Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 28, 1871
The Alarm.
Christ tells us that on the eve of his approaching there will be “distress of nations, with perplexity.” Do I attach too deep significance to the phenomena and facts of the age, if I express my belief that never were these words more applicable than they are to the nations of the earth at this very moment? There is a lull, indeed; but it is only the bivouac of hostile forces; they have not yet beaten their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks, and their cannon into iron rails. The Saviour tells us that there shall be war, nation rising up against nation; disasters, civil convulsions of all kinds. It may be that these signs, appearing in rapid succession, and with an intensity unprecedented in former years, shall be the alarm. Certainly we cannot look back to the ten years, from 1854 to the close of 1864, without recognizing a decade which nothing matches in the history of the world before. The Crimean war was followed by the Indian mutiny and the Italian war, and these by that most frightful war that lately ravaged the homes and the hearths of our children in America. I know no decade more terrible, or more true to the prophetic picture of the signs which are to precede the personal return of Him who comes to put all things right. In the words of the prophet, it seems to be the law now, “I will overturn, overturn, overturn it; . . . until He come whose right it is.” Recently the son of the Autocrat of all the Russians was smitten by the pestilence from which he fled, and so the hope of a mighty empire sleeps in the dust. The news that came so recently from America were the most shocking and most painful of its many painful scenes—an amiable and gentle chief, who spoke only words of kindness to those that revolted against what he believed to be their duty, was murdered by an assassin, one would hope a lunatic, and not a man sane and in his right mind. It was cruel and revolting in the mind of every brave soldier as of every good citizen.
It has been sometimes argued, “This age is not so bad as some previous age. The 19th century is not more remarkable, nor its phenomena more startling, than those of the close of the 18th, or those of some previous great period when Europe was devastated with war.” Let us hear on this the following remarkable judgments. The late Sir Robert Peel, the distinguished statesman of our country, said, “Every aspect of the present time, viewed in the light of the past, warrants the belief that we are on the verge of a universal change.” Dr. Arnold, the most accomplished and enlightened spirit of his day, whose memoir is well worth the perusal of every one that desires to estimate and admire a great character, says, “Modern history appears to me not only a step in advance of ancient history, but the last one. It appears to me to bear the marks of the fullness of the time, as if there were to be no future history beyond.” Professor Robinson, the eminent American, who has written so fully and ably upon Palestine, says, “Before another half century shall have rolled away”—speaking some five-and-twenty years ago—“there will be seen revolutions in the Eastern mind, and in the world, of which one has now no conception.” The Quarterly Review, published in this country, said in a recent number, “The long pent-up winds are beginning to break loose, and the sudden bursts of tempests that have swept over Europe these few years past are precursors of the world’s last desolating storm.” Bishop Chase says, “Are not these signs and prognostics of the speedy coming of our Lord to Judgment?” Dr. Seiss, a very eminent American clergyman, says, “For my part, I will believe and preach that the day of the Lord is at hand. I would rather encounter the sneers and vulgar taunts of all mankind, and be found ready when my Saviour comes, than to be accounted the most sober of theologians, and to enjoy the fame of the most revered favorite of popular laudation. I have been unable to fix any precise time; some profess to know it; I do not. Christ may come in three, seven, or ten years, or not so soon; but his coming is just at hand.” Dr. Krummacher, author of “Elijah the Tishbite,” that beautiful biography, says, “Never did the church witness such a constellation of signs of the near coming of Christ as now.” Elliot, the author of Horæ Apocalypticæ, says, “We are come so near to the day of the Son of Man that the generation now living shall very possibly not have passed away before its fulfillment.” Cunningham, of Lainshaw, says, “All the events of our times, the growing disorders of the body politic, the fears and expectations of men—every sign, every promise, unite in announcing the approach of Christ.” Habershon says, “The time undoubtedly is near at hand when the redemption of the body shall be experienced.”
