“They Shall Not Hurt Nor Destroy”
By John M. Hopkins
Every one who has ever lived in the Northwest, in Minnesota or the Dakotas, is familiar with the sound, the spring harbinger,—Bum, bum, boo!—the crowing of the prairie rooster, heard about as well as the first of any from the feathered creatures. And when the farmer hears this welcome sound at four or five o’clock in the morning, he says, “The time has come to sow and plant.” After the long, cold winter we are always made glad by this crowing, and also by the sweet songs of the happy birds returned from their Southern winter homes. Taught of God, they retrace their journey through the trackless space of heaven, coming back each spring to the nesting places of former years. But the prairie chicken remains all the year. In the last of April or during May she makes her nest in some cozy spot in the wild prairie grass, lays from ten to thirteen eggs as large as a medium-sized walnut, and there she sits and hatches her young. And when the little chicks are able to run about, it is almost impossible to find them, so closely will they nestle here and there in the grass. Forty years ago there were one hundred prairie chickens in Minnesota to one now. They have been hunted and shot until the legislature enacted an ordinance prohibiting all persons from shooting them before the first of September each year. To-day is the opening of the chicken season in Minnesota, and “Bang! bang! bang!” was the cruel sound that grated upon my ear about daybreak this morning, and I knew the beautiful innocent creatures were being killed to gratify the depraved appetite of men. Indeed, sportsmen eagerly look forward to this time of year, when load after load of men with dogs and guns may be seen driving over the fields where the grain has recently been harvested, in search of the prairie chicken. The trained “chicken dogs” run here and there, and scare the chickens, so the hunters can shoot them as they fly; and the man who “bags,” the largest number is the “lucky fellow.” To me it is a very painful sight to see the poor things, which, a moment before, could fly in the pure atmosphere of heaven, harmless as doves, now hanging at the hunter’s side with a broken, bleeding wing, or maybe a broken neck. How any one can take delight in such cruel work I can not see. With the abundance of healthful foods that God has given us, it seems altogether unnecessary to slaughter our fellow creatures (all were created by the Lord), to deprive them of life, which is sweet to all animate beings. The beautiful fish in our lakes and rivers, our domestic animals—why should we be so cruel, so hard-hearted, as to take their lives? Every day I thank God that this business will not always continue. The time is not far distant, when, according to the Word of the Lord, “they shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain.” Isa. 11:9. Study the first ten verses of this chapter, and I believe that as we draw nearer to that glad day, as we become more and more like him, growing daily into his loving, gentle nature, this flesh-hunger, this life-taking disposition, will leave us. We shall love our fellow beings, the beautiful flowers, and the patient, faithful creatures about us. Let us pray for a baptism of the Holy Spirit. Let us cultivate the pure, the kind, the gentle. Let us cultivate a love for the pure and holy.