An Engineer's Maxim

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 8, 1883

An Engineer's Maxim.

I WAS once allowed to visit the engine-room, of one of the Conant Thread factories in Rhode Island, a branch of the famous English Coat's Thread Company's works. It was a rare treat. To one unaccustomed to such scenes there will come in such an engine-room peculiar impressions. An engine of a thousand horse-power, engaged in its mighty work, is a grand sight.

We stood between the cylinders and watched the movements of the pistons, as with powerful arms they laid hold upon the cranks and turned the monstrous belted wheels between them. Steadily and with apparent ease, they worked together as if rejoicing in the consciousness of unwearying strength. The rhythmical click of valve arrangements; the occasional clap of the broad belts upon the great wheels, together with a deep under-tone, kept up a sort of music, “as seamen sing when at the windlass working.”

We followed the engineer between the rims of the mammoth driving-wheels, and stood near the central bearing of the shaft. Fifteen feet above our heads arched the under surface of the rims of those revolving wheels, and on either side the spokes as they passed fanned us with their hands. We were in the midst of motion, above, below, on either hand. It seemed like being in the center of a planet. We laid our hand on the polished shaft, and thought of the forces centered there. Yonder was the factory filled with machinery resisting; and there—boilers and engine triumphantly attacking. One must needs visit the place to have any idea of its grandeur.

Having spent some time in the room, we were about to leave, and extended our hand with thanks to the engineer for his courtesy, when he asked us to remain a few minutes longer and see the engine “run down”—come to a stop—as it was very near bell-time. We were sure it would be an impressive sight to witness the mighty mechanism cease from its toil and come to its rest. So we waited. Meanwhile the engineer and his assistant took their oilers, and went quietly but rapidly from place to place, carefully oiling every bearing. As he passed us, he stopped just long enough to say, “I always oil up just before she stops. I take it for granted if she’s all right when she stops, she will start all right.”

That remark had time to make a deep impression on my mind before the steam was shut off, and the engine, carried for a while by its own momentum, came at length to the full stop. That strangely gradual subsidence from intense action to silent rest was well calculated to give the engineer's remark a broader application than he intended. His confidence seemed reasonable. “I take it for granted if she’s all right when she stops, she will start all right.”

The remembrance of that remark comes to me sometimes at the close of a busy day, and leads me to self-examination and prayer. Do you wish to wake on the morrow ready for its earnest duties? End the day well. See that all is well with you before you go to rest for the night. More depends than we sometimes think, upon the frame of mind and heart with which we go to sleep. We carry over, from day to day, our words and feelings. We cannot count upon starting well upon to-morrow's duties, unless we are right before we rest to-day. It is wisdom to examine ourselves, seek fresh anointings of God's Spirit and grace. Then we may lay aside care and toil, and retire in confidence to rest. Concerning this marvelous mechanism of ours, this intricate combination of powers—physical, intellectual, spiritual—we may take it for granted if it is all right when it stops, it will start all right.

The same thought comes to me as I see strong men coming to the end of their life-work; as I think upon nearing the close of my own life's day. The admonition comes, Care well for your soul now. There is an eternal to-morrow ahead. We cannot see far into the mysteries of that life; but we know there is the promise of glorious activity there; and we long to be ready to commence well. We are assured that everything depends upon how we are at the close of this life's day. We think with anxiety of this life slowing by degrees until it comes to silent rest! But we may take this for granted, if it is all right when it stops, it will start all right. —H. C., in Examiner.