honorable part in the conduct of jndicial 
 cases. We all hope that no grand jur}' will ever 
 have occasion to investigate us. That no indict- 
 ment will ever be served on us. No trial, certainly, 
 ever be instituted. No sentence pronounced. No 
 penalty inflicted. All this would be worse than 
 death. Better go out of life, than live a convicted 
 criminal, or bear the brand of the sentence of the 
 law ! Just this He endured who mounted that day 
 to His throne. He was indicted ; He was tried ; He 
 was convicted ; He was sentenced ; He was executed 
 for capital crime. No depth lower, to which He 
 could descend. And from it he rose to the supernal 
 heights. From a convict's doom to the world's 
 undisputed dominion. From the gibbet so infamous 
 to the glory so ineffable. 
 
 This is what impresses me as we linger around 
 that thrilling, that beatific scene. The Son of God, 
 our Saviour, ascends that day amid the clouds, and 
 sits down at the right hand of God, whence "He 
 shall come to judge the quick and the dead" — He 
 who was the carpenter — a lal)oring man, not a cap- 
 italist ; a poor man, not well to do; an uneducated 
 man, not a scholar though He "knew letters" so 
 
THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 81 
 
 well, "having never learned;" an excommuni- 
 cated man, turned out of the church; an exe- 
 cuted man, hung on the Roman gallows. Could 
 there be humiliation more galling, an emptying of 
 Himself more entire and complete, a depth of degra- 
 dation lower than this, to which by any possibility. 
 He could step? Indeed, as the apostle said, "He 
 made Himself of no reputation." From that utter- 
 est humiliation, laboring, poor, uneducated, excom- 
 municated, executed, He ascended to the inaccessi- 
 ble heights. He sat down "at the right hand of 
 God." He put at the key of the arch of all truth its 
 key stone; "He that humbletli himself shall be ex- 
 alted." 
 
 Capital stands for control. Riches for posses- 
 sion. Knowledge for power. Position in society 
 and the church for honor. Freedom from accusation 
 for innocence in the judgment of the world. The 
 ascending Saviour had surrendered them all. But, 
 losing them, He found them. Control did I say? 
 He assumed universal dominion. Possession ? He 
 entered upon an endless inheritance. Power? He 
 wielded the sceptre of resistless authority. Honor? 
 He had all praise and glory in all worlds. Inno- 
 cence? He w£is spotlessly pure, "the Holy One Who 
 inhabiteth eternity." 
 
 And so, onthat ascension day. He ]jut side bv side 
 with the truth that "he that humbleth himself shall 
 be exalted," the comjianion truth that completes the 
 circle of supreme revelation, "He that loseth his life 
 shall save it." 
 
82 
 
 THE ASCENSION OF OUR LORD. 
 
 That scene on Olivet embodies the deepest reali- 
 ties. The last event in that life on earth, it was the 
 final revelation from God. As the Son of Man passes 
 through that rift in the open skies, He enacts ulti- 
 niiite truth — His lowliest humiliation, becoming, in 
 a moment, highest exaltation, defines all religion. 
 Thrilled with the wondrous vision, we see as never 
 in all that life before what it is to be a christian ; 
 we learn at last ho.w the humblest disciple, in His 
 humility, mounts to His waiting mansion, and His 
 kingdom, and His throne. 
 
Evil, The Highest Good. 
 
 no chastening for the present seemeth to be 
 
 joyous, but grievous.— xii: ii. 
 Count it ai-l joy when ye fall into divers 
 
 TEMPTATIONS.— yai. /.• 2. 
 
 E HAVE, in these verse.s, the human and the 
 divine side of one common truth. We must 
 look within the dark, black garb of the one, and see 
 the angel who stands thus strangely and mysteriously 
 clothed in the other — the angel of a loving purpose 
 sent on holiest mission by a loving God: And the 
 counsel of James is given with reference to trial in its 
 sorest, grossest form ; the temptation to evil and to 
 sin. To a noble nature this is always the severest, 
 the most overwhelming, blow. No trial came to our 
 Master so painful, none so severe, in all that life of 
 sorrows, as the testing time in the wilderness, be- 
 cause it was a period of temptation to sin. Gethsem- 
 ane was dark and heavy with the anguish of a bleed- 
 ing soul, bearing the woes of humanity. Calvary was 
 densely clouded with the torture of a dissolving body, 
 bearing the sins of the world. The wilderness of 
 Judea was the midnight of the struggle of a pure na- 
 ture with the suggestions to disobedience and sin. 
 
84 
 
 EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 It was the darkest hour in all that shadowed life of 
 Him Who was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted 
 with grief." "Sensibility," says Lacon, "would be a 
 good portress, if she had but one hand. With her 
 right, she opens the door to pleasure, but with the 
 left, to pain." The acutest suffering of which an im- 
 mortal nature is susceptible inheres in its sensibilit}^ 
 to sin,— its perception of its exceeding sinfulness, and 
 of the pollution of the soul sin touches. This was 
 the extreme moment in the career of the Christ. 
 This is the critical, the decisive hour in every human 
 soul. At that moment James lifts up his voice and 
 says: "Count it all joy" — "count it all joy." If this 
 be so, then we may safely apply the principle to life's 
 sorrows every one. If the sorest and the saddest of • 
 them all is to be the theme of rejoicing, the anthem 
 of delight, then we can take the whole range of life's 
 trials in our hands, and sav with David : "It is good 
 for me that I have been afflicted;" it is a grateful and 
 a blessed thing. "Originally," says Dr. Hillis, "the 
 tortoise and the eagle stood side 1)y side, but one 
 struggled upward, and the other was content as he 
 was." Tlie tortoise is man overwhelmed Jind cast 
 down by affliction, oppressed by Hfe's sorrows, bur- 
 dened with its griefs, moving onward with slow and 
 hopeless pace. The eagle is man triumphant in 
 sorrow, victorious over evil, mounting with resist- 
 less pinions, soaring to the stars. 
 
 In my theology to-day this docti'ine lies at 
 the base. It is fundamental to the belief I confi- 
 dently entertain in a kind and loving God, pos- 
 
EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 85 
 
 sessed of sufficient power and resources to pre- 
 vent what is not kind and loving in the universe 
 He has made, and in the lives of the beings 
 He has created. At the starting point, in the 
 beginning, the choice was wholly with Him whether 
 or not evil should enter; evil in .mv, and evil in all, 
 its conceivable forms. Evil, therefoi'e, as sure as God 
 is kind and loving and able to manage His own uni- 
 verse, would not have entei-ed were it not, in His tar- 
 reaching wisdom, and His unerring ])urpose, an ulti- 
 mate, higher good. If He could not, as the apostle 
 says He will, raise us above the angels who know no 
 sin because we have known sin, its struggles and its 
 victories, He would not have conferred upf)n Adam 
 the power ot choice that in\-olvc(l the jjossiljilit}' of 
 choosing the wrong way. I .-un inclined to think 
 that the whole experience o( human sin, and life's 
 resultant trial and conllict, occupies the Stiine rela- 
 tion, in the untolding ot the infinite purpose in all 
 our lives, as the monster war occupies u])on the 
 pages oi' history. War is the crowning evil oi' the 
 ages. It eml)races evcrv crime and e.xalts it into vir- 
 tue, cruelty, (lece])tion, lying, hatred, murder, muti- 
 lation, ])illage, ])lunder — yes, the whole catalogue of 
 crime, with e.Kcci)tions sullicicnt onU- to prove tiie 
 rule. Tliere is nothing iulumian, nothing base, noth- 
 ing diabolic, that is not included in the term, when 
 we say war. And yet that very thing, the compend 
 of all iniquity, the congeries of all cruelty, is the great 
 disinfectant, the perpetual ])urifier, ofthe ages. War, 
 the sum of all iniquity, has been the agent of all 
 
86 
 
 EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 progress, the herald of all ennoblement, the security 
 of all attainment, in the advancement of the nations, 
 in the uplift of mankind. The wars of Canaan, the most 
 merciless, the most inhuman, the most barbarous of 
 history, were the plowshare and the harrow that pre- 
 pared fair Palestine for her mission among the na- 
 tions, and fitted that sacred soil for its spiritual har- 
 vest for mankind. Alexander the Great, carrying 
 slaughter and destruction into Persia and India and 
 the remotest Orient, carried with them the arts and the 
 culture of Greece in her peerless prime. The phalanxes 
 of Cfesar, sweeping the valleys and hillsides of His- 
 pania and Gaul and far off Britain, devastating their 
 fair fields, disseminated the seeds of regularity and 
 system and law that are the basis and the super- 
 structure of the juris])rudence of our modern time, 
 the gift of Roman valor and Roman arms to the 
 civilization of our later day. The crusades, bloody' 
 and relentless, were the jiredecessors of the Refor- 
 mation, and crowned their scenes of carnage with the 
 standiird of the cross. The wars with the Indians, 
 on our own soil, characterized by injustice so cruel, 
 and by tricker}- and fraud so inhuman, cleared a Con- 
 tinent for civilization, and exterminated the red man 
 who wasted its vast acres that the wa\' might be 
 opened for a race worthy of the hidden wealth of its 
 mines, and the boundless fertilit}' of its fields. It 
 was the survival of the fittest, on a continental scale. 
 Our Revolutionary war made us a nation and con- 
 stituted us a free peojile. Our civil war purged us of 
 our national disgrace, clarified the atmosphere of 
 
EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 87 
 
 our national life, and put an end forever to our 
 crowning crime. The war with Spain has dashed to 
 the earth the yoke of most cruel bondage, and burst 
 the chains of the most merciless inhumanity ever 
 placed upon the shoulders and the wrists of men. 
 War, the culmination of humanity, has been the 
 fountain of blessing to mankind. War, the sum of 
 iniquity, has been the disseminator of purity and 
 enlightenment and progress and peace. 
 
