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THROUGH 
 
 the 
 
 GOLDEN GATE 
 
 Compiled and Written 
 
 by 
 F. M. LEHMAN 
 
 HIS SUN SET AT EIGHT 
 
 All the proceeds from the sale of this 
 
 book will be used exclusively 
 
 for the Missionary Cause 
 
 Lehman Brothers Publishers 
 
 Post Office Lock Box 335 
 
 Pasadena, California 
 
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 Copyright 1920 by S. M. Lehman 
 

 
 
 
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INTRODUCTION 
 
 It gives me pleasure to introduce the subject of this 
 sketch. In the providence of God I was twice entertained 
 in the home of his parents, as I held revival services in 
 Sioux City, Iowa. Although at that time he did not claim 
 to be a Christian, yet he was so very dutiful and obedient 
 to his parents marks which are so much wanting in the 
 lives of so many boys these days. 
 
 One thing that has lingered with me since my first 
 acquaintance with Brenton is this: although he was a real 
 boy, and enjoyed a romp and fun like other boys, yet he 
 would never intrude himself on my time. The very mo- 
 ment of any indication that I was through having fun with 
 him, that moment he would cease, and never hint that he 
 wanted more, till he could see me advance in that direction. 
 This was so uncommon with the general run of children 
 that it made a lasting impression upon my mind. 
 
 I am now holding revival meetings (May 1920) for the 
 third time with his father. Since I saw Brenton last he has 
 been converted and sanctified, and has slipped away to be 
 with Jesus forever. The home does not seem the same 
 without him. While the home is poorer, heaven is richer. 
 
 I went out to the silent grave, in company with his 
 father. What a beautiful place nature has provided on 
 that lovely hillside overlooking the Golden Gate! It is 
 one of the beauty spots of earth. Around the grave on the 
 greensward we knelt and asked the Lord to help us to hold 
 out faithful to the end. 
 
 Some glad day, when Jesus appears in the clouds, Bren- 
 ton's body will arise from the dust and together with loved 
 ones all shall be for ever with their Lord. Let us all so live 
 that we may be ready to meet him on that bright morning. 
 
 W. E. SHEPARD. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 A BIT OF SUNSHINE 11 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THROUGH THE GATE - 16 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE EMPTY CHAIR 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 GONE IN His ''LITTLE SHIP" - - - - 29 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 OUR SUNSET VIEW 34 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 "WHEN THE BELL RINGS" 41 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THAT WONDERFUL MORNING 44 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Page 
 THE GOLDEN GATE AT SUNSET 6 
 
 BRENTON SAMUEL LEHMAN 
 
 COMPANIONS Two 36 
 
 IN THE HARBOR - 52 
 
I -,-,. --_< 
 
 ; . . . - - . 
 
 1 " ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A BIT OF SUNSHINE 
 
 IT WAS A gloomy day in January. In a small room, 
 meagerly furnished, but immaculately clean, sat the physic- 
 ian with his hastily summoned village attendants. The 
 husband, nervous yet prayerful, paced the floor. He went 
 from one window to the other, looked out, but saw noth- 
 ing except the loved one now approaching the valley of 
 death. For her he prayed as he walked and waited. 
 
 The telephone rang in quick questionings, but always the 
 answer was, "No, not yet!" The women watchers had 
 everything prepared, the tea-kettle singing, the swaddling 
 laid in handy order, soaps and salves within easy reach. All 
 was quiet, all was still except the ticking of the mantel 
 clock. In the distance could be heard the whistle and roar 
 of a passenger train, and the muffled moan of agony in 
 the blind-drawn chamber. 
 
 Suddenly a cry a baby's cry rang through the house, 
 and the crisis had passed. Wan and weak and utterly ex- 
 hausted the little mother lay back on her pillows the pic- 
 ture of helplessness and verging death. Her companion, his 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 face as white as her own, kissed the pale cheek and fondly 
 brushed the luxuriant hair back from the pallid brow, 
 thankful that God had kept her from slipping into the 
 Great Beyond. 
 
 ** 'We leave' the bed-chamber now and turn our attention 
 to the new arrival. See; -the tiny bit of humanity lies lustily 
 , cry ijng Awhile oef.t, fingers fuss and fix about it swaddling of 
 the softest down. Love and forethought had left nothing 
 wanting. Soon the little one lay cuddled in pillows with 
 profusion of frills and love-fuss things ever utterly be- 
 wildering to mere man. 
 
 Outside, the skies were leaden, but into the parsonage 
 had crept a bit of sunshine so glorious, so lovely, so en- 
 chanting that we feel to withdraw, lest we intrude. Like 
 two birds nesting in a bough so these two must be left 
 alone to enjoy what has come into their life. Sacred, holy 
 relationship, this, where one is bound to the other and the 
 two with the baby to make a family. 
 
 In the midst of this suspense and sudden relief we have 
 the ludicrous. The husband is asked (O, artful women!) 
 to "hold the baby a bit." See, now T , the utter helplessness 
 of poor man. He comes as a sheep led to the slaughter. 
 There he sits, arms awkwardly extended, face crimsoning 
 like a schoolgirl's, "holding" the tiny bit of heaven as 
 though it might melt and run through his arms or explode, 
 he does not know which. What a delectable bit of talk 
 these women must have had when out of ear-shot and what 
 shouts of laughter fell when trying to describe the "pas- 
 tor's" pose "holding that baby." For their blessed love- 
 Twelve 
 
A BIT OF SUNSHINE 
 
 service in the hour of need these ministering midwives may 
 be pardoned for the pleasantry. 
 
 Hoping against hope that the women would not observe 
 his uncomfortable situation, the fond father looked upon 
 the little red face in his arms, the tiny, pudgy fingers and 
 then a great, unnameable love surged through his heart. 
 Now let the whole world laugh ! He has conquered ; it is 
 his baby, so why feel out of place ? 
 
