There is a striking story of a certain missionary who was sent for on one occasion to go to a little village in an out-of-the-way corner of India to baptize and receive into church fellowship sixty or seventy adult converts from Hinduism.At the commencement of the proceedings he had noticed a boy about fifteen years of age sitting in a back corner, looking very anxiously and listening very wistfully. He now came forward. “What, my boy? Do you want to join the Church?” “Yes, sir.” “But you are very young, and if I were to receive you into fellowship with the Church to-day, and then you were to slip aside, it would bring discredit upon this church and do great injury to the cause of Christ. I shall be coming this way again in about six months. Now you be very loyal to the Lord Jesus Christ during that time, and if when I come again at the end of the half year I find you still stedfast and true, I will baptize and receive you gladly.”No sooner was this said than all the people rose to their feet, and, some speaking for the rest, said: “Why, sir, it is he who has taught us all that we know about Jesus Christ.”And so it turned out to be. This was the little minister of the little church the honored instrument in the hand of God for saving all the rest for Jesus Christ.
There is a striking story of a certain missionary who was sent for on one occasion to go to a little village in an out-of-the-way corner of India to baptize and receive into church fellowship sixty or seventy adult converts from Hinduism.
At the commencement of the proceedings he had noticed a boy about fifteen years of age sitting in a back corner, looking very anxiously and listening very wistfully. He now came forward. “What, my boy? Do you want to join the Church?” “Yes, sir.” “But you are very young, and if I were to receive you into fellowship with the Church to-day, and then you were to slip aside, it would bring discredit upon this church and do great injury to the cause of Christ. I shall be coming this way again in about six months. Now you be very loyal to the Lord Jesus Christ during that time, and if when I come again at the end of the half year I find you still stedfast and true, I will baptize and receive you gladly.”
No sooner was this said than all the people rose to their feet, and, some speaking for the rest, said: “Why, sir, it is he who has taught us all that we know about Jesus Christ.”
And so it turned out to be. This was the little minister of the little church the honored instrument in the hand of God for saving all the rest for Jesus Christ.
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CHILD, SAVED BY A
Dr. George Grenfell, who did much to open up to civilization and to Christianity the hinterland of the Kongo, was traveling in the little steamer called thePeaceup a great tributary of the Kongo which had never before been navigated by a white man. Suddenly the craft was stopt and surrounded by a crowd of canoes filled with natives. These were armed with spears and their attitude was hostile and malignant. Dr. Grenfell momentarily expected that some of the murderous weapons would be hurled at him. But by a happy inspiration he called to his wife who was in the cabin, “Show them the baby!” She rushed forward and held out the infant she was nursing. The savages, amazed at the sight of the first light-colored baby they had ever seen, and charmed with its smiles and its entire lack of fear, dropt their spears, smiled in their turn with delight, and at once became the sincere friendsof the missionaries. Thus once again was verified the prediction, “A little child shall lead them.”
Dr. George Grenfell, who did much to open up to civilization and to Christianity the hinterland of the Kongo, was traveling in the little steamer called thePeaceup a great tributary of the Kongo which had never before been navigated by a white man. Suddenly the craft was stopt and surrounded by a crowd of canoes filled with natives. These were armed with spears and their attitude was hostile and malignant. Dr. Grenfell momentarily expected that some of the murderous weapons would be hurled at him. But by a happy inspiration he called to his wife who was in the cabin, “Show them the baby!” She rushed forward and held out the infant she was nursing. The savages, amazed at the sight of the first light-colored baby they had ever seen, and charmed with its smiles and its entire lack of fear, dropt their spears, smiled in their turn with delight, and at once became the sincere friendsof the missionaries. Thus once again was verified the prediction, “A little child shall lead them.”
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CHILD, THE
The value and possibilities of a new-born child are thus set forth by James Oppenheim:
You may be Christ or Shakespeare, little child,A savior or a sun to the lost world.There is no babe born but may carry furledStrength to make bloom the world’s disastrous wild.Oh, what then must our labors be to mold you,To open the heart, to build with dream the brain,To strengthen the young soul in toil and pain,Till our age-aching hands no longer hold you!Vision far-dreamed! But soft! If your last goalBe low, if you are only common clay,What then? Toil lost? Were our toil trebled, nay!You are a soul, you are a human soul,A greater than the skies ten-trillion starred—Shakespeare no greater, O you slip of God!(Text.)—Cosmopolitan.
You may be Christ or Shakespeare, little child,A savior or a sun to the lost world.There is no babe born but may carry furledStrength to make bloom the world’s disastrous wild.Oh, what then must our labors be to mold you,To open the heart, to build with dream the brain,To strengthen the young soul in toil and pain,Till our age-aching hands no longer hold you!Vision far-dreamed! But soft! If your last goalBe low, if you are only common clay,What then? Toil lost? Were our toil trebled, nay!You are a soul, you are a human soul,A greater than the skies ten-trillion starred—Shakespeare no greater, O you slip of God!(Text.)—Cosmopolitan.
You may be Christ or Shakespeare, little child,A savior or a sun to the lost world.There is no babe born but may carry furledStrength to make bloom the world’s disastrous wild.Oh, what then must our labors be to mold you,To open the heart, to build with dream the brain,To strengthen the young soul in toil and pain,Till our age-aching hands no longer hold you!
You may be Christ or Shakespeare, little child,
A savior or a sun to the lost world.
There is no babe born but may carry furled
Strength to make bloom the world’s disastrous wild.
Oh, what then must our labors be to mold you,
To open the heart, to build with dream the brain,
To strengthen the young soul in toil and pain,
Till our age-aching hands no longer hold you!
Vision far-dreamed! But soft! If your last goalBe low, if you are only common clay,What then? Toil lost? Were our toil trebled, nay!You are a soul, you are a human soul,A greater than the skies ten-trillion starred—Shakespeare no greater, O you slip of God!(Text.)—Cosmopolitan.
Vision far-dreamed! But soft! If your last goal
Be low, if you are only common clay,
What then? Toil lost? Were our toil trebled, nay!
You are a soul, you are a human soul,
A greater than the skies ten-trillion starred—
Shakespeare no greater, O you slip of God!
(Text.)—Cosmopolitan.
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SeeFaith, a Child’s.
Child, The, as an Educator—SeeHome, Foundation of the Republic.
Child Training—SeeProdigy, A;Training Children.
Child’s View of God—SeeAnthropomorphism.
Childhood and Nature—SeeGod in the Child Mind.
CHILDLIKE TRUST AND MATURITY
A few days since, just after the recent snow-storm, I passed in the street a little fellow drawing a sled; a little, rosy-cheeked boy, who was so full of perfect happiness that his entire face was crinkled into a smile. He made a beautiful picture. That sled was his only responsibility, and that, along with the snow, made out for him a perfect heaven. I watched the lad and wished I were a boy again. It was a foolish wish, and yet not altogether foolish. There was something exquisite in the situation which one would have been not only foolish but stupid not to appreciate. He had no burden. His sled was unloaded, and slipt along over the frosty pavement almost of its own momentum. He had no anxieties. The little fellow’s heart is sometimes bruised, I suppose, but child bruises do not last as long as older bruises.But I had not gone many steps past him before I revised my wish, and thought only how beautiful it would be to have the innocence of the boy and his simple trust, and along with that the mature equipment opening out into the vast opportunities that form the heritage of years that are ripe.—Charles H. Parkhurst.