 And war, in the realm of spirit, occupies the same po- 
 sition, and stands in the same relation. Trial, I mean, 
 in all its forms, this great conflict of soul. It is a ne- 
 cessity in the inmost nature of things, in the plan of 
 God, in the constitution of the universe. Not a battle 
 would have been fought on this earth of ours, if bat- 
 tle were not ultimately a blessing. Not a trial would 
 have been borne in one heart of ours, if trial were not 
 unqualifiedly a boon. That is, if there is a good 
 God, and a strongOne, ruling this universe. If there 
 is One who loves; and One who can exercise His love, 
 without limitation or restraint. It goes without 
 saying that if there is some power in this universe 
 mightier than God, then, however good He is, and 
 however loving, all our reasoning falls to the ground, 
 and anything may happen however fatal, however 
 catacl^'smic. But so long as we can say that He 
 that is for us is greater than they that be against us, 
 we can say : "Count it all joy when ye fall into 
 divers temptations," meaning, as James did, tem])ta- 
 tions to the worst, that is, tcmjjtations to all evil, 
 and, last and lowest of all, to .sin. 
 
88 
 
 EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 The alabaster box poured forth its fragrance, 
 when it was broken at our Saviour's feet. The 
 human heart sends up to the skies its aroma of hoh- 
 est devotion, when it can be said : 
 
 "A broken and emptied vessel 
 
 For the Master's use made meet ; 
 Emptied that He may fill me 
 As forth to His service I go : 
 • Broken, that so unhindered 
 
 His grace through me might flow." 
 
 The thoughts that are now upon our minds are 
 fraught with practical issues that are alike immedi- 
 ate and vital in every human life. We are seldom ex- 
 empt from trial in some form that seems severe and 
 hard to us, and that, therefore, involves the ever 
 present m^'stery. Why, if there is a good God in this 
 universe, and a powerful God, One who is willing and 
 One who is able to order otherwise, why it should be 
 so. Some of us who seem to have the least and the 
 fewest sorrows in life have the severest and themost. 
 Some of our hearts that seem happiest are most 
 broken with great grief 
 
 We owe some of these burdens, that seem per- 
 haps heavier than we can bear, to heredity. They 
 have come down to us from our fathers and mothers. 
 They are a terrible and a tyrannous inheritance from 
 a dark past. Others are the product of our mis- 
 takes — mistakes it is impossible now to correct, for 
 which there is no room for repentance, though we 
 seek it carefully and with tears. Many of our trials 
 are the direct consequences of our sins. Because we 
 have done wrong, we suffer. The nails ma}' be ex- 
 
EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 89 
 
 tracted from the board of life's transgressions, but 
 the holes remain. Then we suffer many of the hard- 
 est blows, and carry many of the heaviest weights 
 in life, on account of our environment. Because we 
 are hedged in by the customs of society, by the injus- 
 tices of popular opinion, by circumstances wholly 
 beyond our control. Whether from one or all 
 these causes, our trials, thus necessitated and com- 
 ing in upon us sometimes like a flood, when "the 
 waves and the billows are gone over our head," seem 
 to, us a sad and a terrible and a revolting thing. As 
 the author of Hebrews said: "No trial for the pres- 
 ent seemeth to be joyous, but grievous." That is 
 the fact of human life. As universal as man. As 
 age, long as the centuries. Put over against that 
 fact, therefore, as the supreme lesson of our theme, 
 that what seems to us so horrible, and so revolting, 
 is a blessed and a beatific thing. Whether by hered- 
 ity, or along the pathway of our mistakes or our 
 sins, or within the adamantine walls of inevitable 
 environment, we have come into our experience of 
 trial or calamity, of suffering or sorrow, of agonv or 
 distress, "Count it all joy," "Count it all joy." It is 
 infinitely better, or it would not be so. 
 
 And I think the strongest conceivable proof of this 
 proposition is to be found in the two concrete cases so 
 prominentin Scripture. The3'are thecontrasted ca.ses 
 of Abraham and Solomon. They present the two sides 
 of this question. In the life of the one, trial wrought 
 its perfect work. In the life of the other, the absence 
 of trial developed its indescribable bane. Abraham 
 
90 
 
 EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 was Specifically called of God to endure a trial that 
 had no possible end in view, but the effect upon his 
 own nature. A conscientious Christian man over in 
 Connecticut a few years ago passed through the 
 same experience, believed that God commanded him 
 to put his child to death, and society and human law 
 said he must be proved insane or die on the gallows. 
 Abraham, if he had carried out his purpose, would 
 have been sent to an asylum, or he would have been 
 electrocuted, in this ^ear 1899. God commanded 
 him to offer up Isaac, his only son Isaac, on one of 
 the mountains that He should tell him of. Abraham, 
 familiar with the system of human sacrifices so gen- 
 eral in his day, did not think to comply with the 
 divine command by presenting his son Isaac on 
 Mt. Moriah whollv and forever to God, hy 
 some spiritual rite, but, in his ignorance and the 
 barbarism of his time, Abraham thought that 
 the only way to give Isaac was to kill him. It 
 was the sorest, heaviest trial that could possibly 
 be sent into his life. And it was sent for no other 
 purpose and for no other end, but for its effect upon 
 himself, for what it would do for him. God tested 
 Abraham. Abraham measured up to the test. He 
 gave his son. He slew him, in the inmost purpose 
 and intent of that terrific hour, when that knife was 
 lifted, and would have fallen, had not God held it 
 back. And that trial made Abraham. It placed 
 him on the double based pinnacle, where no other 
 child of man ever stood— "the father of the faithful," 
 "the friend of God." Of all the tried and true, that 
 
EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 91 
 
 man on Moriah is the father. Of only that man on 
 Moriah has it been said that, in his familiarity and 
 intimate converse, he was "the friend of God." We 
 are reading the most wonderful page in the biogra- 
 phy of the ages. It is a page written in the blood 
 red colors of sorest anguish, iritensest grief, bitterest 
 tears. Abraham looks back, and will forever, to 
 that mountain, and "counts it all joy." 
 
 Then just as vividly, in just as distinct and clear 
 cut colors, we may see the other side. We have before 
 us, now, one of the noblest, best natures, in youth atid 
 rising manhood, the world ever saw. So peerless in 
 his qualities, so matchless in his wisdom, so pure and 
 guileless in his s])irit, that when God offered him 
 whatever he might ask, he did not think ol wealth, 
 or fjime, or pleasure, or the life of his enemies, but 
 only of wisdom, and an understanding heart. That 
 was his character at twenty-one. From that day 
 forth he had everything. He had the wisdom and 
 the discerning judgment for which alone he prayed, 
 and he had unbounded ]iros])erity, exhaustless 
 wealth, limitless pleasure, not a sorrow, nor a heart 
 ache, nor a care, and what was the result at fifty- 
 six? A ruined man, a wreck of what he was thirty- 
 five years before, a sceptic, a profligate, a roue. 
 These are the two pictures. Put them side by side. 
 And, oh, "count it all joy when ye fall into divers 
 temptations." If there is any gold in the lump of 
 our natures, God will put it in the furnace, and by 
 fierce fires call it forth. If we have no trial, it is 
 because there isn't any gold. But who, who has no 
 
92 EVIL, THE HIGHEST GOOD. 
 
 trial ? Where is the man or the woman or the child 
 in this presence to-da}' that is not tried? The world 
 may think you have everything \'our own waj', as 
 absolutely as Solomon. But what a blessed thing it 
 is that it is not so, for then Solomon's doom at fifty- 
 six might be yours. "Ever\' heart knoweth its own 
 bitterness." Every house has its own skeleton. Ever}' 
 soul sees its own sorrow. And out of it comes 
 blessedness, perfection, peace. 
 
 If this be so, submission is a very sweet, and a 
 very natural thing. Not the submission of the stoic 
 who defiantly says to the waves and billows, "Come 
 on." But the submissiveness of love, that sees at a 
 glance that it must be better so. Trustfulness fla- 
 vors the bitterest cup. Trust in the wisdom that 
 fills that cup, trust in the love that puts it to our 
 lips. Triumjih is written over every trial, while 
 the trial lasts. Not only when it is over, but while, 
 in all its weight and heaviness, it is now at hand. 
 And this is the supreme victor}'. This is the Hima- 
 lavan height. This is our Moriah. The hand of 
 faith is lifted on high though it holds the gleaming 
 knife, and though our Isaac lies before. On that 
 loftiest height the final word is true, that this race 
 oi ours that suffers and is tried is raised above the 
 angels who never knew a sorrow and never felt a 
 care. God was not taken by surprise in Eden. A 
 universe will acknowledge that in Paradise. 
 
0 The Holy Spirit. ^ 
 
 These Men Are Full of New WiNE—Ach II: 13. 
 