 We smile at the tableau in the parsonage kitchen and re- 
 member when our own arms held a precious bundle ; when 
 the women laughed in their sleeve at our predicament ; and, 
 when we found ourselves and suddenly felt that we could 
 face anything in order that "baby" might have love and 
 protection. After this, home had to us a sweeter and holier 
 meaning. 
 
 Home! Keep the destructionist, the despoiler, the Bol- 
 shevist from crossing the sacred threshold of home. God- 
 instituted, blest by heaven's smiles, graced by woman's 
 loveliness and strengthened by man's unswerving fidelity, 
 who shall mar this masterpiece painted by Hand Divine? 
 Who shall break in upon the circle around the singing tea- 
 kettle? Who would bring discord into the song crooned 
 over a baby? Who would dissolve the wedding bands to 
 let lust run riot? Who would let the serpent of sensuality 
 creep in to desecrate this Eden ? God ! may wedlock never 
 be ravished! May home never be despoiled. Home means 
 love, life, and happiness. Home means husband, wife, 
 children, family altar this is home. May it ever indeed 
 be "Home, Sweet Home!" 
 
 Thirteen 
 
A BIT OF SUNSHINE 
 
 But we must come back to the baby in the parsonage. 
 We must know more about it. Its name is O, ah ! why, 
 yes, of course we must see what its name is to be. Let us 
 see. Its mother's name is Maud, so of course, she being a 
 woman, it should have a pretty name. Let us try hard 
 and perhaps O, there goes that telephone again! 'Yes, 
 yes, it's a boy! Yes, a boy!" 
 
 We were interrupted by the telephone, but now we will 
 get down to business. The father's name is Samuel. That 
 is a very pretty name a Bi-ble name, too. But "father" 
 objects (did you ever see a man who did not think that 
 they should have given him a prettier name?). 
 
 As the lists of names are quoted for choice one seems to 
 strike general favor. "Brenton" well, yes that is a 
 pretty name. How would Brenton Samuel do? A sly 
 glance at the fond father discovers that a compromise may 
 be effected. So, Brenton Samuel Lehman is the big name 
 the little baby bears. Thank God, that task is at last ac- 
 complished. The baby is named. 
 
 The doctor has gone to his other patients, the good 
 women have returned to their own firesides, and life in 
 the parsonage assumes its every-day regularity. Sermons 
 must be prepared and studied, the flock must be visited 
 and shepherded and the church work attended to in spite 
 of the new-comer. Gradually the little mother grows 
 stronger and little by little takes up her household duties, 
 duties now multiplied since the coming of the baby. To be 
 sure, he must have the very best of care. 
 
 The father often leaves his books to look down at the 
 
 Fourteen 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 wee little bundle in the crib. A tickle under the chin causes 
 baby grins, coos, and later, gurgles of delight. Often the 
 two lean over the precious form, like two birds hovering 
 over their nest, each planning what his future shall be. 
 The husband "holds the baby" now with less school-girl 
 timidity even with a fatherly familiarity and confidence 
 and the parsonage is the happiest place in town. 
 
 Like other babies, this one grew into young boyhood. 
 The time came when he cut his first tooth a bit of village 
 news indeed. To telephone this to anxious friends was 
 worth a year's toll. Letters were dispatched telling of the 
 great and glad event. Rubber rings and rubber dolls 
 anything to coax out more of the ivory beauties were pur- 
 chased, until the incident of a new tooth lost interest in 
 weightier things. 
 
 From petticoats and pinafores to knickerbockers was an- 
 other event of unusual importance. Like all other boys 
 when drest in "knee-pants," the world was his. Of course 
 everybody on the street noticed what a "big boy" he had 
 grown to be. Although in our day no such "animals" as 
 knickerbockers existed, with no less pride did we strut in 
 our new copper-toed boots and home-made jeans. These 
 proud epochs come in an American boy's life as surely as 
 the mumps and the measles. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THROUGH THE GATE 
 
 HAVING IN THE opening chapter introduced our little 
 friend we must now turn from a scene of the sweetest 
 earthly joy to one of the saddest heart can know. This 
 chapter, entitled: "Through the Gate," takes the precious 
 eight-year-old from the activities of life into the Land of 
 the Far Away. 
 
 From sunshine and singing we come so soon in life to 
 crape and the hollow drum of clods on coffin lid. Death, 
 grim, gruesome, merciless, snatched away their dearest on 
 Hope's rosy morning. Only eight brief years and he must 
 away to that Other Land, v/hile the loved ones are left to 
 weep and to wait a while in the Land of Shadow. 
 
 His Obituary. 
 
 BRENTON SAMUEL LEHMAN was born at New London, 
 Indiana, on Saturday, January 7, 1911. He died at 
 Berkeley, California, on Wednesday morning at 1 :30 
 o'clock, November 26, 1919. Age, 8 years, 10 months and 
 
THROUGH THE GATE 
 
 19 days. He was buried in Sunset View Cemetery, Berke- 
 ley, California. 
 
 When less than one year old his -parents moved from 
 New London, Indiana, to Botna, Iowa, where his father 
 was pastor for three years. His parents then moved to 
 Sioux City, Iowa, which pastorate they held for nearly five 
 years. On may last (1919) his father accepted a call to a 
 pastorate at Berkeley, California. 
 
 The reason for this change to the Southland was that 
 the family health had been much impaired from the influ- 
 enza while in Sioux City, Iowa. It was thought that much 
 benefit would be realized by coming to a warmer climate. 
 The deceased had very noticeably gained in health until 
 just one week before his death. His illness was of short 
 duration ; just one short week. The cause of his death was 
 acute ulceration of the bowels. 
 
 Through all his intense suffering he never complained. 
 He was always of a cheerful disposition. His school 
 teacher, Miss Delmar, was told that he was sick, and she 
 made the remark to another teacher that Brenton was ill. 
 This teacher said : 
 
 "Is it the boy who always smiles?" 
 