Stanley Faber, the eminent canon of Salisbury, writes that “the time is not very far distant when the personal Word shall begin to tread the winepress of the fierceness of the wrath of God.” Brooks says, “The signs of the second advent in the state of the world at large are such as to impress my mind with the deep persuasion that we are on the eve of events of imminent importance.” Dr. Duff, the eminent Free Church missionary, lately returned from India, says, “Surely, the present crisis is constraining us to arise, and that with our whole heart. It looks as if, in response to the sighing of the whole creation, groaning in uneasiness and pain through long bygone ages, for the times of the restitution of all things—surely, in answer to the plaintive cry of the myriad martyrs from under the altar, who, age after age, have been uttering their longing cry, ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’ He who is seated on the throne on high is now indicating by no ordinary signs that he is to arise, and assert his great power, and manifest himself as King and Governor among the nations. Surely, in the language of one of old, the great Messiah is about to come forth from his royal chamber, about to put on the visible robes of his imperial majesty, and to take up the unlimited sceptre which the Father has bequeathed to him. Even now, in the ear of faith, and almost in the ear of sense, we may hear the distant noise of the chariot-wheels of the Saviour King, coming forth conquering and to conquer amid the shaking of the nations, from pole to pole. Every nation has of late been upheaving from its ancient, settled foundations, and there will be mightier upheavings still, and that right speedily, all preparing the way for the new heaven and the new earth, in which dwelleth righteousness.” Such are the words of Dr. Duff. A historian of vast intellectual powers, but with no great sympathy with prophetic researches—Lord Macaulay—writes in one of his celebrated essays, speaking as a mere secular historian, looking at what is transpiring outside: “Many Christians believe that the Messiah will shortly establish a kingdom on the earth and reign visibly over its inhabitants. Whether this doctrine be orthodox or not we shall not inquire; the number of people who hold it is very much greater than the number of Jews residing in England. Many of those who hold this doctrine are distinguished by rank, by wealth, by ability. It is preached from the pulpits both of the Scottish and of the English church; noblemen and members of parliament have written in defense of it; who expect that before this generation shall pass away, all the kingdoms of the earth will be swallowed up in one divine empire.” Such is the opinion of Macaulay.
Dr. Hitchcock, the eminent Christian geologist, says, “In a very short time, far shorter than we imagine, all the scenes of futurity will be to us a thrilling reality.” Dr. Cheever, of America, writes, “It is impossible to look upon a more sublime spectacle than that which rises to the mind of a spiritual observer at the present crisis. The convergence of all things to this point becomes more and more rapid. Meaning begins to appear in events before clouded in mystery. An omnipotent plan is in operation, and the trains laid with divine wisdom are fast completing.” And strange to say, the Jewish mind is brought to a similar conviction. One of their most eminent Rabbis says, “There is every reason to believe that the latter days are not far off; let us, therefore, be on the watch and in continual prayer.”
The Jews, who never thought of a Messiah, begin to say, “These are the days of travail which precede his arrival.” And Herschel, a chief Rabbi in the synagogue of the Jews in London, is represented as saying, and thinking with his people, that the Messiah’s advent cannot be long delayed beyond the year 1863. I have conversed with Jews, one especially, a Jewess, whose name is the representative of the wealth of this world. I asked her if she expected the Messiah soon; and her reply was that all the Jews had been long expecting him, and seemed disappointed that he is not come, and to feel that if he did not come soon they must give up the hope of Israel. This feeling, it appears, prevails very widely in the Jewish mind; for the advent of Jesus as the Messiah is one of those bright and blessed hopes which they have retained unextinguished. Lord Shaftesbury, the eminent Christian philanthropist, says, “The signs of the times are really unparalleled and most wonderful; and I think it does not proceed from any spirit of criticism if we say that we believe they are leading to some final consummation.”
These voices, coming from different sources, from men of different tones of mind and temperaments of nature, are, when blended into one, something like the echoes of the voice heard at midnight, “Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.”
