The Advent of the Printed Message
By John O. Corliss
The Experiences of Former Days—No. 5
The Advent of the Printed Message
We know very little of Brother Bates’ success in the evangelical field for the first year after he received the Sabbath. We do know, however, that as early as 1846 he laid his views before Elder James White and his wife, and although they expressed no great enthusiasm at first, it was soon shown to her in vision that the time had come to proclaim the binding force of the fourth commandment. From that time both she and her husband became living witnesses for the Sabbath truth as a prominent feature of the third angel’s message. At this stage of the work, none of the pioneers possessed a home of his own, but all were largely dependent on the bounty of others for food and shelter, while clothing was plain and poor, and scantily furnished. Considerable of the time, garments were worn which were darned over small rents and threadbare spots, and patched where gaps were too large to be darned. Should the question be asked why this course was pursued in the early days of the message, the answer would not be hard to find. The first ambassadors of the message had a burning zeal to see it reach the multitudes, and prepare the world for its closing scenes, which were believed to be just at hand. Every penny, except the little means needed to supply bare necessities, was therefore contributed toward the object so earnestly sought. So careful, indeed, were those pioneers to be counted faithful stewards, that some even denied themselves of things that now would be thought decided necessities. For instance, it was said that Brother White wore an overcoat through one severe New England winter, that was so much patched as to show seven kinds of cloth. Yet amid all this poverty, and with8scarcely any one to lift financially, Elder White was impressed that he should begin the publication of a periodical setting forth the truth for that time. Strengthened in this conviction by Sister White’s testimony that the Lord would bless in such an enterprise, Brother White set about finding work by which he might earn means with which to print the first sheet. Wages in those days were not so satisfying as now. Brother White earned fifty cents a day in chopping cord-wood, and seventy-five cents an acre for mowing grass with a hand scythe. But even at these low wages, and with a family to support, the soul of this intrepid man did not falter. He succeeded in getting together enough means to pay for printing the first little paper, with a page about five by eight inches in size, and containing eight pages. The title of this sheet was Present Truth, and it bore the date of July, 1849. The sheets of this paper were carried by Brother White on his shoulder about fourteen miles from the printing-office to his home, where his family knelt around them on the floor, imploring in tears the blessing of God on them as they should be sent out. The sheets were then folded, and mailed to all those who were known to be still deeply interested in the subject of the second advent. This little sheet appeared at intervals, as money could be earned with which to print it, for one year. During this time it had no stated office of publication, but was sent out from whatever point its publisher happened to be in when a number was printed. Not being satisfied with its title, the paper was issued in July, 1850, a trifle enlarged, under another name,—The Advent Review. For four numbers this paper was issued monthly from Auburn, N. Y., and the fifth number from Paris, Maine. It may have been issued from the latter point for a longer time, but these five numbers being all the writer has in his possession, he is not able to state definitely regarding that point. The reason is clearly shown why the title of Advent Review was chosen for the paper in 1850. As stated in the following poem, written about that time, many murmured and doubted the leadings of God, after the passing of the 1844 time, and something was necessary to call their minds to a review of the late advent experience. But this is so well told in the poem, we will let it relate the story from that standpoint of time:— “A pilgrim band, with unaccustomed feet,
Set out to follow Truth. Then Wisdom smiled,
And pointed to a path that led far out
Beyond the dim philosophy of time,
And said, ‘If ye indeed will drink the cup
Of which I drink, and also be baptized
With my baptism, then shall ye enter in
And tread the thorny path that follows Truth.’
They bowed with one consent, and onward pressed;
And, as the pathway narrowed, cast aside
Their worldly happiness and each hindering weight,—
Idols, and self, and sympathies, and tears,—
Nor looked behind to see how strangely far
They had advanced beyond each time-worn chart;
For on one side their feet dark waters yawned,
And on the other, still refining fire.
At length the trial came, when Wisdom sought
To test and purify their faith and zeal,
And seal them for the glory and the crown
Of righteousness. The day—the test hour—came;
They stood together, firm, united, free,
Upon eternal rock. The waves dashed round
And wildly threatened, while red lightnings blazed,
And thunders rolled; and from the gathering shade
Strange voices whispered unbelief. Yet still,
Unheeded for a while, they braved the storm.
At length a murmur rose, and some looked back,
Astonished at their distance from the shore;
For still the land of Egypt was in sight,
Where the proud fanes of worldly worship stood,
And human policy, and ancient names,
Earth’s wisdom, science and religion’s form.
Then with a wild attempt their life to save,
Some, that had been the foremost in the train,
Rushed o’er the beetling verge of that high rock,
And loudly called upon the rest to turn,
And with confessions deep, give up at once
The false pursuit. And now, while yet was heard
The echo of their voice beyond the wave,
In praise of Wisdom’s consecrated path,
Their voices change, and desecrate that way,
Proclaiming Wisdom had not led them out
So far from earth, but some strange wily fiend,
In Wisdom’s garb. Ah, judge what sad dismay
Entered the trusting hearts of that poor flock.
Some cried, ‘And is it all delusion, then,
A vision false, to which my soul has bowed;
My sacrifice and consecration all
A shadow, wrong and vain?’ Then Unbelief
Came in, and many sank in chill despair
Beneath the sullen waves, striving in vain
To reach the kingdom in some easier way.
But now, the third long watch is fully past,
And the dark mist that hung upon that rock
Is driven before the light of opening day.
What see we there?—Bones scattered round its base,
Washed from the depths beneath. But turn again.
Upon its highest point is seen a group—
A remnant, that, unshaken, there remains,
Who still have kept their joy and confidence,
Though winds have rent, and raging waters drenched,
And earth and hell combined to drive them hence.
Yet there they stand, held by a power unseen,
And wait a sure salvation from on high.
To them, what is reproach, or scorn, or hate?
Or the low ridicule of dying things?
What the last howlings of the storm to them,
When rest is just in sight, and Jesus calls,
And says, ‘Come out of tribulation, come,
My suffering and my ransomed ones,
COME HOME?’”