 On Sunday morning, three days before his death, wife 
 and I were praying with him. When we had finished he 
 was asked: 
 
 "Brenton, how do you feel?" 
 
 His reply was: "Praise God, I never felt better in my 
 life!" 
 
 In the afternoon we called in three earnest Christians to 
 
 Seventeen 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 pray for his healing, for he had grown steadily worse. At 
 the conclusion of the season of prayer he put his arms 
 around my neck, and whispered : 
 
 "Daddy, it's blessed to know!" 
 
 To his parents these are comforting words in this dark 
 hour. On Saturday evening just before retiring he picked 
 up in his arms his little sister, Beryl, a little over two years 
 old caressed her and loved her so tenderly. 
 
 A few days before taken sick he made the remark to his 
 parents that one of the pupils at school had been crying on 
 account of hard lessons. He had been told that he must 
 never make fun of any one having difficulty in this direc- 
 tion. The next day he told his mother that he had given 
 the troubled little one some of his marbles. We can truth- 
 fully say that he was kind, affectionate, unselfish and ever 
 thoughtful of others. 
 
 One Sunday evening at Berkeley, California, after his 
 father had preached, and was giving the altar-call, he came 
 forward of his own accord. He prayed earnestly that God 
 w r ould save him. After some time in prayer he arose from 
 his knees with a shining face and testified that he had been 
 saved. 
 
 A few weeks later while his father and mother were 
 conducting a revival meeting at Santa Rosa, California, he 
 came forward to the altar, again of his own accord, for the 
 experience of entire sanctific3tion< a clean heart. He 
 prayed through and testified that the work had been done. 
 
 Ever since that time, when the time came for family 
 worship, he would always say: "Let me read a chapter," 
 
 Eighteen 
 
THROUGH THE GATE 
 
 He always took his turn to pray at family prayers ever 
 since he was old enough to talk. In one of his prayers of 
 late at family worship he prayed God to "bless our home." 
 His prayers were never dry nor formal. 
 
 He was intensely studious even to the last. When so 
 ill that he was unable to sit up he tried to get his lessons. 
 In his delirium he so many times mentioned the name of his 
 playmates one especially, whose name is Bruce. Through 
 all his delirium he never uttered an oath. 
 
 We laid him away in Sunset View Cemetery the day 
 following the great storm. His restingplace overlooks the 
 Golden Gate, where all the ocean liners come in. At four 
 or five o'clock in the evening as the sun falls on the waters 
 where the Bay and ocean meet it is a most beautiful sight. 
 
 We see now why he wrote as he did. His ''little ship"- 
 poem strangely corresponds with the later setting of life's 
 sad picture. If while still living he had stood where his 
 body now lies in the grave he could not have put it better : 
 
 THE LITTLE SHIP 
 
 There is a little ship 
 That sails on yonder sea; 
 
 It floats so nicely 
 
 Upon the beautiful sea. 
 
 i 
 
 And then it comes ashore, 
 
 All people ciimb aboard 
 The bell rings, the whistle blows, 
 
 And off we go. 
 
 THE END 
 
 We had a hard time securing a casket for him. The un- 
 dertaker said it is a rare thing to have a child die at this 
 
 Nineteen 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 age. The nurse, who had nursed for twelve years, wept 
 like a child when he passed away. She had never been 
 known to be so broken up. His Sunday School teacher 
 said that his life and death had a wonderful influence upon 
 the neighborhood children, as well as upon those older. 
 
 It was his delight to help his father pass out revival 
 hand-bills. If at any time he had been unkind to his parents 
 during the day, always before retiring he would ask them 
 to forgive him. His grandmother Coats, somewhat hard 
 of hearing, said: "I will miss him so, for he always talked 
 loud enough so that I could hear and understand him." 
 This obituary is written that the world may know that the 
 grace of God changes and molds even the life of a child. 
 This book is w r ritten that other children may also learn the 
 blessed secret of kindness, affection, unselfishness and genu- 
 ine Christian discipleship. 
 
 When the family had returned from the undertaking 
 parlors on Thanksgiving Day, his little sister, Beryl, said 
 confidently: "Brenton come back." When they lowered 
 the casket in the grave, she said: "Brenton down." This 
 was baby philosophy. Her hope in Brenton coming back 
 was not realized. His precious body is "down" now, but 
 it shall rise again at that great day. He shall rise again. 
 
 The public school will miss him, as will the Church and 
 Sunday School. No one will miss him more than his par- 
 ents. The vacant chair, the empty bed and his cheerful 
 voice, now heard no more, ever remind us that he is gone. 
 Our loss is his gain. Our hearts are broken, but we sub- 
 missively bow our heads, and say: 'Thy will be done!" 
 
 Twenty 
 
THROUGH THE GATE 
 
 His going brings heaven nearer and makes Jesus the 
 more precious. His sun set at eight, but the glory of that 
 sunset will never fade from our memory. His "little ship" 
 sailed out of the Bay of Time across sunlit seas to a fairer 
 land than this; he has passed THROUGH THE GOLDEN 
 GATE. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE EMPTY CHAIR 
 
 Written by His Father. 
 
 OUR BELOVED BRENTON was born on Saturday, Janu- 
 ary 7, 1911, at New London, Indiana. This little village, 
 of less than one hundred inhabitants, lies about ten miles 
 west of Kokomo. It is noted as one of the "underground 
 railroad stations" in times of slavery, where the opprest 
 colored folk were harbored and helped, enroute to their 
 Canadian paradise. 
 