 HT THE time these words were spoken there 
 occurred in the streets of Jerusalem the most 
 inexplicable and the most exciting scene of which, 
 perhaps, those famous streets had ever been witness. 
 There had just poured forth from one of its upper 
 rooms a company of one hundred and twenty men 
 and women, strangely filled with some m^'sterious 
 power, and endowed with marvelous skill in giving 
 expression to their ecstatic thought. Whatever the 
 dialect of an}' of the multitude just then thronging 
 the city may happen to be, from whatever land he 
 may have come, and however strange his speech, 
 some one of these one hundred and twenty can talk 
 to him., and tell him, in his "own tongue wherein 
 he was born," "the wonderful works of God." As 
 these s])eakers are dilating in so many tongues, 
 what they have to say seems only jargon to all their 
 listeners, save the few of the particular dialect in which 
 they are addressed. It is as though one hundred and 
 twenty men and women were standing on the cor- 
 ners of our streets this Sunday morning and speak- 
 ing, in as many languages as there were voices, in 
 animated and excited discourse. If one man was 
 
94 
 
 THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 silenced so summarily, a few weeks ago, what quick 
 disposition would be made were he multiplied by 
 one hundred and twenty ! Jerusalem was in tumult. 
 Nobody could understand the strange phenomenon. 
 No philosopher could give an explanation. And the 
 only theory that is placed on record is that of the 
 text: "These men are full of new wine." The^"^ are 
 stupidly drunk. This medley of voices on the streets 
 of Jerusalem is the maudlin muttering of gross in- 
 toxication. 
 
 One of the speakers, in a language they under- 
 stand, at once denies the charge. He gives two rea- 
 sons for the denial. The first ot them had more force 
 in his day than in ours. It was only nine o'clock 
 in the morning. Men did not, in those days, get 
 drunk so early as that. But the second reason of 
 the repudiation of the charge goes to the core of the 
 subject, and gives the key to the whole mj^'stery. 
 That scene of excitement, so unprecedented and so 
 intense, has its explanation. It has been planned 
 long before in the purpose of the Father, and fore- 
 told expressly, so that it is described as His peculiar 
 and prophetic promise — "the promise of the Father." 
 These men are filled, not with new wine, as they 
 have charged, but with the Holy Spirit whom God is 
 now about to "pour upon all flesh." They are not 
 drunk, put Spirit-filled. It is not an attack of intoxi- 
 cation, but the might of the Infinite, that rests upon 
 them, and clothes them with mystic power, and gives 
 them wondrous facility of speech. 
 
 Because this is so, the resultsthatday are as mar- 
 
THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 95 
 
 velous as the manner of the men. That Spirit in 
 His power moves not only upon the speakers so 
 matchlessly endowed, but upon the throng who lis- 
 tened and, before the night has fallen, the numbtr of 
 believers is multiplied into thousands, and em- 
 braces those of ever}' nationality and of every 
 tongue. Never such a day dawned on Jerusalem. 
 Never a night, after such a day, gathered over that 
 city. Three thousand more believers when that sun 
 went down than when that day began! A fire kin- 
 dled that should flame forth from that city and 
 some day, with heaven's light and life and love, 
 ignite the world! Pentecost! How it almost seems 
 to sound of the majestj^ and the might and the re- 
 sistlessness of the Spirit of the Lord! Good Friday, 
 the world's midnight. Pentecost, its everlasting 
 dawn. 
 
 The Person who wrought so wondrously that 
 day, is that Person of the Deity who applies to all 
 believers the resources of the Infinite, who imparts 
 God to man. God the Father gives Himself; God 
 the Son embodies the gift ; God the Spirit applies the 
 gift to all souls. He who "brooded over the wa- 
 ters" when the world was made, has been brooding 
 ever since, calling forth all that is highest and nob- 
 lest and best in humanity— the life-giving force in the 
 eternal moral creation of God. 
 
 Let me read you a parable that I discovered in 
 some periodical not long ago. 
 
 A Great Sculptor made a l)e,-iiil il'ul Image in clav. 
 And when it was finished. Necessity pressed upon it 
 
96 
 
 THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 and Toil bent it down. Famine pinched it and Tyr- 
 ann}' hammered it and Monopoly cast it out from 
 the ])laoe which the Sculptor had ordained. 
 
 It lay in the kennel, rejected and unclean. Theol- 
 ogy passed by on the other side and said, "See how 
 depraved it is,— it is fit only to be cast into the fire." 
 
 But Love lifted the figure up and wept over it; 
 and, as her tears fell upon the cla}-, it softened in her 
 arms, so that she smoothed out the bruises with her 
 hands. 
 
 Then Justice set it again in its place and men 
 said, "Behold, it was made in the image of God !" 
 
 Put for "Justice," in this parable, God the Holy 
 Spirit, and you have the office and the work of Him 
 who, at Pentecost, came with "the sound as of a 
 rushing mighty wind" and rested as "with cloven 
 tongues of fire" iipon each of the disciples. Everv 
 pure thought, every right desire, every noble asjiira- 
 tion, every ardent breathing of a human soul after 
 God, is the implantation of the divine Spirit. Each 
 is the product of His influence. Each alike is the 
 resultant of His presence, and the fruitage of His 
 power. 
 
 The "dispensation of the Spirit" is as eternal as 
 Himself. Before time began, while immortalitA' shall 
 last, that Spirit is ever at work upon the hearts and 
 minds of men, actuating all that is good, antago- 
 nizing all that is evil. It is the eternal now, in which 
 God moves upon the thoughts and inspires the ac- 
 tivities, and uplifts the souls of men — God, by His 
 Spirit, in ever present contact with humanity. The 
 Holy Spirit's dispensation began when man was 
 made, and continues while man shall exist, in any 
 
THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 97 
 
 world, in any age. Only eternity can circumscribe 
 God. All the ages are tli» arena of His ever present 
 Spirit. He who dwells in us, to incite to a.ll that is 
 good, to turn from all that is evil, has been doing 
 the same thing since Adam and Eve repented of 
 Eden's sin, and did what they could to repair the 
 wreck they had together made of humanity. The 
 same Spirit who inspired that pure thought or pur- 
 pose that came to you or me just now, perhaps, as 
 though out of the infinite spaces, inspired that walk 
 which Enoch took with God more than four thou- 
 sand years ago. He put into the bosom of Abraham 
 that resistless faith. He created that magnificent 
 specimen of manhood that was Egypt's pride and 
 Pharaoh's delight. He equipped the immortal leader 
 of Israel for his great life work. He was stirring the 
 hearts of the people when they brought their offei"- 
 ings so generously, and so enthusiastically, in the 
 wilderness, that Moses had to beseech them to re- 
 frain from giving. He filled with His presence the 
 heroes of that far ofi time, whose names are held in 
 highest honor as the author of Hebrews calls the 
 roll: "What shall I more .say? for the time will fail 
 me if I tell of Gideon and Barak and Samson and of 
 Jephthah; of David and Samuel and the prophets." 
 That mysterious character among them, the giant 
 of the flowing locks, comes down to us with an ex- 
 planation of the nn^stery of his wondrous strength 
 in the statement of the inspired histoi-ian, that, when 
 those deeds so marvelous were wrought by his 
 hands, "the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon 
 
98 
 
 THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 him." It was the power of that Spirit that clothed 
 the weak and sensual and selfish Samson, and made 
 him an avenger against Israel, and an instrument of 
 the overwhelming judgments of the Lord. His hair 
 was the symbol and the seal of the Spirit's power, 
 and when that was gone the Spirit was gone, and he 
 was a helpless child in the hands of his enemies, and 
 the giant of Zorah was divested of his strength. 
 
 In that long period of national decline and exile, 
 save in the message of the prophets, and their warn- 
 ing voice, few hearts were open to the influence of 
 the Spirit, and His presence was almost a thing un- 
 known. When the captives return and the walls of 
 the ruined city are rebuilt, then His presence is mani- 
 fest once more, and all the people have a mind to 
 work. The Spirit was the Creator of that willing 
 mind, the Maker of those glowing, earnest hearts. 
 Another long night intervened between the last of 
 the Old Testament prophets, and the coming of the 
 messenger of the Lord. It was the night again, 
 becaiise so few hearts were open, and so few lives 
 receptive of the Spirit of the Lord. When John the 
 Baptist lifted up his voice on Jordan'g banks, the 
 word of the angel of the Lord foretelling his birth 
 found fulfillment : "He shall be filled with the Holy 
 Spirit, even from his mother's womb." When our 
 divine Master enters upon his mission, and assumes 
 His life work, the Spirit, in the form of a dove, de- 
 scends and rests upon Him. His human nature 
 opens to the full and complete possession. 
 
 At this point, a strange and inexplicable circum- 
 
THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 99 
 
 stance occurs. During the earthly life of Jesus, when 
 the Spirit was dwelling in Him, that Spirit seems to 
 have been limited, in a degree, by that bodily pres- 
 ence of the Master. Not only was that Master con- 
 fined bv the flesh, but the Spirit also seemed to sub- 
 mit to the same limitation, and there were few exhi- 
 bitions, during those three years, save within the 
 boundaries of that wonderful life and its immediate 
 reach, of the presence and power of the Spirit. The 
 Master expressly says to His disciples, who, it any of 
 the sons of men, should have enjoyed the Spirit's 
 power, in such immediate contact and converse with 
 their Lord : "It is expedient for you that I go away: 
 for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come 
 untovou; but if I go, I will send him unto 3'ou." 
 The presence of the Spirit was thus conditioned abso- 
 lutely upon the bodily departure and absence of our 
 Lord. It looks as though, while the Master was in 
 the flesh, the Spirit, as I have just said, shared his 
 physical limitations, and was confined to the mate- 
 rial presence. In harmony with this theor}-, the 
 especial promise of the Master upon His departure, 
 is the return of His Spirit, the presence of the Com- 
 forter, the might and power of the Holy Ghost. This 
 is the promise of the Father that He makes so em- 
 phatic, and that He extends to that immediate cir- 
 cle of His disciples, in the midnight of their despair, 
 to be the sunshine of their hope. That promise was 
 fulfilled when the sound "as of a rushing mighty 
 wind" was heard, and when the "cloven tongues as 
 of fire sat upon each of them." The breath of the 
 
100 
 
 THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 Almijrhtv was wafted earthward. All tongues were 
 loosed, tliat every soul might speak and hear the 
 wonderful works of God. 
 