A few days since, just after the recent snow-storm, I passed in the street a little fellow drawing a sled; a little, rosy-cheeked boy, who was so full of perfect happiness that his entire face was crinkled into a smile. He made a beautiful picture. That sled was his only responsibility, and that, along with the snow, made out for him a perfect heaven. I watched the lad and wished I were a boy again. It was a foolish wish, and yet not altogether foolish. There was something exquisite in the situation which one would have been not only foolish but stupid not to appreciate. He had no burden. His sled was unloaded, and slipt along over the frosty pavement almost of its own momentum. He had no anxieties. The little fellow’s heart is sometimes bruised, I suppose, but child bruises do not last as long as older bruises.
But I had not gone many steps past him before I revised my wish, and thought only how beautiful it would be to have the innocence of the boy and his simple trust, and along with that the mature equipment opening out into the vast opportunities that form the heritage of years that are ripe.—Charles H. Parkhurst.
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Children—SeeCruelty to Children.
CHILDREN AND CIVIC SERVICE
Two hundred clubs of children on the New York East Side cooperate with the street-cleaning department in keeping clean streets in their respective neighborhoods. They hand prepared cards furnished by the city to every one seen throwing rubbish in the street, which read as follows:Give your banana-peels to a horse. Horses like them. Orange-peels, peanut-shells, newspapers and other rubbish must not be thrown in the street. Keep yours and throw them in the receptacle placed at street corners for that purpose. You should sprinkle your sidewalk before sweeping. Don’t raise the dust, as it breeds disease. It is against the law to throw rubbish from the windows to the street. Don’t put paper, rags and other rubbish either in the ash-can or garbage-can.A badge is given to each child to wear on which is inscribed the motto: “We are for clean streets.” Thus thousands of children are learning to take pride in their city.
Two hundred clubs of children on the New York East Side cooperate with the street-cleaning department in keeping clean streets in their respective neighborhoods. They hand prepared cards furnished by the city to every one seen throwing rubbish in the street, which read as follows:
Give your banana-peels to a horse. Horses like them. Orange-peels, peanut-shells, newspapers and other rubbish must not be thrown in the street. Keep yours and throw them in the receptacle placed at street corners for that purpose. You should sprinkle your sidewalk before sweeping. Don’t raise the dust, as it breeds disease. It is against the law to throw rubbish from the windows to the street. Don’t put paper, rags and other rubbish either in the ash-can or garbage-can.
A badge is given to each child to wear on which is inscribed the motto: “We are for clean streets.” Thus thousands of children are learning to take pride in their city.
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CHILDREN AND GARDENS
Professor Hanna, head of the Department of Natural History of the Board of Education, New York, divided an open lot into some three hundred little garden plots, took boys from the Bowery district, and girls as well. Each child spaded up its own ground, planted its seeds, pulled out the weeds, and watched the ruddy vegetables grow. A thousand questions arose to these city-born children. Given a black clod and a drop of rain-water, and a few seeds, how does the same clod make a beet red, and acarrot a golden hue? How could one clod condense the smells of a whole soap factory, into one little onion? How does a potato come to have starch in it? If one bunch of green weeds is worth ten cents for spinach, why doesn’t everybody in Wall Street go to farming? When some of the boys reached the Bowery Saturday night, the first question they asked their fathers was: “How much it would take to buy a ticket to Dakota.” Ah, Wordsworth, looking across the field, and writing, “My heart with rapture thrills and dances with the daffodils,” and Ruskin with his confession of what the fields and brooks did for his culture, throw a pathetic light on the lives of the little waifs of the tenement-house, starved for an outlook on the grass and the wave, and the shrub and the flower. Plainly the child has a right to its outlook upon the world of nature.—N. D. Hillis.
Professor Hanna, head of the Department of Natural History of the Board of Education, New York, divided an open lot into some three hundred little garden plots, took boys from the Bowery district, and girls as well. Each child spaded up its own ground, planted its seeds, pulled out the weeds, and watched the ruddy vegetables grow. A thousand questions arose to these city-born children. Given a black clod and a drop of rain-water, and a few seeds, how does the same clod make a beet red, and acarrot a golden hue? How could one clod condense the smells of a whole soap factory, into one little onion? How does a potato come to have starch in it? If one bunch of green weeds is worth ten cents for spinach, why doesn’t everybody in Wall Street go to farming? When some of the boys reached the Bowery Saturday night, the first question they asked their fathers was: “How much it would take to buy a ticket to Dakota.” Ah, Wordsworth, looking across the field, and writing, “My heart with rapture thrills and dances with the daffodils,” and Ruskin with his confession of what the fields and brooks did for his culture, throw a pathetic light on the lives of the little waifs of the tenement-house, starved for an outlook on the grass and the wave, and the shrub and the flower. Plainly the child has a right to its outlook upon the world of nature.—N. D. Hillis.
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Children and Music—SeeMusic and Children.
Children and the Bible—SeeAdapting the Bible.
CHILDREN FORMING PARENTS’ CHARACTER
A friend once said to me: “So long as my children were little, I lived at peace with my faults and bad habits. Perhaps they were annoying to others, but they caused me no uneasiness. But since my children have grown up, I am ashamed to meet their eyes, for I know they judge me, observe my attitude, my manner of acting, and measure my words. Nothing escapes them; neither the little ‘white lie,’ nor my illogical reasoning; neither unjustifiable irritation, nor any of the thousand imperfections I formerly indulged in. I require now to be constantly on my guard, and what will finally happen is this, that, instead of my having trained them, my children will have formed my character.”—Dora Melegari, “Makers of Sorrow and Makers of Joy.”
A friend once said to me: “So long as my children were little, I lived at peace with my faults and bad habits. Perhaps they were annoying to others, but they caused me no uneasiness. But since my children have grown up, I am ashamed to meet their eyes, for I know they judge me, observe my attitude, my manner of acting, and measure my words. Nothing escapes them; neither the little ‘white lie,’ nor my illogical reasoning; neither unjustifiable irritation, nor any of the thousand imperfections I formerly indulged in. I require now to be constantly on my guard, and what will finally happen is this, that, instead of my having trained them, my children will have formed my character.”—Dora Melegari, “Makers of Sorrow and Makers of Joy.”
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CHILDREN, LINCOLN’S REGARD FOR
When Lincoln, on his way by train from Washington to Gettysburg, was halted at a station, a little girl was lifted up to an open window of the car, and handing a bouquet of rosebuds to him, said: “Flowers for the President!” Mr. Lincoln took the rosebuds, bent down and kissed the child, saying, “You’re a sweet little rosebud yourself. I hope your life will open into perpetual beauty and goodness.”
When Lincoln, on his way by train from Washington to Gettysburg, was halted at a station, a little girl was lifted up to an open window of the car, and handing a bouquet of rosebuds to him, said: “Flowers for the President!” Mr. Lincoln took the rosebuds, bent down and kissed the child, saying, “You’re a sweet little rosebud yourself. I hope your life will open into perpetual beauty and goodness.”
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Children Missionaries—SeeSong, Effective.
Children, Neglecting the—SeeHome, The Old and the New.
Children, Religious Nature of—SeeAnimism.