 It was while the writer of this book was pastor at New 
 London that Samuel, Brenton's father, knelt at the mourn- 
 ers' bench under heavy conviction. At eleven o'clock on a 
 memorable Sunday night, with both hands held up to 
 heaven in token of surrender, the mourner found mercy 
 and pardon ; found Christ in wonderful redeeming power. 
 Two nights later he knelt at the altar the second time, this 
 time to make a complete consecration, when again the 
 power of God came down and sanctified him wholly. Some 
 time later he was divinely called to preach, in which work 
 he is still actively engaged at this writing. 
 
u 
 
 > I J . 
 
 
 
 
THE EMPTY CHAIR 
 
 A number of years later the writer of this chapter was 
 himself pastor at New London, Indiana. Under his min- 
 istry the altar where he himself had been saved now became 
 a Bethel to many weary of sin. In a religious sense this 
 village is historic. The judgments of God often fell upon 
 the place. Again and again w r as God's power to save re- 
 markably evidenced. In spite of the spiritual dearth and 
 death so prevalent in the village God called from this 
 church a goodly number into His vineyard who are still 
 engaged in winning souls. To God be all the glory ! 
 
 At New London Brenton's little elder sister, Crystal, 
 only two days old, and his grandfather Lehman, age 69 
 years, lie buried. To the Lehmans the incidents that 
 marked the movings of God in this place \vill ever live in 
 their memory. A book of unusual interest might be written 
 dealing with the life and destiny of these villagers. 
 
 It w r as a cloudy day when Brenton first saw the light of 
 this world. The sky was robed in mourning. The sun had 
 veiled his face. In spite of cloudy skies and hidden suns, 
 his coming brought a wealth of sunshine and joy that 
 lingers even yet, although he has passed THROUGH THE 
 GOLDEN GATE into the City Celestial. 
 
 Our hearts and home were warmed by his love and in- 
 teresting presence for eight brief years. Today he is on the 
 other side for ever safe from sin and suffering. We miss 
 him so, but we look up to heaven through our rain of tears 
 and say, Thy \vill be done, O God! We shall see him 
 again, by and by. 
 
 Like Timothy's grandmother Lois, Brenton's grand- 
 
 Twenty-flve 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 mother Coats took much interest in him. She read to him 
 Bible stories by the hour, or from good books and papers; 
 of this he never wearied. We are convinced that all this 
 had much to do to lead him early into the Kingdom. 
 
 As parents we give much credit to his Sunday School 
 teachers. These godly women did much to lead him into 
 paths of right. 
 
 Especial mention must be made of his first Sunday 
 School teacher, Mrs. Joseph Francis, of Sioux City, Iowa, 
 where we held a five-year pastorate, previous to coming to 
 California. Although sixty-five years old, the mother of 
 sixteen children herself, this great woman took pains to 
 hold the attention of her scholars by reading to them and 
 telling them Bible stories. She was much loved by them all. 
 
 Where we hold a pastorate at this writing ( 1920) , Miss 
 Clara Knouf, of Berkeley, California, his second Sunday 
 School teacher, also wielded a wonderful influence over 
 him. An exemplary Christian in every way, she spent much 
 time in prayer. We have known her to spend hours in 
 secret prayer for the cause and for the salvation of her 
 scholars. 
 
 God bless these good women. Heaven will reward them 
 in due season. 
 
 With this exceptional Christian training Brenton re- 
 ceived, it is no wonder that he so early in life became a 
 follower of Jesus. We are told that the Roman Catholic 
 church insists in training her children seven years of their 
 life. The lessons imprest upon the child's mind, Rome be- 
 lieves, makes it almost proof against other religions. Hav- 
 
 Twenty-slx 
 
THE EMPTY CHAIR 
 
 ing implanted her doctrines in the hearts of her children, 
 Rome knows that "as the twig is bent the tree's inclined." 
 And so it is. Protestantism seems to be still blind to this 
 fact. Would that it might learn this lesson from Rome, 
 and thus throw influences of grace around the children so 
 that we might put to shame the religions so antagonistic to 
 that of Jesus Christ. 
 
 A few reasons might here be given why Brenton so 
 early became a Christian. From infancy he was taken to 
 the church services, nor was he ever later excused from 
 attending unless ill. He was at least at one or more Sun- 
 day services, besides the mid-week prayer meeting. Gener- 
 ally when the Sunday School has been dismissed the chil- 
 dren hasten home or roam the streets while the parents 
 listen to the sermon, or remain at home to read the Sunday 
 newspaper. Is it any wonder that we are degenerating? 
 
 This carelessness in parents is making religion a by- 
 word. The importance of the regular church service can 
 not be too much stressed. We hear it said, "that "it tires 
 the child too much to keep it in during the preaching ser- 
 vice after having been in the Sunday School class." To 
 meet this foolish excuse we ask, Do the children tire 
 attending the day-school from four to six hours? How 
 careful lest children tire all too soon in the Lord's service, 
 and how careless in allowing them plenty of time for other 
 things ; things often harmful and sinful ! 
 
 Another fact w r e must notice in Brenton's life is that he 
 was always busy with pencil and paper, drawing. His was 
 a busy life. While he loved his play and his playmates, yet 
 
 Twenty-seven 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 there was in him that something that wanted to excel in 
 things worth while ; things that promised usefulness in the 
 future. 
 
 Today the pencil and drawing-pad lie on the shelf, un- 
 touched. The busy little fingers have laid down these 
 material things to be employed with things eternal. No 
 more shall we hear him ask, "Papa, will you please buy me 
 a pencil and drawing-pad?" or "Mamma, where is my 
 drawing?" 
 
 The chair where he once sat is empty now. The place at 
 the table where he drew his aeroplane, his Indians, tepees, 
 bows and arrows, birds and flowers, is vacant. His crudely- 
 drawn Golden Gate, typical of that one through which he 
 so. recently passed, blurrs our vision as we remember his 
 patient toil and earnest effort to excel. As the mist steals 
 over the Bay so a mist steals over our eyes as we remember 
 that he is gone. "His works do follow him." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 GONE IN HIS "LITTLE SHIP" 
 
 Written by His Mother. 
 