 And so that day of Pentecost has never ceased ; 
 its sun has never set. From that hour until this, 
 and on unto the consummation of the age, the word 
 of the Master finds fulfillment, and the Spirit has 
 come who shall abide with us for ever. His mission, 
 upon which He has entered, is outlined in those last 
 words of Jesus, as He was so soon to go awa}'. 
 When our minds are open, and our natures receptive. 
 He, as the Master .said, "teaches us all things; leads 
 us into all truth ; brings all things to our remem- 
 brance, whatsoever he has said unto us." This is 
 the work of the Spirit of God down through the 
 ages. Pentecost was its concentration, in mightiest 
 symbolism. Pentecost, with its "rushing, mighty 
 wind" and with its "cloven tongues of fire," pictured 
 on the canvass of a day the reality of all time. This 
 breath of the Almighty is the atmosphere in which 
 all pure thoughts are conceived, all noble purposes 
 inborn, all worthy deeds committed. The cloven 
 tongues are the final answer to that prayer of the 
 psalmist, "Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth 
 shall shew forth thy praise." It was a great day in 
 Jeru.saleni, because so many hearts and minds were 
 open to the incom.ing of the Lord. 
 
 The results of everv day are hinged upon this 
 alone condition. To what degree are we open to the 
 inflow and the indwelling of the Spirit of God In 
 the presence of that question, Pentecost ma}- be as 
 
THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 101 
 
 permanent as we please, and the wind may blow 
 with infinite blessing, and the tongues be loosed to 
 tell the old, old story with a pathosthat is ever new, 
 and a power that is puissant with the might of the 
 Most High. Just here the secrets of all spiritual 
 experience lie open. Here is the celestial rule of three. 
 As is the presence of the Spirit Who came on Pente- 
 cost to the degree of openness of a hu mail soul, so 
 are the anticipations of blessing to the results that 
 are wrought by the mighty ])ower of God. You 
 may have two needles in yonr hand, in a])pear- 
 ance and size alike. And yet one of those needles 
 may be a magnet that draws the particles of iron 
 irresistibly to itself. The other niav ])ossess no mag- 
 netism. One of them has been charged. Two men 
 or two women, so far as the world can sec, arc of 
 equal qualifications, of equal ca])acities, of identical 
 powers. The one draws, with the resistless ])ower 
 of love, all hearts to God. The other has no mag- 
 netism. The one has been charged. That soul 
 opened, in some glad hour, to the approaching 
 Spirit, and the electric force was given, and a new 
 life was begun. 
 
 You know the Mohammedans believe that the 
 prophet of Mecca was the Holy Ghost. In his per- 
 son the promise of the Comforter found fulfillment. 
 That sounds very much like blasphemy, like the sin 
 against the Holy Ghost for which "there is no for- 
 giveness." I wonder if that is the reason of thecurse 
 that rests upon Mohammedanism, the blight that 
 descends as a pall upon the nations wherever the 
 
102 
 
 THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 crescent may go. But there is a truth back of the 
 error, though the error be so gross and so revolting. 
 The revivalist, Gardiner, used to speak of those who 
 were filled with enthusiasm and zeal in Christian 
 work as Holy Ghost men and Holy Ghost 
 women. The language was coarse, but the idea was 
 scriptural. "Full of the Holy Ghost" is a Bible 
 phrase. It suggests the supreme height to which 
 humanity aspires. Jesus stood on the summit, and 
 so it could be said of Him, as of no other man, that 
 He was "full of the Holy Spirit." John the Baptist 
 climbed nearest Him, and so it was said that he was 
 greater because higher up than all that were ever 
 bom of women. The one hundred and twenty were 
 full of the Holy Ghost, and what a day that was! 
 
 My dear friends, I would that 3'ou and 1 might 
 be so open to the Spirit of God, so moved upon by 
 His resistless power, that the old charge against the 
 disciples might be revived and that the world might 
 think that we were drunk. I do not think there is 
 any danger. I would there were. And then I would 
 that some angel voice, like Peter's of old, might say : 
 " 'Men and brethren these are not drunken as ye sup- 
 pose!' but the Holy Spirit rests upon them, and they 
 are full of love and life and light. They have tasted 
 the new wine of the kingdom. A new day has 
 dawned. A new era has struck." All hail the bea- 
 tific intoxication ! 
 

 
 
 
 Praying, and /Waking 
 
 
 
 Prayers. 
 
 
 
 «^ «^ 
 
 
 And make prayers. — Luke V, jj. 
 
 RAYING and making a prayer are two ver^^ 
 different things. Making a prayer is machin- 
 ery. Prayingislayinghold on(iod. They who make 
 prayers are on the edges. They who pray are in the 
 inner courts, and stand within the holy of holies. 
 The two things, therefore, suggest at once the two 
 great types of religion— that which is on the out.side 
 and that which is within; that which floats like 
 waves upon the surface and that which moves like 
 the deep gulf stream far down beneath. Before the 
 establishment of our National banking system, when 
 bills were issued by the corporations authorized by 
 State laws, every merchant was supplied with a 
 pamphlet describing the appearance of the coun- 
 terfeit issues, and suggesting the method of their de- 
 tection. The ingenuity of the counterfeiter was so 
 great, and the field of his manipulations so vast, 
 under that system, that every man must be a student 
 along that j^articular line, and each mercantile house 
 
104 
 
 PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 a kind of committee of investigation. There was so 
 much of the counterfeit jx-issing from hand to hand as 
 well as the genuine issue of responsible and reliable 
 banks. So, it seems to me, is the need in the circula- 
 tion of the currency of the kingdom in these times of 
 ours. There is so much of the counterfeit passing 
 around, mixed with the genuine coin of the realm. 
 No National banking system, issuing one kind of in- 
 corruptible currenc}', has yet been established in the 
 realm of morals. From irresponsible sources so 
 much is floated on the ethical market that every 
 christian must needs resolve himself into an examin- 
 ing committee of one, and will require special qualifi- 
 cations and constant liclps to a skillful and wise de- 
 tection. It is to this necessity that the Master points, 
 when He says : " By their fruits ye shall know them." 
 
 We have, then, as suggested by this phrase of our 
 text, the two types of religion — the counterfeit and 
 the genuine coin — the artificial and the real. We have 
 been reading a great deal about "realism in ro- 
 mance." The object of Churches and Y. M. C. 
 As. and W. C. T. Us. and Y. P. S. C. Es., of all vol- 
 untary organizations of christian effort alike^ is to 
 discover, and bring into active operation, realism in 
 religion. A Pilate and a David wash their hands in 
 proferred innocency. A publican and a Pharisee alike 
 go up, with devout demeanor, to the house of God. 
 Satan quotes scripture as readily as the saints. An 
 Anna and a Jezebel both keep fasts. Devils believe as 
 confidently as the humblest disciples of our Lord. 
 The one believes and trembles, the other believes and 
 
PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 105 
 
 loves. As to their orthodoxy, they are on a level. 
 
 We are looking, therefore, for some means of detec- 
 tion — some sifting process — by which the artificial 
 may be separated from the real, and the false from 
 the true. In this search of the hour, we may find as- 
 sistance as we observe the contrasts that surrounded 
 the inquiry of our text. The disciples are a good deal 
 puzzled over the difference that they very plainly see 
 exists between the religion in which the Master is ed- 
 ucating them, and up to the exalted plane of which He 
 proposes to lead them, and the religion of the disci- 
 ples of John and the Pharisees — who "fast often and 
 make ijrayers." In no little anxiety and perturba- 
 tion of mind, they are asking the Master about it. 
 The problem that gives them so much trouble is the 
 problem of every age. Why this difference? Why 
 these two things always commingled in human life? 
 The artificial and the real. The counterfeit and the 
 true. 
 
 The question is a deep one. The philosophy of it 
 is among the mysteries of the kingdom. The fact is 
 palpable, and its universalitv, in the present order of 
 things, is not a question of (lisi)utc. 
 
 Let us look at the distinguishing marks upon these 
 two kinds of coin. Let us observe the differences 
 whereby we may detect the lalse and discover the 
 true, and tell at once the artificial and the real. 
 Overagainst the system of religion of the Christ, those 
 disciples, in their inquiry, place two .systems, that of 
 thedisciples of John the Bn])tist and that of the Phari- 
 sees. The system of John the Baptist, when he gave it. 
 
106 PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 wasallright. It had the true ring. It wasthe genuine 
 coin, bearing the stamp of the kingdom. It soHdified 
 on this central principle — repentance for the remission 
 of sins. It needed only the cope.stone of faith. One 
 touch of the Master's hand, and the building would be 
 complete. But the disciples of John, when John was 
 put in prison, took lesson of the Pharisees, and ran the 
 system of their imprisoned leader in the same groove. 
 And so the_v are classified together, and there were 
 not three types of religion in their catalogue, but two 
 only. The two were distinguished both b}' their in- 
 herent qualities, and by the object they had in view. 
 By what the}' were, and by what they proposed to 
 accomplish in the hearts and lives of men. 
 
 They were contrasted in their controlling qualities. 
 The one contained a series of ceremonies and forms 
 that were to be observed for their own sake. The 
 ceremonies and the forms ends in themselves. To 
 "fast often" and to "make prayers" was of the es- 
 sence of religion. The observation of ceremony, fidel- 
 ity to form, these were the fundamentals. To make 
 clean the outside of the cup was a finality. To 
 whiten a sephulchre was to disinfect the corruption 
 that was inside of it. Ceremony and form for their 
 own sake. That was the first step. 
 