Meanwhile, are our lamps burning? Have we trimmed them? Have we not only the oil of grace in our hearts, but do we know where the fountain of reserve is, from which we may fill those hearts with grace, and finally with glory? Do we look for this glorious era? Or are we, like thousands, settling down into the belief that this world is good enough, that we don’t want a better? Like the prodigal, who settled down into the belief that husks were the only food for men, and that men were meant to live on husks, forgetting for a season the bread which was in his father’s house? This world in its best and brightest spots is not a source of perpetual happiness and peace; it is given us in which to make ready for a brighter and a better.
That he will come in the clouds of heaven is as certain as that when the apostles on his ascent from the Mount of Olives, stood gazing up into the heavens, a voice came from the skies, “Why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.” How did he go? The cloud, the glory cloud, the shechinah, became his chariot, and conducted him to the Father’s right hand. That glory cloud, that shechinah, will again conduct him down to this world. Blessed are they that are now found in him; for at that day they will reign with him, and that forever and forever.
“The day is coming—yea, is now at hand—
When wars shall struggle on the Syrian plains,—
Wars such as ne’er before have been on earth,
Nor the sun seen in all his ancient reigns.”
—Cumming.
The Worship of the Virgin.
By E. Wentworth, D. D.
The wise men of the East fell down and worshiped the infant Jesus. How happened it that they did not worship the Virgin Mary? This singular omission must be a standing wonder to all good Catholics. If Pius Ninth, or any member of the late Œcumenical Council, had been in the train of the Magi, St. Matthew would have been spared the egregious blunder of giving the infant Saviour a monopoly of the worship. Mary would have come in for her share of the adoration, and even St. Joseph would not have been passed by in total silence by the owner of any breviary published this side of the Council of Trent. The wise men of the East knew nothing of the “glories of Mary,” “the Queen of mercy,” “the Mother of all mankind,” “Our life, protectress, Refuge, Help,” “the Propitiatory of the whole world,” “the Queen of Heaven and hell,” “the Coöperator in our justification,” “the Omnipotent,” “the Way of Salvation,” “the Mediator,” “Intercessor,” “Redeemer,” “Saviour,” “the sinless Daughter of Joachim and Anna,” “the immaculate Mother of God.”
Century by century, the Church of Rome has steadily added to the ever-cumulative mountains of tradition, and that the nineteenth might not be outdone by any of its predecessors, or the reign of the present pope be deficient in any glory that fell to the share of any other, Pius Ninth has engineered the dogmatic publication of two of the sheerest fabrications ever drawn from the simple records of inspiration, or palmed upon the superstition of open-mouthed masses of followers. A worthy companion to the dogma of his own personal infallibility was that of the immaculate conception of the Blessed Virgin, an event unknown to the evangelists and the Magi, and of which the fathers of the Church remained in shocking ignorance for some centuries. The nineteenth century has reason to congratulate itself that in both these wonderfully important points the darkness of the Bible and the early centuries is cleared away, and the true light now shineth. It does not say much for the power or patronage of the Holy Virgin that she seems to have left the Holy City when the French troops left it; that the Holy Father’s mercenaries have been replaced by the troops of Victor Emmanuel; that Pio Nono is a sullen and sulky prisoner in the Vatican; that his law—harmless now—so terrible in the middle ages, lies in the churches of Rome; that the Jews have been released from the horrible Ghetto; that Protestants are allowed to worship God while they live, and are not condemned to a dog’s burial when they die.
As the Minerva of Homer is, ever at the elbow of Achilles or Ulysses, stimulating to brave words and daring deeds, so we suppose the Queen of the Romish Pantheon is now on earth stirring up the arch-hierarchs of Britain and America to get up monster processions and mammoth gatherings, and fiery speeches, and fiery resolutions, in order to frighten Victor Emmanuel into the surrender of a sort of District of Columbia, ten miles square of the earth, of which God’s vicegerent claims to be sole proprietor, as a temporal throne for the head of the Church, where he may have his janisaries, and janitors, and Jesuits, and inquisitions, his swarms of beggars, and priests, and monks, and nuns; from which the hated Bible, and common school, and newspaper, and free speech, shall be expelled; and where the ballot—saving that of the Cardinal Consistory—shall be unknown; which shall be a Utah in its espionage, its perfidy, its absoluteness—a Sahara to the Protestant and a hell to the Jew.—E. Wentworth, D. D.