 IT is HARD to write anything about Brenton. I have 
 been so weak since he took sick. Lately I have been able to 
 eat better, and am growing somewhat stronger, for which 
 I am very thankful. 
 
 When Brenton was about five years old we were attend- 
 ing an Assembly at Chariton, Iowa. I so well remember 
 the Sunday night and the altar full of seekers. I was kneel- 
 ing towards the front with him and noticed him crying as 
 though his heart would break. I asked : 
 
 "Brenton, do you want to be saved?" 
 
 He answered, "Yes." 
 
 He was so little that I thought perhaps he did not under- 
 stand, so did not urge him to go forward. From that time 
 until he was ill with the influenza last winter (1919) he 
 never showed the least desire to be saved. 
 
 More than once I said to my husband: "I wonder 
 whether Brenton will ever feel touched again?" After he 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 had been so ill with the influenza and we were all up and 
 able to go to church again, he said: 
 
 "Mamma, I am so glad Beryl (his little sister) did not 
 die!" 
 
 She had been so low with the disease. I said to him: 
 
 'You ought to be so thankful to Jesus for having spared 
 
 us all. Brenton, I am not going to compel you to go to the 
 
 altar; but when you feel that you ought to go you must 
 
 go and be saved." 
 
 I think it was the next Sunday night, after husband had 
 preached and was giving the altar-call, when I saw that 
 he wanted to go forward. He sat by my side. I asked him 
 whether he wanted to go, and he murmured, "Yes," and 
 just then walked out alone. 
 
 After that he was different. One morning before he 
 went to school, I found him on his knees praying, but he 
 was timid and would not testify. He seemed to lose the 
 peace out of his heart. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, not two months ago, I read to 
 him the story of "Mabel Ashton's Dream." It touched 
 him, I could see. I said: "Brenton, you know you never 
 testify. If we keep Jesus in our hearts we must never be 
 ashamed of Him," and talked to him along this line for 
 quite a while. 
 
 That night after husband had preached and was giving 
 the altar-call, I did not think of him going forward when 
 he walked to the end of the pew ; I thought he was going 
 after Beryl, who had been playing there; but, no; I can 
 hear him yet as he walked out to the altar. 
 
 Thirty 
 
GONE IN HIS "LITTLE SHIP" 
 
 It seems that there had been a battle in his mind wheth- 
 er he should go forward or not, and when he had settled 
 it, he fairly rushed to the altar. He prayed so hard. How 
 brightly he testified after he had prayed through, and had 
 such complete victory. 
 
 Soon after this we went to Santa Rosa, California, in a 
 meeting with my sister and her husband, Rev. and Mrs. 
 Lewis Fear. I shall never forget one Sunday afternoon, 
 when he testified so earnestly. His face fairly shone with 
 the glory of God. 
 
 I had begun to think that he would be a preacher. We 
 had laid so many plans for and about him; now they are 
 all gone. No one in the world knows how I wanted to see 
 my boy grow to young manhood. I thought it would be 
 wonderful to have a son a young man. 
 
 He was growing so especially since we came to Cali- 
 fornia and was almost as tall as I am. He liked to tell 
 me that he was "most as big as mamma." Just lately he 
 said, teasingly: "My little bits-a-mamma!" 
 
 I never felt afraid to go anywhere if only I had him 
 with me. He always seemed to know the way; you could 
 not lose him. He, his little sister Beryl and I went from 
 Berkeley to San Francisco alone when we had been there 
 but once with husband. I went to church at Oakland 
 alone with him after night where husband had preceded us 
 and changed cars with no trouble at all. I never felt 
 afraid when he was by my side. 
 
 Last summer his grandmother Coats and he w r ent to 
 Santa Rosa and staid a week. When coming home she said 
 
 Trlrty-ona 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 to him: "Brenton, I am putting myself entirely in your 
 care!" After they arrived at Berkeley he knew exactly 
 where to get off. He always seemed to know the way. 
 
 Oh, how we miss him! Every day it seems I miss him 
 more. We live just across the street from the public 
 school building where he attended. It seems he ought to 
 be there now, where I could watch him at play as I used 
 to do. At noon it seems I must hear his steps on the porch 
 coming for his luncheon but we shall hear his footsteps 
 never more. 
 
 How he loved California ; but he did not get to enjoy it 
 long. He never tired of the ocean, the ships and ocean 
 liners. Instead of speaking of large ocean liners in his 
 poem, it was "a little ship." On this he sailed away to the 
 foreign strand, to the happy land. 
 
 In Sioux City, Iowa, he often went out to gather wild- 
 flowers. Sometimes these were nothing but weeds or dan- 
 delion blossoms ; but he loved them all. He always brought 
 them in to me to put them in water for him. 
 
 Here in California where flowers grow the year 'round ; 
 where beautiful calla lilies and roses bloom all winter in 
 our yard, he fairly reveled in their beauty. But he was not 
 permitted to enjoy them long. He is now in the land where 
 flowers grow more wonderful than here; where perfumes 
 more delicate by far than found in earthly flowers, delight 
 and satisfy his refined nature. 
 
 His birthday came in January. This month is so cold in 
 the middle west. The last winter we were in Iowa, he 
 said : "Mamma, I wish you could make my birthday come 
 
 Thirty-two 
 
GONE IN HIS "LITTLE SHIP" 
 
 when the weather is nice." This winter when "the weather 
 was nice" and we were away from the snows and storms, 
 and in the Land of Roses, he was not with us. We had 
 borne him to Sunset View Cemetery before his birthday 
 came and laid him in his little grave on the hillside. There 
 his precious mortality sleeps until the waking. From snow- 
 blown birthdays and rose-famed California he has gone to 
 the Isles of Glory where Flowers of Beulah bloom for 
 ever. 
 