 Then there was a thoroughly hide bound ecclesias- 
 ticism. They claimed the regular organization from 
 Abraham down. Voluntary associations for relig- 
 ious work would find in Phariseeism a cold day. 
 Everything was subordinated to keeping up the reg- 
 ular order, and all that came in the way of religious 
 
PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 107 
 
 ministrations must come that channel. It was, 
 as before, the outward and the material for their own 
 sake. Ecclesiastical order took precedence over the 
 salvation of souls. First regularitv, then better men 
 and women. 
 
 And, in the same spirit, this system, distinguished 
 b}' the disciples from the system of the Christ, set 
 sound theology above saving faith. They cared 
 vastly more that men should think as they did, than 
 that they should do ever}' time the right thing. They 
 were more concerned for their philosophy than for 
 their faith. For what they believed than for how 
 they behaved. 
 
 These, then, were the characteristics of the system 
 as a system — form and ceremony for their own sake, 
 ecclesiastical order as a finality, soundness of doc- 
 trine as of the essensc and substance of religion. 
 
 Opposed to these controlling characteristics that 
 mark the counterfeit coin we may trace the qualities 
 of the authorized currency of tlie realm. Now we 
 have the form and the ceremony as instrumentalities 
 to the end beyond— no longer as the essence of, but 
 as helps to, devotion. The stately and cultured lit- 
 urgy now ministers to reverence and thoughtfulness 
 in prayer. The beauties of art ins])ire to the higher 
 beauty of holiness. Tlie melody of music and of song 
 become the refrain of the higher harmonies of spirit, 
 where the u])lift of the soul is in sweet attune with 
 its Ciod. The evil is not in the form l)ut in the ])ur- 
 ])ose tor which the form is used. 'I'his differentiates 
 the artificial from the real, the false from the true. 
 
108 PHAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 We trace the same distinction as to the attitude of 
 the church as an outward and visible organization. 
 It is no longer a finality — the ultimatum of the soul 
 within. We are not now made religious b}* being 
 members of the church, but we are made members of 
 the church by being religious. These are two oppo- 
 site and contradictory things. The church is import- 
 ant as an instrumentality, as a means, but no longer 
 vital as an end. It is not a palace of perfected saints, 
 but a hospital of imperfect sinners. It is not a con- 
 servatory where every plant is in luxuriant bloom, 
 but a garden where ever}' germ is growing and will 
 blossom, if not now, then by and bye. Its regula- 
 tions and laws are not an alphabet displayed for the 
 beaut}- of the letters, the symmetry and grace of their 
 foi-m, but a very plain alphabet with which we may 
 spell the final word l-o-v-e. 
 
 A sound theology is still important. Knowledge, 
 accurate and clear, is helpful to all that is highest and 
 best, but it is not the essential, the decisive thing. 
 As with regard to church membershi]), we may re- 
 peat the principle, men are not religious because they 
 are orthodox, but they are orthodox because they 
 are religious. The more truth the better everywhere 
 in every relation of life, only this is to be remembered, 
 that truth in the heart immeasurably outweighs, in 
 the scales of the eternities, tnith in the head. The 
 great Napoleon was an excellent theologian. This is 
 said to have been his confession of faith: "My religion 
 is very simple. I look at this universe, so vast, so com- 
 plex, so magnificent, and I sa}' to myself that it can- 
 
PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 109 
 
 not be the result of chance, but the work, however in- 
 tended, of an unknown, ouinipotcnt Being, as superior 
 to man as the universe is superior to the finest ma- 
 chines of human invention." A faultless theology. 
 What was the matterof it ? It was theory in exile at 
 St. Helena. Not practice on the plains of Austerlitz 
 and Waterloo. 
 
 The posture of all true religion is this: (5et all the 
 truth you can. Think as unerringly. Believe as cor- 
 rectly. And then put truth into your life. Live your 
 orthodoxy. Make your theology a vital, ever-pres- 
 ent force in societv, and a motive power in human 
 affairs. 
 
 We thus distinguish these two tvpes of religion, 
 these contradictory S3'stems, by what they are. 
 
 Let us still further follow the line of cleavage as we 
 recall the wholly different objects, for the attainment 
 of which, under these opposite systems, men and 
 women are religious. The artificial and the counter- 
 feit is employed, always, for the purpose of covering 
 up something. The genuine and the real, for letting 
 out the best that is in us, and giving it ample play. 
 When a man resorts to the one he has something he 
 wants to hide. He wants to serve the devil in some 
 way. and he "steals the livery of heaven" that he 
 may render the service more gracefully. Perhaps he 
 is very worldly and absorbed in the pleasures of the 
 world. He wants to conceal this with the garb of 
 religion, "That he may a])pcar unto men to fast." 
 He may have some darling ambition. It mav seem 
 surer of attainment if he passes in society for a 
 
110 PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. 
 
 churchman. And so he puts on the cloak. Or he may 
 have been guilty of some heinous crime. Though the 
 law and the courts never got hold of him, perhaps he 
 is an escaped convict from the penitentiarj' of con- 
 science, and he fears everybody wiW see the brand 
 upon his soul. He seeks a hiding place in religious 
 observances and church going, so that he may look a 
 little better, and, in his own sight, perhaps, appear a 
 little cleaner. 
 
 This was the motive, clear as daylight, down in the 
 heart of those old Pharisees. Thev were abominable 
 rascals, and the}' knew it. He who wasmild of 
 manner and gentle of speech, said thev were a "gen- 
 eration of vipers," and the snake element was forever 
 manifesting itself. But they thought they could hide 
 away all this vileness and get the viper out of sight. 
 That they, whose father was the devil, could pass for 
 those whose father was God — "God is our Father." 
 The Saviour simply stripped oft" this garment, and 
 showed them to the world just as they were. They 
 have appeared ever since in their true colors, and 
 have come down in history the representative hypo- 
 crites of the ages. 
 
 True religion has nothing to cover, nothing to con- 
 ceal. It has no skeleton for which a closet must be 
 prepared in the enclosure of the soul. Xo stolen 
 goods for which it would construct a safety vault. 
 No vices it would varnish, no spots it needs to dis- 
 guise. It becomes roligidus not that it may cover it- 
 self up, but that, in oftering and sacrifice, it may let 
 itself out. No longer concealment, but expression. 
 
PRAYING, AND MAKING PRAYERS. Ill 
 
 Not hiding awa}-, but coming out into the sunshine. 
 
 And then, there is the additional contrast in this, 
 that the artificial and the false centres in selfish en- 
 joyment and aspiration ; the honest and the true 
 goes forth in purest service to humanity. The one is 
 religious because it loves itself. The other because it 
 loves its fellow^ and its God. The aim of the one is to 
 get the soul through. It is a kind of ticket, issued 
 professedly for a passage to the skies. It is religious 
 for the sake of getting to heaven. The other 
 would make a heaven down here. Keeping itself 
 pure and doing good to men. 
 
 The extraordinary judicial qualities of the peerless 
 king in Jerusalem, tradition tells us, were once tested 
 in this way. Two large clusters ol flowers, the one 
 artificial and the other real, were held before him at 
 the opposite end of the room, and the king was to 
 decide as to the fact. "Open the windows," said Sol- 
 omon, "and let in the bees." The clusters of flowers 
 of these two types of religion lie before us. How 
 shall we distinguish them ? Let in the bees of daily 
 dutjs of humblest toil, of lowliest service. It wont 
 take them long to find the honey. 
 
 Mahmoud, the concpieror of India, found at Somnat 
 a great idol, and cried to his followers : "Destroy it." 
 The Brahmins fell before him, pleading : "Spare our 
 god Somnat, and we will give thee gold, pearls and 
 jewels of rarest lustre." The command was given 
 again, "Destroy it," and with the blow there 
 flowed forth from within it pearls, jewels and choic- 
 est gold, a hundred fold more than the ransom terri- 
 
112 
 
 PRAYING, AND MAKING PHAYERS. 
 
 fied Brahmins had proposed. True reli^on smites 
 the image of worldliness and sin, and dashes it to 
 the earth. It finds "manifold more in this present 
 time, and in the world to come life everlasting." 
 
 As we draw this contrast today, do we not feel like 
 sitting down with ourselves and asking, at the door 
 of our own hearts, "which of these two kinds of re- 
 ligion have we got ? " In the commerce of the eter- 
 nities, are we circulating the counterfeit or the gen- 
 uine coin ? Are we religious for the sake of happi- 
 ness, or are we happy because we are religious? Are 
 we church members to cover up something and, if 
 possible, slide in at last? Or is religion the atmos- 
 phere of our soul, the vital air of spirit, heaven be- 
 gun below ? 
 
One /Wore Appeal to Men. 
 
 And I SOUGHT for a man among thkm, that 
 
 SHOULD MAKIC UP THK HEDGE, AND STAND IN THE 
 GAP BP:K0KE MK I'OK THK LAND, THAT I SHOUI,D 
 NOT DESTROY IT, BUT I FOUND NONR. — Hzck. 
 
 XXII, 30. 
 
 ♦fF DESIRE to present to any of my non-church- 
 II going friends, more es])ecially of my own sex, 
 who, in i-esponse to my invitation, may be present 
 to-day, a wholly unimpassioned and emotionless 
 argument. I shall aim to address you as though I 
 were arguing a case before a judge rather than be- 
 fore ajur}'. Where all apjical to sentiment shall be 
 in abej-ance, and only the cold logic of the case shall 
 be the subject of consideration and thought. 
 