WHAT SHALL BE THE HARVEST?
“The field is the world,” and we’re all of us sowers,
And there’s coming a day in which all shall be mowers,
Or reapers, the rather; and therefore we need,
As we scatter each day, to look well to the seed.
If a farmer desire a good crop of wheat,
He is careful when sowing, to guard against cheat;
He will winnow and sift, to get clear of the chaff;
For he knows it is folly to sow half and half.
And thus should we all of us guard every day
Every act we perform, every word that we say,
Every thought of the mind; let us have but the kernel,
That shall bring forth good sheaves for the harvest
eternal.
Our Saviour has told us, and that’s how we know,
We shall all of us reap just whatever we sow;
If we sow to the wind, we shall all, to be brief,
Reap a horrible harvest, a whirlwind of grief.
If we sow to the flesh, when we thrust in the sickle
To reap, we shall wish we had all been less fickle;
A great crop of corruption is all that appears;
And we surely shall reap amid anguish and tears.
If we sow to the Spirit—ah! hearken I pray—
We shall all in that otherwise terrible day,
Reap a harvest of life everlasting; oh! why,
To secure such a prize, will not every one try?
Where Are We?
By O. R. Fassett
The four great prophetic empires of the earth have arisen, have fulfilled their long, bloody history, and passed away. Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome, are kingdoms that were, but are not. The last of these empires has been broken into fragmentary divisions, many centuries ago. Among the “ten” principal kingdoms of the shattered and divided empire of the “western division” has appeared the prophetic, blasphemous kingdom of the popes, which has ruled the world in tyranny, and made “war” upon the saints of God for the period of “1260 days,” or years. The present century and generation has witnessed the decay, and now the “loss of the temporal dominion,” and hence the remarkable fulfillment of the scripture, “They shall take away his dominion, to consume and to destroy it unto the end.” So that now at this hour, all that remains of the dominion of the pope is “a petit principality of the government of so much of the city of Rome as is covered by the castle St. Angelo, St. Peter’s, and the Vatican.” And Marmon, in the command at Rome, in issuing his proclamation, said: “The plebiscitum now crowns the national edifice. He hopes and believes the pope, as the head of the people, will be recognized by them as such.”
Where are we? The end is near! It is come, indeed! The Lord Jesus will soon appear in the heavens, where he displays the aurora so resplendently as a token of “the day dawn.” His blessed feet will “stand upon the earth” groaning for deliverance; and the sleepers in their graves, and sepulchers, and the dust of the earth, and from the coral reefs and depths of the seas, shall awake at his voice, as did Lazarus; and his kingdom in reality and in glory appear, with the saints enthroned at “his right hand.”
Ye waiting saints, keep ready for the glorious coming One! Ye weary ones, almost fainting for the long delay of your Lord, “lift up your heads; your redemption draweth nigh.” “Know ye, that the kingdom of God is nigh at hand.” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” “Make haste my Beloved, and be thou like to a roe, or to a young hart, upon the mountains of spices.”—O. R. FASSETT, in World’s Crisis.
With Your Crown of Life in View
Do NOT think of earthly trials
With your crown of life in view;
Though afflicted, bear it meekly;
Jesus bled and died for you.—Sel.
Our Father Knoweth.
By H. W. Beecher
“Your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.”
That sentence hangs in the heavens like a bell to me; and every time I take hold of it, it is like a sexton’s taking hold of an old church bell. If I pull it, it rings—and I hear it every time—“Your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” There is no part of your experience about which you need be afraid to stand and say, “God knows it.”
It is not that God merely knows these things as I know a thousand things when I read my morning paper, running my eye along column after column of advertisements, knowing that they are there, and having a general perception of what they are, but not caring a farthing for them, that is not the way God knows. And this passage is an argument to relieve from care and suffering those who trust in God. Our Saviour says that even those things which seem least likely to come under God’s attention—your clothes and bread—your Heavenly Father knows about; so do not be anxious.