CHILDREN, ROMAN CATHOLIC CARE OF
Bishop Fowler, in theChristian Advocate, describes the method by which Roman Catholic institutions in South America receive and care for foundlings:
No thoughtful man can watch the long processions of children which the sisters are teaching, and believe that Romanism is closing its career. She takes the utmost care of all the children she can obtain. In the great cities she has her foundling institutions. The arrangement for receiving foundlings is unique. It reminds one of the standard advertisements for stolen property, “No questions asked.” There is a rotary dummy in the side of the building above the sidewalk. This contrivance turns round instead of moving on pulleys. The outside is simply flush with the wall. Any one can turn it around. On the other side is a little bed. The waif is placed in this bed, the trap is turned back to its place, a bell is rung, a servant comes to the bed, takes out the waif, and no one is the wiser. The party depositing the child may be round the corner and gone in the darkness. The child is cared for, soon put to work, soon hired out, and becomes a source of income to the institution, and adds one more to the rolls of the church.
No thoughtful man can watch the long processions of children which the sisters are teaching, and believe that Romanism is closing its career. She takes the utmost care of all the children she can obtain. In the great cities she has her foundling institutions. The arrangement for receiving foundlings is unique. It reminds one of the standard advertisements for stolen property, “No questions asked.” There is a rotary dummy in the side of the building above the sidewalk. This contrivance turns round instead of moving on pulleys. The outside is simply flush with the wall. Any one can turn it around. On the other side is a little bed. The waif is placed in this bed, the trap is turned back to its place, a bell is rung, a servant comes to the bed, takes out the waif, and no one is the wiser. The party depositing the child may be round the corner and gone in the darkness. The child is cared for, soon put to work, soon hired out, and becomes a source of income to the institution, and adds one more to the rolls of the church.
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CHILDREN SAFE
An old sexton in a cemetery took special pains with the little graves. When asked why, he said: “Sir, about those larger graves I don’t know who are the Lord’s saints, and who are not; but you know, sir, it’s different with the bairns.” (Text.)
An old sexton in a cemetery took special pains with the little graves. When asked why, he said: “Sir, about those larger graves I don’t know who are the Lord’s saints, and who are not; but you know, sir, it’s different with the bairns.” (Text.)
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CHILDREN, SAVING
Judge Benjamin B. Lindsey speaks as follows of his work in dealing with juvenile delinquents:
I have often been asked how it is if I can trust a youthful burglar to go alone to a reformatory why can not I trust him to go alone to work?The answer is that the individual is weak rather than vicious. He is strong enough to last over night, but not strong enough to last a month. He goes to the institution. He learns the trade of a carpenter or a stone-cutter—then he has some incentive in life. He gets out of the habit of being bad. When he comes out he is proud of his job, and as soon as we get him work he wants to show how well he can do it—the past is behind him forever.This new children’s crusade started in 1900. We are now going on the theory that the law is not one-tenth of the problem. Psychology, for want of a better word, is the other nine-tenths. The solution of the problem of child delinquents lies chiefly in knowing how to get at truth, in getting loyalty to the state and to the law. Once you get a boy to go regularly to school the problem is solved. On the other hand, we do not want him to think that the court is a brute or dead easy.
I have often been asked how it is if I can trust a youthful burglar to go alone to a reformatory why can not I trust him to go alone to work?
The answer is that the individual is weak rather than vicious. He is strong enough to last over night, but not strong enough to last a month. He goes to the institution. He learns the trade of a carpenter or a stone-cutter—then he has some incentive in life. He gets out of the habit of being bad. When he comes out he is proud of his job, and as soon as we get him work he wants to show how well he can do it—the past is behind him forever.
This new children’s crusade started in 1900. We are now going on the theory that the law is not one-tenth of the problem. Psychology, for want of a better word, is the other nine-tenths. The solution of the problem of child delinquents lies chiefly in knowing how to get at truth, in getting loyalty to the state and to the law. Once you get a boy to go regularly to school the problem is solved. On the other hand, we do not want him to think that the court is a brute or dead easy.
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CHILDREN’S RELIGIOUS IDEAS
A CHILD’S PRAYERPlease, God, grandpa has gone to you. Take good care of him. Please always mind and shut the door, because he can’t stand drafts.
A CHILD’S PRAYER
Please, God, grandpa has gone to you. Take good care of him. Please always mind and shut the door, because he can’t stand drafts.
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A PRAYER TO THE DEVILA little child was seen to bury a piece of paper in the ground. On examination of the paper by a curious adult, it was seen to contain the following: “Dear devil, please come and take aunt. I can’t stand her much longer.”
A PRAYER TO THE DEVIL
A little child was seen to bury a piece of paper in the ground. On examination of the paper by a curious adult, it was seen to contain the following: “Dear devil, please come and take aunt. I can’t stand her much longer.”
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MEN ARE GODSSeeing a group of workmen, a child said:“Mama, are these gods?”“Gods? Why?”“Because they make houses and churches, same as God makes moons and people and ickle dogs.”
MEN ARE GODS
Seeing a group of workmen, a child said:
“Mama, are these gods?”
“Gods? Why?”
“Because they make houses and churches, same as God makes moons and people and ickle dogs.”
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A WRESTLE WITH OMNIPRESENCEA girl who had been taught that God is everywhere said, one day:“Mama, me don’t see God. I dess He’s don to take a walk.”
A WRESTLE WITH OMNIPRESENCE
A girl who had been taught that God is everywhere said, one day:
“Mama, me don’t see God. I dess He’s don to take a walk.”
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GOD POSSESSES A BODY.A child who heard the expression, “this footstool,” used in a conversation, asked the man on whose knees she sat at the time the meaning of the expression. On being told that the earth is often spoken of as “God’s footstool,” she exclaimed:“O-h-h! what long legs!”Another child drew a picture of Jesus and of God, making God have very long arms.
GOD POSSESSES A BODY.
A child who heard the expression, “this footstool,” used in a conversation, asked the man on whose knees she sat at the time the meaning of the expression. On being told that the earth is often spoken of as “God’s footstool,” she exclaimed:
“O-h-h! what long legs!”
Another child drew a picture of Jesus and of God, making God have very long arms.
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HEAVENLY MAIL FACILITIESA child whose grandmother had just died asked her mother if God had a street and a number. When asked why she wanted to know, she replied:“Nothing, only I wanted to write a letter to Him to send grandma back again.”
HEAVENLY MAIL FACILITIES
A child whose grandmother had just died asked her mother if God had a street and a number. When asked why she wanted to know, she replied:
“Nothing, only I wanted to write a letter to Him to send grandma back again.”
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A COWORKER WITH GODA three-year-old boy was with a woman whose home was a second home to him. They were in the flower-garden. Seeing a crocus in bloom, and remembering that the previous fall he had put the bulb into the ground (as one of his age so often does things, by the help of others), he asked, “Did I make that flower grow?” When told that God sent the rain and the sunshine which made it grow, he insisted that he had had a part in the process, and finally dropt the subject by saying:“God and I make the flowers grow.”—A. B. Bunn Van Ormer, “Studies in Religious Nurture.”
A COWORKER WITH GOD
A three-year-old boy was with a woman whose home was a second home to him. They were in the flower-garden. Seeing a crocus in bloom, and remembering that the previous fall he had put the bulb into the ground (as one of his age so often does things, by the help of others), he asked, “Did I make that flower grow?” When told that God sent the rain and the sunshine which made it grow, he insisted that he had had a part in the process, and finally dropt the subject by saying:
“God and I make the flowers grow.”—A. B. Bunn Van Ormer, “Studies in Religious Nurture.”
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Children’s Thoughts About God—SeeAnthropomorphism.