 I desire also, in this argument, to-daj-, to eliminate 
 the preacher from the problem, his interests or happi- 
 ness, however intimately they may be involved. I 
 have many times made to you an appeal from that 
 standpoint. You know already, just as well as I, 
 what a source of regret, and of anxiety as well, your 
 absence from the sanctuary always must be to the 
 preacher. Not only on your own account, but also 
 on his own. The inference he cannot avoid must be 
 that his preaching is not sufficiently interesting to 
 
114 
 
 ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 render your attendance upon it a pleasure. That 
 goes without sa^'ing. Dismissing, therefore, alto- 
 gether, the personal wishes and interests of the 
 preacher, and avoiding all questions of religious sen- 
 timent and spiritual emotion, I propose to present to 
 you to-day an argument based, as I believe, upon 
 principles that yovt will not call in question, and 
 that, if you will consent to give them your candid 
 and careful attention, may induce your conscience to 
 a change, and ma}' lead 3'ou, as honorable and 
 manlv men, to what I believe you will see to be the 
 only honorable and manly thing. 
 
 My first proposition then is that you will accept 
 as fundamental to all true religion, to all happy rela- 
 tions between man and man, the principle that v'ou 
 should always "put j-ourself in his place," whose 
 interests you are considering, and ^-our relations to 
 whom are the present question of morals. You 
 will come to a right conclusion just so far as 3'ou do 
 this one thing— put yourself in his place. Confucius, 
 the old Chinese philosopher, some four hundred 
 vears, I believe, before Christ, put this principle in 
 these words: "Whatsoever ye would not that men 
 should do to you, do ye not to them." A wiser Phi- 
 losopher, four hundred years after, lifted that prin- 
 ciple to a still higher plane, put it in the affirmative 
 form, and, sweeping the whole range of morals, said : 
 "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, 
 do ye even so unto them." "Put yourself in his 
 place." 
 
 I am sure, at the outset of this argument, that v'ou 
 
ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 115 
 
 will not demur to this proposition, that this is the 
 fundamental principle of all our relations with men 
 in society, and in the daily 'intercourse of life. I am 
 sui-e that you are making it your aim to live in har- 
 mony with this principle, and that you hope sin- 
 cerely to embody it, as a controlling influence, in 
 your character and conduct. You expect other men 
 to live in obedience to it, and, as a mere matter of 
 justice and equity, you intend to do it yourself. No 
 appeal from me is necessary to urge the principle. It 
 would be wholl3^ out of place for me to advise its ac- 
 ceptance. You have accepted it already at the bar 
 of conscience, and you recognize its imperative and 
 its imperial and imperious demands. You are en- 
 deavoring to bow to them, as an u])right, good 
 man, in business, in society, and in the afi'airs of 
 every day. You are, in each new relation into 
 which you may be brought, and at each new point 
 of contact with your fellow men, asking the cjues- 
 tion. What would I have them do to me? and you 
 are, so far as you tire true to your own purpose, 
 and honest with yourself, doing that to them. This 
 is wholly ajjart from any spiritual or religious con- 
 siderations. You may be wholly uninterested in 
 these. You may have dismissed them altogether, 
 from your thought. "Business is business," and 
 you have cared for no separate or higher plane. 
 But, on that plane, you have long ago concluded 
 that the best way to work out the i)rol)lem of life is 
 to do it on this basis, and to conduct your l)nsiness, 
 and to direct your affairs, on this principle that, if 
 
116 ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 you do not attempt to do unto men as 3'ou would 
 have them do unto you, the\' will not make any 
 attempt to do it, and eytrj'thing will be at sixes and 
 sevens. Down, therefore, on the material plane of 
 business interests, of pacific relations in society, and 
 the bare necessity of getting along as well as we 
 can with men, you accept this principle, and vou 
 recognize the propriety of putting yourself in his 
 place. That is m}' first proposition. 
 
 Secondly, I am alike sure that you desire the con- 
 tinuance, in your community, and in every commun- 
 ity' of men, of the Christian church as an out- 
 ward and visible organization You desire this 
 just as sincerely and just as heartily as any who 
 are contributing their part to its continued exist- 
 ence, and, by their habitual presence, are doing their 
 share to i)reserve it from ultimate extinction. You 
 may have no interest whatever in denominational 
 issues. You may not care whether the church, as an 
 institution in society, is Episcopalian, or Baptist, or 
 Alethodist, or Presbyterian. Indeed, you may be 
 wholly indifferent whether it is Romanist or Prot- 
 estant. But vou want the church, in some form, to 
 continue, just as much as the most persistent church 
 goer in this town. Y ou know very well, without my 
 saving it, that vour factory would not be safe, your 
 business would be fatally imperilled, y-our store, and 
 vour ware room, and your office, and your house, 
 would l)e at the mercy of a mo]), if there were no 
 church in Sandy Hill. You wouldn't have the church 
 go out of existence for anything in the world. You 
 
ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 117 
 
 think it is a good thing. You consider it a safeguard 
 to society, a protection to property, and a helpful 
 factor in restraining men and women from criminal 
 courses, in discouraging them from general mean- 
 ness, and from many perverse and abominable 
 things. You may have a very unfavorable opinion 
 of some church members in the concrete, you may 
 have had some very unsatisfactory experiences with 
 them, and you may have found them very unrelialjle 
 and slippery, but that does not go to the heart of 
 the question, and the church, in the abstract, has 
 your unqualified and loyal support. Very probably 
 you give a great deal of money to its material sup- 
 port, and assist very generously to pay its bills, to 
 liquidate its mortgages, and to meet its ever recur- 
 ring obligations. All this is because you want the 
 church to keep on, and hope for its continued exist- 
 ence as a beneficial institution in socictv, and an 
 excellent hospital for the morallv sick and woimdcd, 
 while you who are so well have no need of its minis- 
 tration. As a moral force, you believe in it just as 
 sincerely as I, or any of your neighbors. This is my 
 second proposition. 
 
 Thirdly, 3'ou are aware that there is a considerable 
 portion of this community, as of the communities 
 around and be^'ond us, who, by their habitual pres- 
 ence and co-operation, are contributing their full 
 share to the sustentation and continuance of the 
 Christian church, as an outward and visible organi- 
 zation. 
 
 This portion consists largely, it is true, of women. 
 
118 
 
 ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 The fact is easily accounted for on two grounds. 
 Finst, women are generally better than men, and 
 more inclined to the highest and best things. They 
 are more elevated in their instincts, and more spir- 
 itual in their frame. And, secondly, whenever any 
 good work is undertaken, whenever any move- 
 ment of reform is inaugurated, any measure for 
 the benefit or amelioration of mankind, women, as a 
 natural thing, are in the majority. There are a 
 great many excellent women in the \V. C. T. U. And 
 a great company of others who, while not enrolled 
 in its membership, are in heartiest sympathy, and 
 most constant co-oi)cration, with its activities and 
 aims. An M. C. T. U. has not yet been proposed, so 
 far as I am aware. The contrast is significant. In 
 the most vital reform of the age women are far on 
 in the van. Men have not started. And so it is a 
 wholly congruous circumstance that, in this portion 
 of socict}' that are actively .sustaining the Christian 
 church, there is a large preponderance of women. 
 But with the gallant and noble women there is a 
 goodly band of excellent and exem])lary men, who 
 stand high in the community, who are among its 
 most intelligent, infiuential and honored members. 
 Active and cai ncst and faithful, as they are, in every 
 good word and work, they are the pillars of the 
 church, and thev are consecrating their best energies 
 and ])owers to its jjrescrvation and perpetuity. And 
 vou, I may he pcrniiLted to say, with all your heart, 
 honor and love them for it. 
 Now' this portion of the community of which I 
 
ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 119 
 
 speak, is sustaining the church, as an outward and 
 visible institution, many times at great self-sacrifice, 
 and often at severe cost. The preaching to vi'hich they 
 listen is sometimes very poor. The music, sometimes, 
 grates like jargon on their ears. Sometimes, on 
 Sunday morning, after a hard and laborious v^'eek, 
 the}- are very tired and seem to need a rest, of which 
 they have been deprived. Sometimes they would 
 like very much a day of recreation ; a ride ])erhaps on 
 their wheel into the countr}', or a quiet sojourn in 
 some retreat among the hills or mountains, or along 
 the lake shore, or the sea side. But, notwithstand- 
 ing all these, there they ai^e, in their ])laccs, as regu- 
 lar as the ticking of the clock, by their presence sus- 
 taining, and by their active co-operation ui)holding, 
 the appointed service of the house of God. They are, 
 to the utmost of their influence, contributing to the 
 continued existence of the Christian church. 
 
 Now the one thing, more than any other, that im- 
 pedes their work ; the one thing, more than anv 
 other, that threatens it with defeat, and that threat- 
 ens the church they are endeavoring to sustain with 
 extinction, is the absence of so many intelligent, cul- 
 tured, upright, manly men from the service of the 
 sanctuary, where the vacant spaces protest against 
 the gross incongruity, and cry ()ut against the great 
 injustice. Your absence, my brother men, is the clog 
 on the wheel, the ball and chain at their feet, the 
 high wall close up against them that they arc power- 
 less to surmount. If they fail to uphold the church, 
 if they do not succeed in their self-sacrificing, noble 
 
120 
 
 ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 work, the crime against humanity and against God 
 will be laid at your door. Put yourself, therefore, 
 in their place. "Whatsoever ye would that men 
 should do unto you, do you even so unto them." 
 Suppose that 3'ou were engaged, with all your heart, 
 in that great, good work. And suppose that they 
 were the great impediment in your path, the one 
 great hindrance in your way. What would 3'ou 
 want them to do? Do that. The preaching to 
 which you listen may not measure up to the high 
 standard of intellectuality and spiritual grasp that 
 your mental make-up seems to require. Perhaps it 
 would not, if you did the pixaching yourself The 
 music may not meet the requirements of your culti- 
 vated and exacting taste. Perhaps it would 
 not, were you the player or the singer. You may 
 be very tired with a hard week's work. You 
 may very much ])refer, many times, a da3''s recrea- 
 tion and fun, to an hour and a halfs dut\% and a 
 personal obligation ccpiitably and fairly discharged. 
 But this is the argument. Your fundamental princi- 
 ple of morals, by which you are purposing to mould 
 vour life, is embodied iu that maxim you unquali- 
 fiedly and heartily accept, to do as you would be 
 done by. Your neighbors, by their presence and co- 
 oi)eration, are continuing the existence in our town 
 of the Christian church. Its existence you believe to 
 be vital to the best interests of the community, to 
 the safety of society, and to the permanence of our 
 free institutions. Your habitual absence is the great 
 danger that hangs over them. If you were doing 
 
ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 121 
 
 this thing you would want them to dissipate that 
 cloud, and turn in and help you before the whole 
 project proved a failure, and everything went to 
 pieces in your hands. On your own principle of mor- 
 als,! rest my argument. 
 