A child tells its father, “Mother says we have no bread in the house, and it is Saturday night.” “But my child,” says the father, “I know all about that; do not trouble yourself.” And what does the child understand, but this? “I know; I have arranged for it; there is no occasion for anxiety.”
I recollect going, once, with my father a trout-fishing. I went with him many times; but I have a special recollection of this time. After riding a mile or two, we came into a road that was unfamiliar to me. There we stopped, and father hitched his horse—that was always safe to be hitched! He then gathered up his rod and line, and we started across the field.
Father went on throwing his line, without paying much attention to me. He was a natural-born fisherman, and he never threw his line in vain. When we had got across the first meadow, and were climbing over the fence into the second one, a strange fear came over me. We were in an out-of-the-way place, and I did not know the way home; and the thought of being lost frightened me. But I looked back and could see the carriage-top, and that dispelled my fears. So long as I could see the old chaise-top, I had no trouble in trusting my father! And there are many people who can trust God so long as they can see their way before them!
By-and-by we got so far that I could not see the chaise-top; and then my fear returned, and I said, “Pa, do you know the way home?” “Yes,” he said, and did not pay much attention to me. That made me feel a little better, and I got along very well till we came to the third fence, when my fears were stronger than before, and I came up to my father again, and said, “Pa, do you know the way home?” “Yes,” said he; but it scarcely crossed his mind what the meaning of it was. I was comforted once more, and I went on pitapat, pitapat, again, my heart going pitapat all the time, too, until we came to still another fence, where there was a kind of thicket, when I could not stand it any longer, and with tears on my face I cried out, “Pa, do you know the way home?” He turned round and put his arms about me, and said, “Why, Henry! I am ashamed of you. Yes, I know the way home. Do you suppose I would take you where I did not know the way?” And he patted me on the head, and parted the hair on my forehead; and I was perfectly content after that.
Now, we are following after our Heavenly Father in about the same way. So long as we can see the carriage-top we feel safe; but when there are no landmarks by which we can distinguish our course, we become frightened, and grow short of breath, and say, “Lord, dost thou know the way?” And he says, “Yes, your Heavenly Father knoweth.” And we are comforted for a little time. But by-and-by when we come where it is thicker and thicker, and our fears return, and increase, we break down, and with tears, say, “Lord, dost thou know the way?” And then his Spirit, with infinite tenderness and graciousness, puts his arms about us, and says, “Your Heavenly Father knoweth perfectly.”
Well, how far may you carry that trust? Just as far as you can carry life. It is a good thing to have sight. That helps faith. But there are emergencies in every man’s life, in which he can neither have sight, nor memory, nor experience. You must trust God, not because you see the law by which he is going to help you, but simply because he is your Father. And you will never hear it better expressed than it was by him of old, who said, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.” That is a tenet that will bear a man through almost everything. There is no difficulty; there is no sorrow; there is no threat in the future; there is no impending trouble that cannot be vanquished by the thought, “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and I know that my Father knoweth.”—H. W. Beecher.
THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE.—
Have you ever heard of the great clock of St. Paul's in London? At mid-day, in the roar of business, when carriages, and carts, and wagons, and omnibuses, go rolling through the streets, how many never hear the great clock strike unless they live very near it! But when the work of the day is over, and the roar of business has passed away—when men are gone to sleep, and silence reigns in London—then at twelve, at one, at two, at three, at four, the sound of that clock may be heard for miles around. Twelve! one! two! three! four! How that clock is heard by many a sleepless man! That clock is just like the conscience of the impenitent man. While he has health and strength and goes on in the whirl of business, he will not hear his conscience. He drowns and silences its voice by plunging into the world. He will not allow the inner man to speak to him. But the day will come when conscience will be heard, whether he likes it or not. The day will come when its voice will sound in his ears and pierce him like a sword. The time will come when he must retire from the world, and lie down on the sick bed, and look death in the face. And then the clock of conscience, that solemn clock, will sound in his heart.
Recognizing God.