CHINA AND AMERICA COMPARED
They tell a story of President Sheffield, of North China College, and a great military official, who is his friend. I met the general once during the Chinese New-year holidays. He is a large, fine-looking man, very liberal and progressive, and much interested in Western customs. One day, when calling, he was discussing these. Suddenly he drew his chair very close to Dr. Sheffield and said in a confidential whisper: “Tell me, is it true that in your country the woman and not the man is the head of the household?” Dr. Sheffield drew a little nearer and answered in the same manner: “Well, I will tell you just how it is. Sometimes it is the one, and sometimes it is the other. It just depends on who is the stronger.” “Ah!” and the general leaned back with a sigh of relief. “That is just the way it is with us.”—Frances B. Patterson, “Student Volunteer Movement,” 1906.
They tell a story of President Sheffield, of North China College, and a great military official, who is his friend. I met the general once during the Chinese New-year holidays. He is a large, fine-looking man, very liberal and progressive, and much interested in Western customs. One day, when calling, he was discussing these. Suddenly he drew his chair very close to Dr. Sheffield and said in a confidential whisper: “Tell me, is it true that in your country the woman and not the man is the head of the household?” Dr. Sheffield drew a little nearer and answered in the same manner: “Well, I will tell you just how it is. Sometimes it is the one, and sometimes it is the other. It just depends on who is the stronger.” “Ah!” and the general leaned back with a sigh of relief. “That is just the way it is with us.”—Frances B. Patterson, “Student Volunteer Movement,” 1906.
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CHINESE PROGRESS
The Rev. Dr. J. Walter Lowrie, returning to the field after a furlough prolonged by ill-health, writes in amazement that the changes that had taken place during his absence of twenty months were greater than had taken place during the preceding twenty years of his residence in China. Of course, there is commotion. You could not expect one-third of the human race to rouse itself from the sleep of ages without having more or less disturbance in various places. But the disturbances in China to-day are signs of progress. They mean that at last China is awake. We remember that of old, the dying Francis Xavier lifted up his hands and said: “Oh, rock! rock! when wilt thou open?” For nearly a hundred years Protestantism has been hammering upon that rock. Now it has opened.—A. Judson Brown, “Student Volunteer Movement,” 1906.
The Rev. Dr. J. Walter Lowrie, returning to the field after a furlough prolonged by ill-health, writes in amazement that the changes that had taken place during his absence of twenty months were greater than had taken place during the preceding twenty years of his residence in China. Of course, there is commotion. You could not expect one-third of the human race to rouse itself from the sleep of ages without having more or less disturbance in various places. But the disturbances in China to-day are signs of progress. They mean that at last China is awake. We remember that of old, the dying Francis Xavier lifted up his hands and said: “Oh, rock! rock! when wilt thou open?” For nearly a hundred years Protestantism has been hammering upon that rock. Now it has opened.—A. Judson Brown, “Student Volunteer Movement,” 1906.
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CHIVALRY
The days of the Crusades are gone, but the spirit of chivalry abides to-day as then.
When Captain Moreu, of the Spanish cruiserCristobal Colon, was in New York, he was interviewed by a reporter who, in the excess of his patriotism, put this rather indelicate question to the vanquished naval officer: “What do you think, Captain Moreu, of the chivalry of a nation whose women greet the admiral of a hostile power with kisses and flowers?” a reference to the way Admiral Cervera was lionized by American women on his way to a military prison. The bluff old captain of theColon, who spoke English fluently, lifted his eyebrows, and, smiling indulgently, politely replied: “And what do you think of an admiral who could draw your brave Hobson from the water and kiss him in admiration of his courage? Remember, young man, chivalry is the monopoly of no nation.” (Text.)
When Captain Moreu, of the Spanish cruiserCristobal Colon, was in New York, he was interviewed by a reporter who, in the excess of his patriotism, put this rather indelicate question to the vanquished naval officer: “What do you think, Captain Moreu, of the chivalry of a nation whose women greet the admiral of a hostile power with kisses and flowers?” a reference to the way Admiral Cervera was lionized by American women on his way to a military prison. The bluff old captain of theColon, who spoke English fluently, lifted his eyebrows, and, smiling indulgently, politely replied: “And what do you think of an admiral who could draw your brave Hobson from the water and kiss him in admiration of his courage? Remember, young man, chivalry is the monopoly of no nation.” (Text.)
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CHOICE
Not what we have, but what we use,Not what we see, but what we choose;These are the things that mar, or bless,The sum of human happiness.The thing near by, not that afar;Not what we seem, but what we are;These are the things that make or break,That give the heart its joy or ache.Not what seems fair, but what is true;Not what we dream, but good we do;These are the things that shine like gems,Like stars in fortune’s diadems.Not as we take, but as we give,Not as we pray, but as we live;These are the things that make for peaceBoth now and after time shall cease.—The Outlook.
Not what we have, but what we use,Not what we see, but what we choose;These are the things that mar, or bless,The sum of human happiness.The thing near by, not that afar;Not what we seem, but what we are;These are the things that make or break,That give the heart its joy or ache.Not what seems fair, but what is true;Not what we dream, but good we do;These are the things that shine like gems,Like stars in fortune’s diadems.Not as we take, but as we give,Not as we pray, but as we live;These are the things that make for peaceBoth now and after time shall cease.—The Outlook.
Not what we have, but what we use,Not what we see, but what we choose;These are the things that mar, or bless,The sum of human happiness.
Not what we have, but what we use,
Not what we see, but what we choose;
These are the things that mar, or bless,
The sum of human happiness.
The thing near by, not that afar;Not what we seem, but what we are;These are the things that make or break,That give the heart its joy or ache.
The thing near by, not that afar;
Not what we seem, but what we are;
These are the things that make or break,
That give the heart its joy or ache.
Not what seems fair, but what is true;Not what we dream, but good we do;These are the things that shine like gems,Like stars in fortune’s diadems.
Not what seems fair, but what is true;
Not what we dream, but good we do;
These are the things that shine like gems,
Like stars in fortune’s diadems.
Not as we take, but as we give,Not as we pray, but as we live;These are the things that make for peaceBoth now and after time shall cease.—The Outlook.
Not as we take, but as we give,
Not as we pray, but as we live;
These are the things that make for peace
Both now and after time shall cease.
—The Outlook.
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Choice by Chance—SeeDevil, The, Chosen.
Choice, Everything Depends on—SeeExperience, Value of.
CHOICE IN PRIMITIVE ORGANISMS
Headly, in his book on “Life and Evolution,” instances our old friend, the ameba, which we have since childhood all agreed to be one of the most primitive forms of life. This microscopic creature, a unicellular morsel of protoplasm, undoubtedly has the power of choice. It exercises this power whenever it eats. Diatoms enveloped in flint are its favorite food. When an ameba comes in contact with one of these minute vegetables it swallows it through an aperture—a mouth—which it conveniently makes at whichever point an aperture is required. But when, on the other hand, the ameba comes in contact with a small grain of flint he leaves it severely alone; he does not treat it as he does the flinty envelop of the diatom.
Headly, in his book on “Life and Evolution,” instances our old friend, the ameba, which we have since childhood all agreed to be one of the most primitive forms of life. This microscopic creature, a unicellular morsel of protoplasm, undoubtedly has the power of choice. It exercises this power whenever it eats. Diatoms enveloped in flint are its favorite food. When an ameba comes in contact with one of these minute vegetables it swallows it through an aperture—a mouth—which it conveniently makes at whichever point an aperture is required. But when, on the other hand, the ameba comes in contact with a small grain of flint he leaves it severely alone; he does not treat it as he does the flinty envelop of the diatom.