 And then I take that fundamental principle of 
 yours, to which you will not prove disloyal, and I 
 carry it another step. I make a still closer and more 
 direct application. However important you 
 may regard 3'our business interests, as they are to- 
 day reposed in your hands, your factory, or your 
 store, or your office, or your farm, you know, down 
 in your heart, that more important than all these is 
 the existence of the Christian church, and that, 
 whether 3'ou act upon the theory or not, the King- 
 dom of God is primal, and is ever the first thing to 
 besought. Now let us come down to the inferior 
 plane of your business, or financial, interests, your 
 factory, or store, or office, or farm. These that are 
 of far less importance than the interests that are at 
 stake in the preservation and permanence of the 
 Christian church, as I am sure you will be frank to 
 admit. Now supppose thatby sitting one hour and a 
 half each week in your factory, or store, or office, or 
 on your farm, these church goers, however unpleas- 
 ant it might be to them to do it, and however much 
 they might prefer to do something else, suppose that 
 by sitting there they could further the interests 
 of your busniess, and promote the success of vour 
 factory, or store, or office, or farm, and suppose they 
 wouldn't do it, what would you think of them? 
 
122 
 
 ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 And what would you think of their conduct? What 
 would you think of them and of their conduct in this 
 inferior realm, this lower sphere, of material and 
 perishable things ? The realm of financial interests, 
 the sphere of business success? How unkind, how 
 thoughtless, how inconsiderate would these church 
 goers be, if they would not devote one hour and a 
 half out of 168 to help along your business, and in- 
 sure your financial success! Put yourself in their 
 place. Do as you would be done by. In the higher 
 realm of the enduring and the permanent, in the 
 sphere of immortal interests and the true riches, in 
 comparison with which the success of factories and 
 stores and offices and farms you yourself believe all 
 fade away, these church goers are upholding the pil- 
 lars of society ; the}' are holding back the flood gates 
 of immorality and crime ; they are consecrating 
 their best energies and powers to the preservation 
 and the perpetuation of that one institution or- 
 dained of God to protect communities from chaos, 
 and society from dissolution. If you would expect 
 that hour and a half from them if it aided your busi- 
 ness, and insured your greater financial success, will 
 you not acce]5t the full force of the argument and, 
 where interests are vitally more important to them 
 and to vou and to the world, will 3'ou not give them 
 the hour and a half that will change discouragement 
 into elation, and that will convert those vacant 
 spaces that threaten extinction into occupied pews, 
 whose occupants are, at whatever sacrifice or cost, 
 and however unpleasant it may sometimes be, and 
 
ONE MORE APPEAL TO MEN. 
 
 123 
 
 however more pleasant some other thing might be 
 in its stead, whose occupants are putting themselves 
 in the place of those whose claims the}' had forgot- 
 ten, for a time, and are doing unto them as they 
 would that they should do in return ? 
 
 The condition, and not the theory, we to-day con- 
 front is a serious one. It is not so desperate as in 
 the davs of Ezekiel. The text says that he "sought 
 for a man among them that should make up the 
 hedge, and stand in the gap before (him) for the 
 land, that (God) should not destroy it; but (he) 
 found none.'' To-day, as I have said, associated 
 with the worthy and excellent women, there is a 
 noble company of men who are helping them to 
 "make up the hedge and stand in the gap." But 
 there are others. To these I present the argument I 
 have endeavored to weave out of the warp and woof 
 of logic and of fact, without an ornamental thread 
 of sentiment or fancy. As I said, at the outset of the 
 discussion, I make my argument as in the presence 
 of a judge sitting on the bench. It is wholly unim- 
 passioncd, and free from personalities and pathetic 
 appeal. It is a question wholly of equit}' and jus- 
 tice. It pertains to fundamental morals. My non- 
 church going friends, whom I make my judges this 
 day, will- you not take this argument, and, if its 
 successive links hold together, if it warrants, by 
 rigid logic, the conclusion it presents, will you not 
 give your decision with judicial impartiality, and, in 
 accordance with that decision, determine the action 
 of the court ? 
 
(s)@ 
 
 ....Foreign Missions.... 
 
 WW 
 
 I WAS IN PRISON AND YE CAME UNTO ME. — Matt. 
 XXV, J6. 
 
 HE impressiveness of our Master's word, in His 
 
 picture of the ever present judgment, consists in 
 His identification of Himself with the least and the 
 lowest of those of whom He speaks. "Inasmuch as^'C 
 have done it unto one of the least of these my breth- 
 ren, ye have done it unto me." He and the hungry 
 are one personality. "I was hungry." He and the 
 thirsty arc an identity. "I was thirsty." And so 
 each of the suffering, and the distressed he carries 
 upon His infinite heart. Each one is Himself. What 
 we do to each we do to Him. This is the supreme 
 finality. This is essential judgment. The 'judg- 
 ment seat of Clirisl, " of which Paul speaks, before 
 which we must all appear, is this identification of 
 Master and disciple — this oneness of every soul we 
 touch with its Lord. We shall receive, every man, 
 "the deeds done in the body," because these deeds 
 are done, every one, to the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
 terminate every onr in Tlim. This is the judgment 
 the Scrijjtures teach. All else is figurative. This is 
 final fact. The decision is to-day. The judgment is 
 
126 
 
 FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 now and here. The way we live is the Master say- 
 ing, Come ye blessed, Depart ye cursed ; Inherit the 
 kingdom. Go into the fire. 
 
 I wish to bring this tremendous fact of the eterni- 
 ties—the most tremendous in the whole scope of hu- 
 man thought, the most tremendous in the whole 
 revelation of the thought of God — right up close to 
 ovir conscience to-day, and apply it to the cause of 
 Foreign Misions. If we can linger for a little while 
 in this exalted realm, there will be no danger of the 
 flippant remarks that we haven't any interest in 
 Foreign Missions, nor the still more senseless dismis- 
 sion of the subject with, Charity begins at home. 
 Suppose it does. Is charity the only thing in this 
 world that makes a beginning and stops right where 
 it began ? Ever^'thing else begins and goes on. 
 Does charity begin, and never do anything but be- 
 gin ? Oh, if 3^ou onh^ knew it, charit\' is wondrous 
 in its expansiveness, in its outgoingness, in its pour- 
 ing itself forth in never ceasing tide. For this is its 
 nature. It is, as the peerless Drummond said, "The 
 greatest thing in the world" for the ver\' reason that 
 if it ever begins, at home or anywhere else, next door 
 or in the antipodes, it goes on with an acceleration 
 known by no other force in this universe, and with 
 an expansiveness that no opposition can daunt, and 
 no maltreatment chill. It went out from the 
 heart of God, and it has been ever since that resist- 
 less, rising, whelming tide that shall embrace all 
 souls that are willing, and all Hves that are true. 
 Let it begin at home. But when it begins, if it is the 
 
FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 127 
 
 real thing, it can't help but go on. It is its nature 
 to do it. But that is aside from thesuVyect. I de- 
 sire to place this appeal for Missions on so high a 
 plane to-day, that we shall shudder to suggest a 
 side issue, and shall not presume to question the 
 supremacy and the imperiousness of its claims. 
 
 At the International Congregational Council in 
 Boston, Dr Lawson, the late president of the Amer- 
 ican Board, had been appointed to address the Coun- 
 cil, assembled from many lands, on the theme, "The 
 Permanence of the Motive in Missionary Work." Dr. 
 Lawson was called awa}' by death. Dr. Storrs was 
 appointed in his place, and when Dr. Storrs rises to 
 speak on Foreign Missions, then the flood gates are 
 loosened, and eloquence and pathos and glowing ap- 
 peal pour forth in a resistless, an exhaustless tide. 
 Then the high water mark of sacred orator\' is 
 reached, and the hour of twelve has struck. 
 
 Dr. Storrs finds the Permanence in the Motive in 
 the threefold fact of man's universal need, the suffi- 
 ciency of the divine supply, and its willing and am- 
 ple bestowal in the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 To-day we will go back of this, and find the basis of 
 the motive itself in the identification of the Lord 
 Jesus with humanity. His oneness with ever3' child 
 of man. What we do for Foreign Missions, in the 
 focal light of that fact, we do for Jesus; and he 
 speaks to us to-day with all the emphasis of the 1 800 
 years that have passed between: "Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these my breth- 
 ren, ye have done it unto me." 
 