THE people of the United States came to their political majority resting—or rather, staggering—under the heavy burden of Human Slavery. For eighty years thereafter they remained under the unjust imputation of cherishing and sustaining that anomaly, when in fact they had not the right nor the power to abolish it. State Sovereignty shielded this, as it has shielded so many crying abuses; and only the madness of the slave-holding caste ultimately gave the Nation the power and the opportunity to establish its political fabric on the solid foundation of Impartial Liberty. At length, and we trust evermore, the political rights of every American citizen are exactly equal to those of every other, and are thus guaranteed and shielded by our Federal Constitution.
Eternal vigilance is the price of Liberty. We have no sooner routed the enemy who defiantly advanced from one direction than we are called to meet another, who more meekly and sinuously approaches from another. The foe who desecrated and chattelized man is succeeded by one who is speciously intent on recognizing and honoring God.
We cheerfully admit that the authors and backers of the new crusade are worthy men and good citizens. We admit that what they propose seems to them not only right but eminently proper and urgently necessary. It is not a novelty that men should have an earnest “zeal for God,” which is not “according to knowledge.” “Ye know not what spirit ye are of,” was an admonition addressed to the immediate followers of the Saviour; what marvel that some followers of those followers should be tempted to deserve a similar rebuke? Persecution and every form of intolerance and bigotry have been the work of men who meant thereby to honor God and bless mankind. In resisting an erroneous and perilous movement, we nowise impugn the motives nor assail the characters of its champions.
The Convention lately held in Philadelphia, to promote an amendment of the Federal Constitution whereby God shall be formally recognized and Christianity declared the true basis of all human government, deliberately
Resolved, That, in view of the controlling power of the Constitution in shaping State as well as National policy it is of immediate importance to public morals and to social order to secure such an amendment as will indicate that this is a Christian nation, and place Christian laws, institutions, and usages, in our Government, on an undeniable, legal basis in the fundamental law of our nation—especially those which secure a proper oath, and which protect society against blasphemy, Sabbath-breaking, and polygamy.
“A proper oath”—that is, an oath proper to be taken by Christians as these men understand Christianity. Can a Hebrew take this oath? or a deist? or an atheist? or a “heathen Chinee?” or even a rationalizing Unitarian? Manifestly not. The very object of imposing such an oath would be defeated if he could. This “proper oath” is intended and will be shaped to exclude not only from office but from voting if challenged, from the jury-box, and from the witness-stand, every one who is regarded by its framers as a Christian. Who does not see that this is Church and State in a far more intolerant union than any European monarchy now endures?
But “blasphemy” is one of the offenses against which the new Amendment is to “protect Society.” Of course, blasphemy must be defined before it can be punished. Our prosecutors and judges must determine that an averment is blasphemous, just as John Calvin and Company did when they tried, condemned, sentenced, and burned to death, Michael Servetus, a scholar and theologian of blameless life and unquestioned honesty, for his stout resistance to the Trinitarian dogmas. If it be indeed the duty of Government to “protect Society” against “blasphemy,” then the roasting to death of Servetus, as of tens of thousands like him, was eminently proper and salutary. The Spanish Inquisition, with its racks, thumb-screws, infinite unbearable tortures and broilings at the stake, was a logical and inevitable deduction from the premise that it is the duty of Government to “protect Society” against “blasphemy.”
“Sabbath-breaking,” too, is among the crimes against which it is proposed to “protect Society” by Federal power. Whose Sabbath is to be thus hallowed and hedged about with Federal punishments? Unquestionably that of the promoters of the Amendment, not that of Jews, Seventh-day Baptists, &c. That God has set apart and sanctified the first day of the week for a Sabbath, is not at this hour the conviction of a majority of the American people; and of course any enactment which would satisfy the promoters of the proposed Amendment would be violated each week by at least five million persons. How shall our already overburdened courts find time to try the culprits? Where shall we find prison-cells in which to immure them?
But we forbear. The proposed recognition of God involves a more fundamental and sweeping change than was effected by our father's separation from Great Britain. It would give us a government not unlike that from which Rome has just been emancipated. We entreat thoughtful, intelligent citizens to refrain from giving the project a countenance, which cannot fail to be productive of grave mischief.—N. Y. Tribune.