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Choice, Right—SeeWay, The Right.
CHOICE UNFORESEEN
Men for high positions are not always chosen because of previous preeminence, but frequently through circumstances of situations or from expediency:
There are Presidential candidates and aspirants who have an erroneous idea of the candidacy, similar to that of many persons on the subject of wines and cigars, who consider the oldest as the best; while the real connoisseur knows perfectly well that such commodities are not permitted to exceed a certain age without losing rather than gaining in quality. Some keep their Presidential aspirations constantly before the people—as, for instance, Blaine and Shermanfor several years. Others get up a drumming and fifing as soon as the year for the nomination comes on? If most of these people would poke their noses a little into the political history of this country, they would find that for a generation or more we have had no President whose reputation and “boom” was two years older than the hour of his election. When the Democrats nominated James K. Polk as their candidate, the politicians, surprized and disillusioned, inquired, “Who is James K. Polk?” The name of the Whig President, Zachary Taylor, was famous scarcely one year before the election. Pierce and Buchanan were absolutely less known than their rivals, Marcy and Cass, and before Lincoln’s nomination there was nowhere any talk about him; every one was thinking of Seward. Who, in 1862, would have prophesied that U. S. Grant would one day become General-in-chief and President of the Republic? Such an individual would have been regarded as fit subject of a lunatic asylum. Hayes owed his nomination to his hard-won victory of the year previous over the Democrat, Allen, in the gubernatorial campaign in Ohio; and no one had thought of Garfield two days before his nomination.—Der Deutsche Correspondent.
There are Presidential candidates and aspirants who have an erroneous idea of the candidacy, similar to that of many persons on the subject of wines and cigars, who consider the oldest as the best; while the real connoisseur knows perfectly well that such commodities are not permitted to exceed a certain age without losing rather than gaining in quality. Some keep their Presidential aspirations constantly before the people—as, for instance, Blaine and Shermanfor several years. Others get up a drumming and fifing as soon as the year for the nomination comes on? If most of these people would poke their noses a little into the political history of this country, they would find that for a generation or more we have had no President whose reputation and “boom” was two years older than the hour of his election. When the Democrats nominated James K. Polk as their candidate, the politicians, surprized and disillusioned, inquired, “Who is James K. Polk?” The name of the Whig President, Zachary Taylor, was famous scarcely one year before the election. Pierce and Buchanan were absolutely less known than their rivals, Marcy and Cass, and before Lincoln’s nomination there was nowhere any talk about him; every one was thinking of Seward. Who, in 1862, would have prophesied that U. S. Grant would one day become General-in-chief and President of the Republic? Such an individual would have been regarded as fit subject of a lunatic asylum. Hayes owed his nomination to his hard-won victory of the year previous over the Democrat, Allen, in the gubernatorial campaign in Ohio; and no one had thought of Garfield two days before his nomination.—Der Deutsche Correspondent.
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Choices—SeeModesty.
CHOIR, THE
Church choirs are often a source of trouble to a pastor. A colored minister down South takes hold of the situation thus:
De choir will now sing dat beautiful piece, “We ain’t got long to stay heah,” after which dey will consider demselves discha’ged and will file out quietly, one by one. We’se gwine to hab con’gational singin’ heahaftah in dis yere chu’ch.
De choir will now sing dat beautiful piece, “We ain’t got long to stay heah,” after which dey will consider demselves discha’ged and will file out quietly, one by one. We’se gwine to hab con’gational singin’ heahaftah in dis yere chu’ch.
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CHOKED
It is a dreadful thing to be choked. Those who have either by accident or design suffered partial strangulation tell us that it is one of the most dreadful experiences. It must, to the all-seeing eye of God, be a dreadful thing to behold so many of His children gasping for a breath of life, being choked by the evil weeds, thorns, and tares indigenous to the flesh or diligently planted there by the enemy of souls while they sleep. It is a sad thing to see the corners of a corn-field left unreaped during the harvest (because the grain growing there among the thorns is not worth reaping), afterward reaped down and bound in bundles and burned, the thorns and choked product of a good seed together. It is a sadder thing to behold the lives of not a few Christians all overgrown and choked with thorns and weeds just ripening for the fire of destruction, because they are shriveled and choked and not fit to be gathered into our Lord’s garner. (Text.)—The Independent.
It is a dreadful thing to be choked. Those who have either by accident or design suffered partial strangulation tell us that it is one of the most dreadful experiences. It must, to the all-seeing eye of God, be a dreadful thing to behold so many of His children gasping for a breath of life, being choked by the evil weeds, thorns, and tares indigenous to the flesh or diligently planted there by the enemy of souls while they sleep. It is a sad thing to see the corners of a corn-field left unreaped during the harvest (because the grain growing there among the thorns is not worth reaping), afterward reaped down and bound in bundles and burned, the thorns and choked product of a good seed together. It is a sadder thing to behold the lives of not a few Christians all overgrown and choked with thorns and weeds just ripening for the fire of destruction, because they are shriveled and choked and not fit to be gathered into our Lord’s garner. (Text.)—The Independent.
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CHRIST A GUIDE TO THE FATHER
Mr. Robert E. Speer met a poor blind Christian in Korea whose only knowledge of the word of God had come through the kindnesses of his friends, when they would read, translating out of a Chinese Bible and giving chapter and verse as they read. His knowledge of the life of Christ was wonderful, and when Mr. Speer asked him what incident he liked best of all in the gospel, he said, “I like best the ninth chapter of the Gospel of John, that tells the story of the blind man to whom the Lord restored his sight.” Mr. Speer asked the man what he looked forward to most, and he replied, “I look forward most to Christ’s meeting me at the gate of heaven. I wouldn’t dare to go up to see the Father alone, a poor blind man from Korea, but I shall wait at the gate, and He will find me out just as he did that poor blind man in the ninth of John, and He will lead me up to his Father and mine.”
Mr. Robert E. Speer met a poor blind Christian in Korea whose only knowledge of the word of God had come through the kindnesses of his friends, when they would read, translating out of a Chinese Bible and giving chapter and verse as they read. His knowledge of the life of Christ was wonderful, and when Mr. Speer asked him what incident he liked best of all in the gospel, he said, “I like best the ninth chapter of the Gospel of John, that tells the story of the blind man to whom the Lord restored his sight.” Mr. Speer asked the man what he looked forward to most, and he replied, “I look forward most to Christ’s meeting me at the gate of heaven. I wouldn’t dare to go up to see the Father alone, a poor blind man from Korea, but I shall wait at the gate, and He will find me out just as he did that poor blind man in the ninth of John, and He will lead me up to his Father and mine.”
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CHRIST APPROVED
In London City Temple, Dr. Joseph Parker was troubled by the absence of workingmen from church, and invited hundreds to lunch there. He said: “Bring your dinner buckets, and your pipes if you want to; I want to have a good talk with you.” Stepping out in front of them, he said:“Men, why don’t you come to church?”A leader among them said: “The Church is not for the likes of us, the Church is for the rich, and the Church is for the prosperous. You don’t want us there; that is what is the matter with the Church.”Dr. Parker then said, “Men, what is the matter with Jesus of Nazareth?”Instantly a working man swung his cap and said: “He is all right.” And a thousand or more working men kept swinging their caps and saying, “He is all right, He is all right.” (Text.)