128 
 
 FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 We might enforce this essential principle, this fact 
 that lies at the foundation, by any of the six analo- 
 gies our Saviour employs with which to impress His 
 searching thought. The great mass of humanity, who 
 represent the Lord Jesus, are the hungry, famishing 
 for the bread of life, which we have in our 
 hands to give. They are athirst, waiting for us to 
 pour out the living water. They are strangers, oh, 
 how far away, how remote, how little known to us, 
 many times because we have not cared to know — 
 these strangers whp are Jesus Christ I They are 
 "naked," and we hold in our possession the spot- 
 less robe. They are sick, ah so sick, and we can take 
 them to the great Physician, and make sure 
 the healing balm. These christs out in all the world. 
 But there seems a peculiar pathos in the sixth of 
 the celestial suggestions, the analogies right from 
 the hol\' lips, and the infinite Heart. Those who 
 stand for the Lord Jesus Christ, those with whom 
 He identifies Himself, to whom what we do, we do 
 to Him, are "in prison," and this call in an annual 
 collection puts to us each one the question, in all 
 seriousness, and in all solemnity, shall we come 
 unto Him .'' Shall it be true, "I was in prison, and ye 
 came unto me ?" 
 
 It is this sixth analogy conceived in the Master's 
 impressive thought, that especially emphasizes the 
 claim of Foreign Missions. We may think of the 
 hungry and the thirsting, the sick and the stranger 
 and the naked as close by us, standing, forsooth, at 
 our door. But the man or the woman who is in 
 
FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 129 
 
 prison is far away from us, living in a different world, 
 representing a wholly different realm, with whom 
 there is no point of contact with respectability and 
 order and law— whom we banish as the vicious and 
 the criminal class. When we come to him who is in 
 prison we have stepped wholly out of the range of 
 our silliness when we were wont to say "charity be- 
 gins at home" as though the fact that it began in 
 that particular place were excuse sufficient and war- 
 rant ample for it to end at the point where it "began. 
 
 The analogy suggests distance. It bids us lift up 
 our eyes and look far away and far on, and there see 
 the least of our Master's brethren, to whon what we 
 do, we do unto Him. And when we heed the sum- 
 mons, how closel}^ still the analogy applies! These 
 that are in prison ! These the lowest and the least ! 
 In ignorence and darkness, victims of the long ages of 
 degradation and superstition, where, from genera- 
 tion to generation, the curse has been handed down, 
 accumulating in its burden of helplessness and inhu- 
 manity, as the ages have rolled along. The prison 
 house of the world's dark night. 
 
 In her work for Foreign Missions, the church comes 
 to men and women who are in galling chains, the 
 manacles upon their wrists, the shackles upon their 
 feet, the yoke of humiliation upon their shoulders — 
 where, if the gospel she proclaims shall accomplish 
 its mission, it will be a work such as Dr. Storrs so 
 thrillingly describes. "Where the woman, intemper- 
 ate, in harlotry, in despair, has been lifted to renewed 
 womanhood, as the pearl oyster is brought up with 
 
130 
 
 FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 its precious contents from the slimy ooze; where the 
 man whose lips had been charged with the foulest 
 blasphemy has become the preacher of the gospel of 
 light and love and peace and hope to others, his for- 
 mer comrades; where the feet that were swift to do 
 evil have become beautiful on the mountains as pub- 
 lishing salvation. We have seen these things in indi- 
 viduals and in communities, in the roughest frontier 
 mining camp, where every door opened into a saloon 
 or a brothel or a gambling table. We have seen the 
 same thing on a larger scale in the coral islands, 
 scenes of savage massacre and of cannibal riot and fe- 
 rocity, where the church has been planted and christ- 
 ian fellowship has been established and maintained." 
 
 The work of Foreign Missions, in its essence, in its 
 inmost trend, is this act of which the Master's anal- 
 ogy speaks so clearly and so forcefully — it is the min- 
 istry of love to those that are "in prison," the least 
 of the Master's brethren. Himself in a dungeon cell! 
 It takes love to do that work. Indestructable, inex- 
 tinguishable love; yes, the divine passion, when it is 
 baptised with the spirit of Christ, love that seeketh 
 not its own, can go to humanity that is "in prison," 
 that, in the confinement of the centuries, the chains 
 and yoke of ignorance and vice welded through the 
 ages, is almost on the plane of the brute creation, 
 and, in that cold, dark cell of utterest helplessness, 
 can recognize the Christ, and see Him in the least of 
 these His brethren. The hand of sympathy, the touch 
 of help, that lifts up that lone prisoner in the cell of 
 grossest abandonment, of darkest superstition, is the 
 
FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 131 
 
 hand that clasps in that touch the hand of its Lord, 
 and hears Him say, "Inasmuch as ye have done it un- 
 to one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have 
 done it unto me." This is the genius of Foreign Mis- 
 sions. President McKinley, in his great speech, at 
 Chicago, said: "from Plymouth Rock to the Philip- 
 ines the grand triumphal march of human liberty has 
 never paused." I hear the footsteps of a more au- 
 gust and beautific march than that— a mightier 
 tread — it is the march of that spiritual emancipation 
 which, from the day Paul stood on Mars hill until 
 these closing hours of the nineteenth century, has 
 never ceased, and never will until the last jirison cell is 
 opened, and the last prisoner steps forth free. In 
 the long watch before Santiago the terror of our 
 great battleships was the two torpedo boat destroy- 
 ers, those swift, fiendish sharks of the sea, as a naval 
 officer has called them, and yet when the great bat- 
 tle came, it was the unprotected Gloucester, a con- 
 verted yacht, the former plaything and pleasure boat 
 of a summer vacation, which, without hesitation or 
 turning, attacked those demons of the sea and sunk 
 them both. In that stor}^ of the war, I read the 
 more thriling story of the work of Foreign Missions, 
 in an imprisoned world to-6ay. The torpedo boat 
 destroyers are the superstitions and the perversions 
 of religious truth that hold in galling chains, in 
 cruel imprisonment, the minds of men, benighted 
 and in hopeless despair. That which smites them 
 and sends them to the bottom of the sea is the Glou- 
 cester of Christian love, love in these hearts sur- 
 
132 
 
 FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 rounded by ease and every luxury, all around us as 
 pleasant and inviting as a summer excursion, but a 
 love that goes out to them that are in prison and 
 with all the majesty of love will break their chains, 
 and make the bondmen free. Love sees in them the 
 Chi-ist, and recognizes the face of its Lord. 
 
 The Presbyterian church, whose agency we em- 
 ploy in our annual gift to this great end, is worthy 
 of our supjjort and our co-operation. She stands 
 far on, in tliis ministry' to the nations, in the van of 
 all the churches. Hers is the largest Foreign Mis- 
 sionary Societv in this hemisphere, and the next to 
 the largest in the world. These are some of the 
 tilings the Presbyterian church is doing to them 
 that are in prison, to the least of her Master's breth- 
 ren—to Him. Let me give you some of the facts of 
 the ])resent year. "China is awakening. The leth- 
 argy of the centuries is being broken up, and there 
 is opportunity, as never before for the pushing in of 
 a pure Christianity. In Korea, the membership of 
 the churches has doubled in the past year. The king 
 of Korea has issued a proclamation of religious lib- 
 erty, and the land is wide open for whoever will en- 
 ter." Liberty for them that are in prison in this far 
 off isle of the sea. In India the church is getting 
 nearer and nearer the 288,000,000, touching them 
 at more points of contact, opening the prison doors. 
 The millions of the Laos people look to us alone for 
 the word of emancipation. In Japan, in Africa, in 
 South America, in the isles of the sea, this great 
 church of ours is carrying forward the work she has 
 
FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 133 
 
 begun in other years, and is ever knocking at the 
 doors of other prison cells, expanding her work, and 
 ministering with the passing months to these, the 
 least of the Master's brethren, and so ministering to 
 Him. So she is standing shoulder to shoulder with 
 the sister churches of America and Europe, helping to 
 
 "Bear along^, 
 Round the earth's electric circle 
 One swift flash of riffht and wrong." 
 
 Avenging the wrongs of the centuries. Bringing to 
 imprisoned humanity the everlasting right. 
 
 The false systems of religion, in which the nations 
 have been educated, have been tried in the balance 
 of the remorseless past, and have been found want- 
 ing. We ma}' discover in their books many exalted 
 conceptions of truth. We may meet with many 
 refined and subtile speculations. There is poetry 
 that soars amid the .stars, and metaphysics that 
 flounders in the mud. But these religions have not 
 opened the prison doors, they have not made the 
 prisoners free. Their votaries, the masses in unnum- 
 bered millions, who have been nurtured in their bo- 
 som, are in lowest degradation, dee])est defilement, 
 grossest immorality. "Bv their fruits," said the 
 Master, "ye shall know them." We ap])ly that test 
 to the religions of the world to-day, we are com- 
 pelled to do so, to decide aright the great and mo- 
 mentous issues that are involved in the cause of 
 Foreign Missions. If we leave these, the least of our 
 Master's brethren that are "in prison," to the min- 
 istry of Buddhism, Brahraanism, Confucianism, 
 
134 
 
 FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 Laoism, Mohammedanism, any of the antagonizing 
 faiths with which Christianity is coping; if we re- 
 tire from the field, will these make men free? Will 
 these open prison doors ? Will these sever the chains, 
 and end the bondage? The centuries give answer. 
 These have been building the prison walls. These 
 have been barring the prison doors. These have 
 been welding the prisoner's chains. And a world in 
 darkness is crying out for our ministry, for the 
 world's alone Emancipator. It is an exalted 
 privilege that comes to us, beloved friends, in this 
 annual call. Are we no thrilled with its mightv 
 possibility ? The possibility that you and I, b}^ some 
 willing offering of ours, according as God has pros- 
 pered us, may open some prison door, may hear the 
 footstep of the prisoner as, with a glad and happy 
 ti-ead, he steps forth free, and while we look into his 
 radiant, beaming face, whether white, or yellow, or 
 black, or red, we ma}' see the face of Jesus, and know, 
 down in our hearts, that doing it to the least of 
 these, his brethren, we are doing it unto Him.