Little Things and Little People
LITTLE things and little people have often brought great things to pass. The large world in which we exist is made up of little particles, smaller than the sands on the sea-shore. The vast sea is composed of small drops of water. The little busy bees, how much honey they gather! Do not be discouraged because you are little. A little star shines brightly in the sky in the dark night, and may be the means of saving many a poor sailor from shipwreck; and a little Christian may do a great deal of good, if he or she will try. There is nothing like trying.
The Crooked-Stick Family.
By John Todd
I HAVE been told—though I cannot vouch for all the story—that a man was crossing a spur of the Green Mountains, in Vermont, when he heard a great thrashing and noise over the fence among the bushes. He dismounted from his horse, and carefully and cautiously looked over the fence, not knowing whether he would see a bear or some other animal, when he found that all the noise came from a stick that was so crooked it couldn't lie still! He rode off as fast as he could, lest in some of its whirls it should strike him!
Now, there are many people who are just like this crooked stick, they can't be easy anywhere. Like the polywogs in the margin of a pond, they must keep wriggling. It is a sort of mental nervousness that makes them want to turn and change.
How many children I have known who begin life in this way. They go awhile to the Sabbath-school. But they soon find something out of the way with the superintendent, or with their teachers, or the school-room, or their classmates. And then they must change, stay at home a while, and then you may find them in some other school. Every change increases the disease and the restlessness, till you give up all hope of their ever becoming stationary. They belong to “the crooked stick” family.
You will find grown-up people, too, who belong to the same family. They roam from church to church, and perhaps from denomination to denomination. They can't find the right spot. There is hardly a church near or far off which they have not tried, and not one that suits them. The church where they are to-day places no reliance on them, for they very likely will be off to-morrow. They gain no foothold, and can do no good. They receive no good from the preacher, for I hold that no man can receive much good from any preacher, unless he has heard him at least six months, and become acquainted with “the hang” of his mind. The boy who said he could not “spell so well in the new school-house till he got the hang of the house,” was not so very far out of the way. A minister can't rely upon the good or bad opinion of a hearer, unless he has preached to him at least six months.
Then there are Sabbath-school teachers who wander from school to school, and can find no easy spot. They find stupid scholars and careless, mischievous children everywhere. In one place they are not appreciated, and have a class given them that is too young, and in another they cannot keep their class together. In one school they are not taken notice of, in another they find things “not according to their mind.”
I am sorry to say that I fear there are some ministers who belong to this “crooked stick” family. They are always rolling round; they hope to find the next field easier, the difficulties fewer, the trials lighter, and the aids greater. But everywhere work is work, human nature is stubborn, the heart is selfish, and indolence and parsimony are to be overcome. The burden on the shoulder is very heavy, and it seems as if it must be lighter if shifted to the other shoulder. But shifting do n't make it lighter.
O uneasy one! get away from this family of “crooked sticks.” Go to work where you are to-day, and do the best you can. Make the best of everything and of everybody. You can receive good and do good in every position. If you are not in the right niche, work on faithfully and you will soon find your place. I once knew a gentleman who moved into a strange city, and on inquiring for a class in a Sabbath-school had the very lowest class of little boys given him. He quietly took it, and went faithfully to work. By degrees he came to be appreciated, and in two years he was the superintendent of that large school. There is always enough to do. No garden is so full that no more seed can be put in. If things are not pleasant to us, they bring a discipline that is valuable to us. The north star is more valuable to the world than any other, because the little fellow is always in his place, and the sailor knows just where to find him, and if he steers by this light he cannot go wrong. I am grieved to say that this “crooked stick” family is very numerous, but am in hope that when they come to know just how they appear to others, they will learn to straighten out and lie still.—Rev. John Todd, D. D.