In London City Temple, Dr. Joseph Parker was troubled by the absence of workingmen from church, and invited hundreds to lunch there. He said: “Bring your dinner buckets, and your pipes if you want to; I want to have a good talk with you.” Stepping out in front of them, he said:
“Men, why don’t you come to church?”
A leader among them said: “The Church is not for the likes of us, the Church is for the rich, and the Church is for the prosperous. You don’t want us there; that is what is the matter with the Church.”
Dr. Parker then said, “Men, what is the matter with Jesus of Nazareth?”
Instantly a working man swung his cap and said: “He is all right.” And a thousand or more working men kept swinging their caps and saying, “He is all right, He is all right.” (Text.)
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Christ a Protector—SeeProtection.
CHRIST, A THERAPEUTIC
An experiment in treating neurotic patients was tried in the Massillon State Hospital, Ohio, when a picture entitled, “Christ Knocking at the Door,” a copy of Hofmann’s masterpiece, was unveiled during the religious services. The painting was life-size, on cathedral glass, and illuminated by electric lights. The hope was that by flashing the lights suddenly on the picture a beneficial therapeutic effect would be produced on the minds of the inmates of the hospital. (Text.)
An experiment in treating neurotic patients was tried in the Massillon State Hospital, Ohio, when a picture entitled, “Christ Knocking at the Door,” a copy of Hofmann’s masterpiece, was unveiled during the religious services. The painting was life-size, on cathedral glass, and illuminated by electric lights. The hope was that by flashing the lights suddenly on the picture a beneficial therapeutic effect would be produced on the minds of the inmates of the hospital. (Text.)
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Christ as Pattern—SeeFollowing Christ.
CHRIST, DESTROYER OF SIN
Recent science has enabled us to solve enigmas of the physical universe which once seemed forever impenetrable. Cholera has been, for example, through long ages “a pestilence walking in darkness.” There was no denying the plague; it demonstrated itself in the most awful manner, but none could divine its active principle, the secret of its power. But at last the cholera-germ has been tracked out, and the fatal pest never before seen by human eyes can now be studied under a powerful microscope, large as the human hand. The immense significance of this discovery to our race who may say?
Recent science has enabled us to solve enigmas of the physical universe which once seemed forever impenetrable. Cholera has been, for example, through long ages “a pestilence walking in darkness.” There was no denying the plague; it demonstrated itself in the most awful manner, but none could divine its active principle, the secret of its power. But at last the cholera-germ has been tracked out, and the fatal pest never before seen by human eyes can now be studied under a powerful microscope, large as the human hand. The immense significance of this discovery to our race who may say?
For ages sin has been preeminently the pestilence walking at noonday, and the world has stood aghast before the obscure and terrible destroyer; but the glass of revelation in the hand of Jesus Christ has shown large and vivid the fatal principle which has tainted and decimated the race.—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.” (Text.)
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CHRIST, FAITH IN
The last hours of the great Archbishop Whately are a brilliant testimony to the simplicity of his faith and complete devotion to Christ.
To one who observed his sufferings and asked him if he suffered much pain, he said:“Some time ago I should have thought it great pain, but now I am enabled to bear it.” His intellect was unclouded by illness. He could think and speak. Some one said to him, “You are dying as you have lived, great to the last.” The reply was, “I am dying as I lived, in the faith of Jesus.” Another said, “What a blessing your glorious intellect is unimpaired.” He answered, “Do not call intellect glorious; there is nothing glorious out of Christ!” Another said, “The great fortitude of your character supports you.” “No, it is not the fortitude of my character supports me, but my faith in Christ.” (Text.)
To one who observed his sufferings and asked him if he suffered much pain, he said:
“Some time ago I should have thought it great pain, but now I am enabled to bear it.” His intellect was unclouded by illness. He could think and speak. Some one said to him, “You are dying as you have lived, great to the last.” The reply was, “I am dying as I lived, in the faith of Jesus.” Another said, “What a blessing your glorious intellect is unimpaired.” He answered, “Do not call intellect glorious; there is nothing glorious out of Christ!” Another said, “The great fortitude of your character supports you.” “No, it is not the fortitude of my character supports me, but my faith in Christ.” (Text.)
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CHRIST FOR ALL
In an Austrian city there are twelve figures of Christ, each representing a different aspect. The country folk, crossing the bridge to the city in the morning, worship them as they pass. The stockmen pray to the image of Christ the Shepherd, the artizans to Christ the Carpenter, the market-gardeners to Christ the Sower, the ailing and infirm to Christ the Physician, the fishermen to Christ the Pilot, etc. “Enlightened minds will never forget that there is but one Christ, and yet to each follower the thought of Him that is born of a special need will always be the one that makes His image in the soul.”
In an Austrian city there are twelve figures of Christ, each representing a different aspect. The country folk, crossing the bridge to the city in the morning, worship them as they pass. The stockmen pray to the image of Christ the Shepherd, the artizans to Christ the Carpenter, the market-gardeners to Christ the Sower, the ailing and infirm to Christ the Physician, the fishermen to Christ the Pilot, etc. “Enlightened minds will never forget that there is but one Christ, and yet to each follower the thought of Him that is born of a special need will always be the one that makes His image in the soul.”
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Christ, Glory of—SeeGlory of Christ.
CHRIST, GOODNESS OF
A missionary was speaking with a Tibetan Lama about Christ. The Lama exprest himself charmed with the gospel story and then added, “Our saint Tsong K’aba was like Christ. He went about teaching and leading the people, and he was persecuted, too.” Then he added, “Even to-day it isn’t wise for a Lama to be too good!” (Text.)
A missionary was speaking with a Tibetan Lama about Christ. The Lama exprest himself charmed with the gospel story and then added, “Our saint Tsong K’aba was like Christ. He went about teaching and leading the people, and he was persecuted, too.” Then he added, “Even to-day it isn’t wise for a Lama to be too good!” (Text.)
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CHRIST IN THE CONGREGATION
Dr. George A. Gordon, the Boston preacher, tells of a dream that transformed his ministry:
I was in the pulpit before a great congregation, just ready to begin my sermon, when a stranger entered and passed slowly up the left aisle of the church, looking first to one side and then to the other, as tho silently asking with his eyes that some one would give him a seat. He had proceeded nearly half-way up the aisle when a gentleman stept out and offered him a place in his pew,which was quietly accepted. I remembered his face wore a peculiarly serious look, as of one who had known some great sorrow. His bearing, too, was exceedingly humble, his dress poor and plain, and from the beginning to the end of the service he gave the most respectful attention to the preacher. To myself I constantly asked, “Who can that stranger be?” And then I mentally resolved to find out by going up to him directly the service was over. But before I could reach him he had left the house. The gentleman with whom he sat, however, remained behind, and approaching him I asked, “Can you tell me who that stranger was who sat in your pew this morning?” He replied: “Why, do you not know that man? It was Jesus of Nazareth.”One had been present in the church for an hour who could tell me all that I so longed to know; who could point out to me the imperfections of my service; who could reveal to me my real self, to whom, perhaps, I am most a stranger; who could correct the errors in our worship, to which long usage and accepted traditions may have rendered us insensible. While I had been preaching for half an hour He had been there and listening, who could have told me all this, and infinitely more, and my eyes had been holden and I knew Him not, and now He was gone. And then I awoke, for behold, it was a dream. No, it was not a dream. It was a vision of the deepest reality, a miniature of an actual ministry. (Text.)