 To draw was his delight. I know he was never in the 
 house five minutes until he had his paper and pencil. After 
 he took ill husband purchased for him a new drawing 
 tablet. He never used it, for he sailed away in his "little 
 ship" soon thereafter. The "Golden Gate of 'Frisco Bay" 
 which he so crudely drew was, it seems, premonitory of his 
 entrance THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE into the love- 
 locked Bays of Beulahland. 
 
 I know that others have gone through sorrow as deep as 
 ours. At a time like this it is good to know Jesus. Oh, I 
 will live closer to Him! I am determined that nothing 
 shall separate me from His love. Some day I shall see my 
 boy again and have him with me for ever. May the eight 
 brief years he spent on earth with us leave an influence for 
 good and for God upon other children and lead them 
 safely home through the gates into the City Eternal. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 OUR SUNSET VIEW 
 
 Written by His Father. 
 
 THE WORDS OF Job are true when he says that "my 
 
 days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent 
 without hope." James puts it, "What is your life? It is 
 even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then 
 vanisheth away." 
 
 It is just six months ago today that our beloved son, 
 Brenton, slipped away to be with Jesus. How swiftly the 
 years have gone by since he first brought sunshine into 
 our Indiana home. Often have we heard him say, during 
 his eight years' stay with us, what he wanted to do when 
 grown to manhood. We had anticipated for him a great 
 future. We had hoped to see the day when we could go 
 to him for counsel and instruction, but our hopes have not 
 been realized in this direction since he went away. 
 
 The apostle James speaks of vapor, or dew. Dew dis- 
 appears in a short time, but it leaves freshness and fruit- 
 fulness in the passing. It was so in Brenton's coming and 
 
OUR SUNSET VIEW 
 
 going. He passed away early in life, but left upon our 
 hearts a freshness and tenderness nothing else could have 
 wrought. 
 
 It is said that dew wards off chill and frost. Brenton was 
 welcomed into our home. His warm, refreshing presence 
 awoke in our hearts a love for children that we otherwise 
 might not have had. A little boy attended Mr. Moody's 
 Sunday School. He was asked why he did not attend a 
 Sunday School nearer his home. He replied, "O, they love 
 a fellow here!" He was won by love. 
 
 James reminds us that we do not know just \vhen the 
 dew may rise from the earth. ''Whereas ye know not 
 what shall be on the morrow." He here hints at the un- 
 certainty of life. Few make any preparation for death. 
 The majority are interested only in having a good time 
 and act as though they were to live here for ever. It is 
 business or pleasure first; to prepare for death is only an 
 occasional, uneasy afterthought. Because of the uncer- 
 tainty of life we should prepare for death. 
 
 "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, 
 and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often 
 would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen 
 gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not. 
 Behold, your house is left unto you desolate." Matt. 
 23 :37, 38. The Sunday night we preached from this text 
 Brenton led the way to the altar, with three following 
 him. He heeded the admonition to prepare to meet God. 
 Today he enjoys the rewards of having yielded to the 
 wooings of the Spirit. He is now in the spirit land. 
 
 Thirty-seven 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 "There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the 
 weary are at rest." 
 
 Ever since the night when Brenton yielded to God our 
 hearts have been touched when children about his age have 
 come to the altar of prayer to be saved. Strange as it may 
 seem, yet true, too few Christian workers pay proper 
 attention to children seeking salvation. "He that winneth 
 souls is wise," saith the Proverbs preacher. Upon this 
 subject Jesus himself discourses, with a hint to the wise: 
 "Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto 
 me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 For example, if a child ten years old is saved, and lives 
 to the ripe old age of seventy years, that would mean sixty 
 years of service for the Lord. On the other hand, should 
 this child live in sin until sixty years old and then be 
 saved and this is seldom seen and live out the three 
 score years and ten, the Lord would get only ten years of 
 feeble service. Sixty of life's best years spent in sin and 
 only ten years, with enfeebled mentality and palsied pow- 
 ers, spent for God. Sixty years grinding in the mills of 
 sin and only ten years laid at the feet of a merciful Christ. 
 O, children, give Jesus your heart early in life! Jesus 
 pleads now, Son, daughter, give Me thine heart! 
 
 It is easy to see in which case the most good may be 
 done. The wise man said, "Remember now thy Creator in 
 the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor 
 the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleas- 
 ure in them." Eccl. 12:1. Why wait until the pleasures of 
 life have grown bitter under your tongue and then cast 
 
 Thirty-eight 
 
V 
 
 
 
 .1 I 
 
 
 
 I . J , 
 
 
 I 
 
COMPANIONS TWO 
 
OUR SUNSET VIEW 
 
 your sin-wrecked soul at the feet of a long insulted Christ ? 
 Merciful indeed is God when He takes your wasted life 
 and even yet, after all your sixty years of stubborn resist- 
 ance, washes and cleanses your heart and fits you for 
 heaven. Beware, lest you trifle just a bit too long, and the 
 Spirit leaves you to return no more. You may trifle just 
 one hour too long, and that would mean a hopeless present 
 and a remorseful hereafter. 
 
 Children, let us notice a few reasons why you should 
 give your heart to Christ. First, habits are formed early 
 in life from early childhood to the age of twenty. Sec- 
 ond, because the heart in youth is tender and susceptible 
 to good. When older, if evil runs riot, the heart is hard 
 and unyielding. Third, it means better health and a long 
 life, generally, according to promise. Fourth, because of 
 the power of influence. "Whatsoever a man soweth, that 
 shall he also reap." Wield an influence that tells for God. 
 
 "Sow an act, and you will reap a habit. Sow a habit, 
 and you will reap a character. Sow a character, and you 
 will reap a destiny." Let us take care of the sowing, and 
 then God will take care of the reaping. It is certain that 
 we shall reap more than we have sown, and of the same 
 kind of seed. 
 