Pull at the Oar
By Cuyler
PULL AT THE OAR.—The servants of Jesus are like rowers in a boat. They sit with their backs to the bow, and cannot see what lies ahead. But the helmsman at the stern is on the lookout, and he steers the boat whithersoever he wills. So in our godly undertakings we sit with our backs to the future. It is all unknown, untried, and impenetrable. We know not what the morrow may bring forth. But it is our business to pull at the oar of prayer and earnest labor. There is a divine Helmsman who sees the future, and who holds the rudder in his hand. We have only to commit our way to him, and to pull at the oar of duty.—Cuyler.
The Bible.
“WHEN in Paris, some years ago,” (related Mr. Webster,) “I received an account of a French infidel, who happened to find in a drawer of his library some stray leaves of an unknown volume. Although in the constant habit of denouncing the Bible, like most infidel writers, he had never read any part of it. These fugitive leaves contained the prayer of Habakkuk. Being a man of fine literary taste, he was captivated with its poetic beauty, and hastened to the club-house to announce the discovery to his associates. Of course, they were anxious to know the name of the gifted author, to which inquiries the elated infidel replied: ‘A writer by the name of Hab-ba-kook—of course a Frenchman.’ Judge of the infidel’s surprise when informed that the passage he was so enthusiastically admiring was not produced by one of his own countrymen, nor even by one of his own class of so-called Free Thinkers, but was penned by one of God’s ancient prophets, and was contained in that much despised book—the Bible.”
Protecting the Young from Vice
I do not believe in bringing the young to know life, as it is said. I should just as soon think of bringing up a child by cutting some of the cords of his body, and lacerating his nerves, and scarring and tattooing him, and making an Indian of him outright, as an element of beauty, as I should think of developing his manhood by bringing him up to see life—to see its abominable lusts; to see its hideous incarnations of wit; to see its infernal wickedness; to see its extravagant and degrading scenes; to see its miserable carnalities; to see its imaginations set on fire of hell; to see all those temptations and delusions which lead to perdition. Nobody gets over the sight of these things. They who see them always carry the scars. They are burned. And though they live, they live as men that have been burned. The scar remains. And to let the young go out where the glaring courtesan appears; to let them go where the lustful frequenter of dens of iniquity can come within their reach; to let them go where the young gather together to cheer with bad wit; to let them go where they will be exposed to such temptations—why, the parent is insane who will do it. To say, “A child must be hardened; he has got to get tough somehow, and you may as well put him in the vat, and let him tan”—is that family education? Is that Christian nurture? Is that bringing up a child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord?—Beecher.
Little Crosses
By Goulburn
Christ comes to us, morning by morning, to present to us, for the day then opening, divers little crosses, thwartings of our own will, interferences with our plans, disappointments of our little pleasures. Do we kiss them, and take them up, and follow in his rear, like Simon the Cyrenian? or do we toss them from us scornfully because they are so little, and wait for some great affliction to approve our patience and our resignation to his will? Ah! how might we accommodate to the small matters of religion generally those words of the Lord respecting the children, “Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones”! Despise not little sins; they have ruined many a soul. Despise not little duties; they have been to many a saved man an excellent discipline of humility. Despise not little temptations; rightly met, they have often nerved the character for some fiery trial. And despise not little crosses; for when taken up, and lovingly accepted at the Lord’s hand, they have made men meet for a great crown, even the crown of righteousness and life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.—Goulburn.
DON’T BE AFRAID.—The following was found pasted in a Christian’s pocket-book:
“Do n’t be afraid of trying to do good to the most hardened. Make no calculation that any are so strong, so proud, so wicked, so unbelieving, that the gospel will not subdue them. They have souls and they have feelings; they often feel misgivings, and fears, and remorse, to which God alone is witness. How can you tell that God has not sent you to such a person at just such a time? Besides, God’s Spirit is to do the work, and that Spirit can do everything. Beware of limiting Omnipotence.”
LAND ENOUGH.
There are in the eleven Territories of the United States, including Alaska, nearly one thousand million acres of land, which, owing to the sparseness of population, may be described as unoccupied. If the 40,000,000 who inhabit the States were diffused through this land ocean, they would be almost as few and far between as the sails which, according to the popular idea, “whiten every sea.”