I was in the pulpit before a great congregation, just ready to begin my sermon, when a stranger entered and passed slowly up the left aisle of the church, looking first to one side and then to the other, as tho silently asking with his eyes that some one would give him a seat. He had proceeded nearly half-way up the aisle when a gentleman stept out and offered him a place in his pew,which was quietly accepted. I remembered his face wore a peculiarly serious look, as of one who had known some great sorrow. His bearing, too, was exceedingly humble, his dress poor and plain, and from the beginning to the end of the service he gave the most respectful attention to the preacher. To myself I constantly asked, “Who can that stranger be?” And then I mentally resolved to find out by going up to him directly the service was over. But before I could reach him he had left the house. The gentleman with whom he sat, however, remained behind, and approaching him I asked, “Can you tell me who that stranger was who sat in your pew this morning?” He replied: “Why, do you not know that man? It was Jesus of Nazareth.”
One had been present in the church for an hour who could tell me all that I so longed to know; who could point out to me the imperfections of my service; who could reveal to me my real self, to whom, perhaps, I am most a stranger; who could correct the errors in our worship, to which long usage and accepted traditions may have rendered us insensible. While I had been preaching for half an hour He had been there and listening, who could have told me all this, and infinitely more, and my eyes had been holden and I knew Him not, and now He was gone. And then I awoke, for behold, it was a dream. No, it was not a dream. It was a vision of the deepest reality, a miniature of an actual ministry. (Text.)
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CHRIST, INTIMACY WITH
“I know Jesus Christ,” said Bushnell, “better than I know any man in the city of Hartford, and if He should be walking along the street and see me, He would say, ‘There goes a friend of mine.’” (Text.)
“I know Jesus Christ,” said Bushnell, “better than I know any man in the city of Hartford, and if He should be walking along the street and see me, He would say, ‘There goes a friend of mine.’” (Text.)
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CHRIST INVITING MEN
In the Doré Gallery in London is the artist’s last picture, left unfinished. It is entitled, “The Vale of Tears,” and was intended to illustrate the words, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.” Jesus is in the distance pointing to Himself. Over Him is a deep mist spanned by a rainbow whose light in varying degrees falls upon the multitude of faces and forms before Him, some just touched, others beaming and aglow with radiance.
In the Doré Gallery in London is the artist’s last picture, left unfinished. It is entitled, “The Vale of Tears,” and was intended to illustrate the words, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.” Jesus is in the distance pointing to Himself. Over Him is a deep mist spanned by a rainbow whose light in varying degrees falls upon the multitude of faces and forms before Him, some just touched, others beaming and aglow with radiance.
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Christ, Monument to—SeePeace.
CHRIST OUR PILOT
Passengers from Europe to New York know that when the steamer reaches a point fifteen miles from Sandy Hook the pilot comes on board to superintend the navigation into New York harbor. The great steamer slows down and the pilot climbs on board. If this happens in the darkness of night the passengers looking down from the deck can see a lantern on the surface of the ocean where the pilot’s boat is lying. Presently he emerges from the blackness and is soon on deck. From that moment the anxieties of the captain and the officers are at an end. So when Christ is on board our life, the government is upon His shoulders. (Text.)
Passengers from Europe to New York know that when the steamer reaches a point fifteen miles from Sandy Hook the pilot comes on board to superintend the navigation into New York harbor. The great steamer slows down and the pilot climbs on board. If this happens in the darkness of night the passengers looking down from the deck can see a lantern on the surface of the ocean where the pilot’s boat is lying. Presently he emerges from the blackness and is soon on deck. From that moment the anxieties of the captain and the officers are at an end. So when Christ is on board our life, the government is upon His shoulders. (Text.)
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CHRIST STILL PRESENT
A common and comforting Christian belief is put into verse by Edith Hickman Duvall:
He has not changed through all the years.We knowThat He remembers all the weight of woWhich once opprest Him and the lonely wayThrough which His tired feet journeyed day by day,The pain He bore, the weariness and strife,The toil and care of His own human life.He is as near to human hearts to-dayAs when He journeyed on the earthly way;So near that all our wants are known to Him,So near that, tho our faith, grown cold and dim,Fails oftentimes to grasp the truth, He knowsThe secret story of our hidden woes. (Text.)
He has not changed through all the years.We knowThat He remembers all the weight of woWhich once opprest Him and the lonely wayThrough which His tired feet journeyed day by day,The pain He bore, the weariness and strife,The toil and care of His own human life.He is as near to human hearts to-dayAs when He journeyed on the earthly way;So near that all our wants are known to Him,So near that, tho our faith, grown cold and dim,Fails oftentimes to grasp the truth, He knowsThe secret story of our hidden woes. (Text.)
He has not changed through all the years.We knowThat He remembers all the weight of woWhich once opprest Him and the lonely wayThrough which His tired feet journeyed day by day,The pain He bore, the weariness and strife,The toil and care of His own human life.
He has not changed through all the years.
We know
That He remembers all the weight of wo
Which once opprest Him and the lonely way
Through which His tired feet journeyed day by day,
The pain He bore, the weariness and strife,
The toil and care of His own human life.
He is as near to human hearts to-dayAs when He journeyed on the earthly way;So near that all our wants are known to Him,So near that, tho our faith, grown cold and dim,Fails oftentimes to grasp the truth, He knowsThe secret story of our hidden woes. (Text.)
He is as near to human hearts to-day
As when He journeyed on the earthly way;
So near that all our wants are known to Him,
So near that, tho our faith, grown cold and dim,
Fails oftentimes to grasp the truth, He knows
The secret story of our hidden woes. (Text.)
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CHRIST THE CONQUEROR
Priscilla Leonard writes this verse on Christ’s method of establishing His reign:
Kings choose their soldiers from the strong and soundAnd hurl them forth to battle at command.Across the centuries, o’er sea and land,Age after age, the shouts of war resound;Yet, at the end, the whole wide world around,Each empty empire, once so proudly planned,Melts through Time’s fingers like the dropping sand.But once a King—despised, forsaken, crownedOnly with thorns—chose in the face of lossEarth’s poor, her weak, her outcast, gave them love,And sent them forth to conquer in His nameThe world that crucified Him, and proclaimHis empire. Lo! Pride’s vanished thrones aboveBehold the enduring banner of the cross!(Text.)—The Outlook.
Kings choose their soldiers from the strong and soundAnd hurl them forth to battle at command.Across the centuries, o’er sea and land,Age after age, the shouts of war resound;Yet, at the end, the whole wide world around,Each empty empire, once so proudly planned,Melts through Time’s fingers like the dropping sand.But once a King—despised, forsaken, crownedOnly with thorns—chose in the face of lossEarth’s poor, her weak, her outcast, gave them love,And sent them forth to conquer in His nameThe world that crucified Him, and proclaimHis empire. Lo! Pride’s vanished thrones aboveBehold the enduring banner of the cross!(Text.)—The Outlook.
Kings choose their soldiers from the strong and soundAnd hurl them forth to battle at command.Across the centuries, o’er sea and land,Age after age, the shouts of war resound;Yet, at the end, the whole wide world around,Each empty empire, once so proudly planned,Melts through Time’s fingers like the dropping sand.But once a King—despised, forsaken, crownedOnly with thorns—chose in the face of lossEarth’s poor, her weak, her outcast, gave them love,And sent them forth to conquer in His nameThe world that crucified Him, and proclaimHis empire. Lo! Pride’s vanished thrones aboveBehold the enduring banner of the cross!(Text.)—The Outlook.