 There may be a long time between the sowing and the 
 reaping; but the reaping time is sure to come. "He that 
 soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption." If 
 you "sow to the wind" and shall "reap the whirlwind." 
 "He that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life 
 everlasting." Let us be careful what kind of seed we sow. 
 
 Thirty-nine 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 Sow disobedience, and you will reap a dissolute, profli- 
 gate character. This leads to prison, to disgrace, to sen- 
 tence, to the gallows, to death, to hell. Sow discord, and 
 you will reap a harvest of discord by and by. As you have 
 sown, so shall you reap. The seed that falls from your 
 careless hand finds soil somewhere, and grows. While 
 sowing, you dance to the lute, but when the harvest comes 
 there will be neither mirth nor music. Instead there will 
 be the wail of woe and the cry of bitterest anguish. Chil- 
 dren, see to your sowing! 
 
 Death does not end your influence here. If it did, then 
 the wicked who die might have at least one gleam of com- 
 fort in this that their evil influence had ended. But, not 
 so; the influence they set in motion by a wild sowing will 
 go on until time shall be no more. If influence ended at 
 death, Christians might mourn in that the good they had 
 done in other years was now dead. No, we may rejoice 
 that our influence for good will go on as long as time shall 
 last. 
 
 Influence never dies. The ripple, caused by a pebble 
 dropped in that limpid pool, goes on until it strikes the 
 shore, no matter how far that shore may be away. Our 
 influence goes on until it reaches the farthermost shores of 
 eternity. Influence will follow us to the Judgment. Shall 
 it be for evil ? or, shall it be for good ? 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 "WHEN THE BELL RINGS" 
 
 Written by His Father. 
 
 SINCE BRENTON SAILED away on his "little ship" we 
 have visited Sunset View Cemetery a number of times. 
 While standing by his grave we remembered, with a dull 
 ache in the heart, the romps and plays we had had together. 
 Memory brought back the days when we had thrown toil 
 aside for a bit to go fishing, picnicking, or to the beach. 
 
 It seemed we could again hear him say, as we walked 
 along the street, just like any wide-awake boy exclaims as 
 he sees this or that on display in the windows: "Papa, buy 
 me a phonograph !" It might be a cap, an overcoat, new 
 shoes, a sled, a jack-knife, a bicycle, a watch, a bright- 
 colored kite, a pen, roller skates, or a dog. Again, it might 
 be he wanted to take lessons in cartooning, for drawing 
 was his delight. 
 
 Of course, all these impulsive requests could not be 
 granted ; but how we missed the constant prattle, requests, 
 and questions. We remembered the time when he had the 
 whooping-cough ; when he passed through the distempers 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 incident to a child's life, and how we watched over him 
 when in the throes of fever. Almost forgotten incidents 
 trooped by on Memory's faithful steeds until his whole 
 short life was re-lived on that hilltop. 
 
 Memory, children, will never die. At the Judgment 
 things almost forgotten will come rushing back along the 
 lanes of memory. Neglected or rejected opportunities will 
 there multiply our remorse, should we be found with the 
 sinner. How glad we will be to remember there that we 
 walked in the white light of God all along the way. What 
 joy will be ours .when we remember that we sowed good 
 seed while on earth, and that now we will reap the har- 
 vests of ever-changing delights throughout eternity, 
 
 Standing there by the graveside we remembered that 
 our Brenton had quite early learned obedience. This was 
 a great comfort. Later he had, through Jesus, learned 
 the better way of obedience. We remembered the time of 
 his bright conversion and clear-cut sanctification ; his ring- 
 ing testimonies to full salvation and then his victorious 
 home-going. Early in life he learned obedience to his par- 
 ents and to his God. Man's crowning sin is disobedience. 
 For this he must give an account at the Judgment. His 
 only safety lies in obedience to God. This alone will 
 bring him a harvest of eternal glory. 
 
 With a last look upon Brenton's grave we left the hill- 
 side for the valley below. We shall never forget the clear, 
 blue sky, the gleam of the afternoon sun on the sea-green 
 Bay, the Golden Gate in the offing, the ships riding at 
 anchor near the Mole, and the white, wheeling sea-gulls 
 
 Forty -two 
 
"WHEN THE BELL RINGS" 
 
 overhead. The rows of tombstones reminded us that we 
 stood in the City of the Dead. Here lay the dust of our 
 Brenton, wrapped about with the shroud of silence. With 
 reluctant feet we left the sacred spot. Memory spoke, and 
 said: "He is not here. He walks on the silver sands of 
 another sea. Some day you shall see him again. His slum- 
 bering dust shall rise in that soon by and by to be clothed 
 in shining robes of immortality." 
 
 Farewell, beloved of our hearts! The ache in our breast 
 is heavy, and the sob of sorrow will not be still. The 
 crape still flutters from the door-knocker here, and we 
 miss him more than ever now. We will never be satisfied 
 until we exchange the empty parsonage for a mansion. In 
 the home of the soul there will be no missing ones. There 
 we may lay the cover for every member of the family 
 every day in eternity. No shadow shall cross our thres- 
 hold there. The fluttering crape on our door-knob here 
 will be forgotten in the joy that we have each other there. 
 
 Faith sees through the falling tears, beyond the tumult 
 of time, into the City where he walks hand in hand with 
 "sister Crystal" and heaven's choicest society. Beloved, 
 thou art safe at last! Temptation, sickness, pain, sorrow, 
 death, the open grave, the falling clod, the patted mound 
 - all, all these you have left for ever behind. The "little 
 ship" that bore you from our arms will soon round the 
 Golden Horn of time and anchor in the offing of Hope 
 just long enough for us to climb aboard. When the "bell 
 rings" and the "whistle blows" we will be "off" to climes 
 immortal and fair, 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THAT WONDERFUL MORNING 
 
 IN GRAVE NUMBER 46 in Sunset View Cemetery over- 
 looking the Bay and Golden Gate lies all that is mortal of 
 Brenton Samuel Lehman. The flowers that lay on his 
 grave have faded. His mortality is crumbling to dust. 
 Humanity weeps at the graveside, remembering only the 
 once animated clay; but Hope turns its eyes toward a 
 better day to the Day when his mortality shall rise 
 clothed in glory. 
 
 We turn away from the bed of fever and pain, from the 
 delirium and the tossings, the sweat-beaded forehead, the 
 stiffening limbs, the folded hands, the crape and flowers 
 and funeral obsequies. We close our ears to the muffled 
 fall of clods, the stifled sob and the moan of pain. We turn 
 our back upon the graveyard on the hill with its sleeping 
 dead to the waters of the west, toward the Golden Gate, 
 toward the Golden Era, to Golden Dreams to be fulfilled 
 at last. 
 
 We try to forget the "Great Storm" that swept the 
 
THAT WONDERFUL MORNING 
 
 Bay on that Thanksgiving day, when Brenton was in the 
 passing. We try to forget the undertaker's parlors, the 
 funeral train, the floral tributes, the heavy sorrow, the 
 empty chair, the unprest pillow, the emptiness and loneli- 
 ness all around, and turn our eyes toward that Morning 
 when grave Number 46 shall yield its precious treasure 
 when Brenton Samuel Lehman shall rise from his dusty 
 bed his mortality clothed in white and wonderful glory. 
 He shall rise again. 
 
 We do not forget that on that Wonderful Morning we 
 shall meet him whom we so lately lost. Then and there 
 shall forever pass away the last heartache and sorrow earth 
 has known. With a last look upon things transitory upon 
 the grave where he lay we shall cross the Bays of space 
 to worlds wonderful and fair. That Morning is coming. 
 
 The crunch of the grave-digger's spade shall never be 
 heard in heaven. No flower-grown sod will there be 
 turned, under which our loved ones are laid. We brush 
 away our tears and look up with tip-toe expectancy to the 
 soon-parting clouds, waiting for the ready-call to the 
 Marriage Supper of the Lamb. At this table there will be 
 no vacant chair. Brenton (and Crystal) will be there, 
 seated by our side as of old and, oh ! what a glad family 
 reunion that will be ! 
 
 So we turn away in sorrow from the grave upon the 
 hill, bowing low before the Master and submitting to His 
 will. Empty is the chair beside us, and his pillow lies un- 
 prest ; lowly lies his precious body, but his spirit is at rest. 
 Sailed he o'er the seas uncharted in his "little ship" away 
 
 Forty -five 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 to the Homeland of the Blessed left us weeping on the 
 Bay. Faded are the lilies lying on the little yellow mound ; 
 but his dust on that fair morning shall come springing 
 from the ground. Why his sun has set so early we do now 
 not understand ; but what God has done is better than we 
 ever could have planned. Just a few more golden sunsets 
 flashing o'er life's busy Bay, when the "little ship" will 
 take us to the Land of Far Away. We shall safely make 
 the Harbor be it morn or ev'ning late. There our "ships" 
 shall ride at anchor just inside the Golden Gate. 
 
SUNSET 
 
 His sun set at eight 
 With the dew on the rose ; 
 
 He has passed thro' the Gate 
 To his final repose. 
 
 The wind whispers so 
 O'er his grave on the hill, 
 
 Where the liners loom low 
 Thro' the murk and the chill. 
 
 His "ship" sailed away 
 To that far-away strand; 
 
 Thro' the mist and the spray 
 To that Beautiful Land. 
 
 Our woe was his weal 
 
 As he put out to sea, 
 With the foam at his keel 
 
 And the wind in his lee. 
 
 The off-shore winds sigh 
 Since his "ship" sailed away 
 
 Where the wild sea-gulls cry 
 O'er the ship-empty Bay. 
 
 The bright silver moon 
 
 Bathes his grave in her gleams, 
 While the Bay-waters croon 
 
 Their late lullaby dreams. 
 
 We watch and we wait 
 On the mist-heavy Mole, 
 
 Since he passed thro' the Gate 
 To the Home of the Soul. 
 
 Across the wide foam 
 
 In the soon by and by 
 We shall set sail for Home 
 
 Where they nevermore die. 
 
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
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> I 
 

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SONGS THAT ARE DIFFERENT 
 
 Book One 
 
 (Words and Music, 8vo.) 
 
 A Better Day 
 
 Abiding- Place in Jesus 
 
 A Common Volunteer 
 
 Amen, Jesus 
 
 Deeper Joys 
 
 Does God Answer Prayer Today ? 
 
 Elbow Room 
 
 Jesus Asleep in My Barque 
 
 Love of God 
 
 My Honeymoon 
 
 New Days 
 
 No Disappointment in Heaven 
 
 Old Time Religion (new) 
 
 On Tiptoe 
 
 Peace for Pain 
 
 Royal Telephone 
 
 That City 
 
 The Vision 
 
 What Will the Judgment Be? 
 
 When God Beats Time 
 
 Book Two 
 
 (Words and Music, 8vo.) 
 
 Alone 
 
 A String of Empties 
 
 Busy Dying 
 
 Flee Out of Sodom 
 
 Home 
 
 How Faith Will Grow 
 
 It's Easy 
 
 Moving- Day 
 
 My Leaning- Side 
 
 Never Draw Back 
 
 That Low Whisper 
 
 That Question Mark 
 
 The Auction 
 
 The Cowboy's Dream 
 
 The Last Panic 
 
 The Rainbow Song 
 
 Trolley's Off 
 
 Under the Cypress 
 
 When God Is Dead 
 
 Wide Enough for Two 
 
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 In Book Form, 36 pages, 
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 paid. 
 
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