Kings choose their soldiers from the strong and sound
And hurl them forth to battle at command.
Across the centuries, o’er sea and land,
Age after age, the shouts of war resound;
Yet, at the end, the whole wide world around,
Each empty empire, once so proudly planned,
Melts through Time’s fingers like the dropping sand.
But once a King—despised, forsaken, crowned
Only with thorns—chose in the face of loss
Earth’s poor, her weak, her outcast, gave them love,
And sent them forth to conquer in His name
The world that crucified Him, and proclaim
His empire. Lo! Pride’s vanished thrones above
Behold the enduring banner of the cross!
(Text.)—The Outlook.
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CHRIST THE DOOR
This poem by Mary M. Redding, is based on an actual incident of one of Dr. George Adam Smith’s Syrian journeys:
A traveler once, when skies were rose and goldWith Syrian sunset, paused beside the foldWhere an Arabian shepherd housed his flock;Only a circling wall of rough gray rock—No door, no gate, but just an opening wideEnough for snowy, huddling sheep to come inside.“So,” questioned he, “then no wild beasts you dread?”“Ah, yes, the wolf is near,” the shepherd said.“But”—strange and sweet the voice divine of yoreFell on his startled ear—“I am the door!When skies are sown with stars, and I may traceThe velvet shadows, in this narrow spaceI lay me down. No silly sheep may goWithout the fold but I, the shepherd, know.Nor need my cherished flock, close-sheltered, warm,Fear ravening wolf, save o’er my prostrate form.”O word of Christ—illumined evermoreFor us His timid sheep—“I am the door!”(Text.)—Sunday-school Times.
A traveler once, when skies were rose and goldWith Syrian sunset, paused beside the foldWhere an Arabian shepherd housed his flock;Only a circling wall of rough gray rock—No door, no gate, but just an opening wideEnough for snowy, huddling sheep to come inside.“So,” questioned he, “then no wild beasts you dread?”“Ah, yes, the wolf is near,” the shepherd said.“But”—strange and sweet the voice divine of yoreFell on his startled ear—“I am the door!When skies are sown with stars, and I may traceThe velvet shadows, in this narrow spaceI lay me down. No silly sheep may goWithout the fold but I, the shepherd, know.Nor need my cherished flock, close-sheltered, warm,Fear ravening wolf, save o’er my prostrate form.”O word of Christ—illumined evermoreFor us His timid sheep—“I am the door!”(Text.)—Sunday-school Times.
A traveler once, when skies were rose and goldWith Syrian sunset, paused beside the foldWhere an Arabian shepherd housed his flock;Only a circling wall of rough gray rock—No door, no gate, but just an opening wideEnough for snowy, huddling sheep to come inside.“So,” questioned he, “then no wild beasts you dread?”“Ah, yes, the wolf is near,” the shepherd said.
A traveler once, when skies were rose and gold
With Syrian sunset, paused beside the fold
Where an Arabian shepherd housed his flock;
Only a circling wall of rough gray rock—
No door, no gate, but just an opening wide
Enough for snowy, huddling sheep to come inside.
“So,” questioned he, “then no wild beasts you dread?”
“Ah, yes, the wolf is near,” the shepherd said.
“But”—strange and sweet the voice divine of yoreFell on his startled ear—“I am the door!When skies are sown with stars, and I may traceThe velvet shadows, in this narrow spaceI lay me down. No silly sheep may goWithout the fold but I, the shepherd, know.Nor need my cherished flock, close-sheltered, warm,Fear ravening wolf, save o’er my prostrate form.”
“But”—strange and sweet the voice divine of yore
Fell on his startled ear—“I am the door!
When skies are sown with stars, and I may trace
The velvet shadows, in this narrow space
I lay me down. No silly sheep may go
Without the fold but I, the shepherd, know.
Nor need my cherished flock, close-sheltered, warm,
Fear ravening wolf, save o’er my prostrate form.”
O word of Christ—illumined evermoreFor us His timid sheep—“I am the door!”(Text.)—Sunday-school Times.
O word of Christ—illumined evermore
For us His timid sheep—“I am the door!”
(Text.)—Sunday-school Times.
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Outside one of the beautiful gateways of the magnificent mosque of St. Sophia, in Constantinople, there is a picture of an open Bible with this inscription: “The Lord said, I am the door; by me if any man enter in he shall be saved.” The Mohammedans left this inscription when they took the beautiful temple from the Christians; because they could see no reference in it to Jesus Christ. Everything else that suggested Christianity or the cross was obliterated. There is a twentieth-century spirit that would obliterate Jesus Christ and the necessity of His saving work. But meanwhile He, the strong Son of God, calmly waits for the world’s recognition. He has presented His proofs, and the responsibility is ours. There is no other gospel, no other road, no other Christ. For his own convenience man has invented a number of “short cuts.” But it remains as true to-day as when Jesus Himself spoke the words, that he who climbs up some other way is “a thief and a robber.”—Joel B. Slocum.
Outside one of the beautiful gateways of the magnificent mosque of St. Sophia, in Constantinople, there is a picture of an open Bible with this inscription: “The Lord said, I am the door; by me if any man enter in he shall be saved.” The Mohammedans left this inscription when they took the beautiful temple from the Christians; because they could see no reference in it to Jesus Christ. Everything else that suggested Christianity or the cross was obliterated. There is a twentieth-century spirit that would obliterate Jesus Christ and the necessity of His saving work. But meanwhile He, the strong Son of God, calmly waits for the world’s recognition. He has presented His proofs, and the responsibility is ours. There is no other gospel, no other road, no other Christ. For his own convenience man has invented a number of “short cuts.” But it remains as true to-day as when Jesus Himself spoke the words, that he who climbs up some other way is “a thief and a robber.”—Joel B. Slocum.
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CHRIST, THE FIGURE OF
Monsignor Bonomelli, in a letter read at the World Missionary Conference held in Edinburgh, June, 1910, said:
Jesus has, in reality, not vanished either from history, or from the life of Christianity. He lives at all times in millions of souls, He is enthroned as King in all hearts. The figure of Christ has not the cold splendor of a distant star, but the warmth of a heart which is near us, a flame burning in the soul of believers and keeping alive their consciences. Putting aside certain opinions, which, honored at the moment, may possibly be abandoned to-morrow, criticism had hoped to effect a complete demolition of the conception of Christ, but what criticism really demolished was merely irrelevant matter. The figure of Christ, after all the onslaughts of criticism, now stands forth more pure and divine than ever and compels our adoration.
Jesus has, in reality, not vanished either from history, or from the life of Christianity. He lives at all times in millions of souls, He is enthroned as King in all hearts. The figure of Christ has not the cold splendor of a distant star, but the warmth of a heart which is near us, a flame burning in the soul of believers and keeping alive their consciences. Putting aside certain opinions, which, honored at the moment, may possibly be abandoned to-morrow, criticism had hoped to effect a complete demolition of the conception of Christ, but what criticism really demolished was merely irrelevant matter. The figure of Christ, after all the onslaughts of criticism, now stands forth more pure and divine than ever and compels our adoration.
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CHRIST, THE INDEFATIGABLE
From theCatholic Worldwe clip Cornelius Clifford’s sonnet on “The Indefatigable Christ”: