while my graduation took place the previous year, in the class of
1865. My first year out of college was spent in teaching in my native
town. When the decision was reached of entering the Theological
Seminary, it was mutually agreed that we should go to Andover and
room together. From that time on our intimacy grew apace. We passed
three years together as chums; but that relation did not cease when
we separated and each went his own way to the field of labor where
the Lord had appointed. The last letter that I received from him,
(and I have been informed that it was the last letter that he ever
wrote, which reached me only the day before the despatch that
apprised me of his death), began in that same old familiar fashion,
"My dear Chum." I have thus made reference to matters somewhat
personal, that the standpoint from which I speak may be more clearly
understood. I have "summered and wintered him;" I have been permitted
to know him within and without; I have been with him in season and
out of season; I have studied with him; I have prayed with him; I
have loved him as a brother.
It is more in accord with the promptings of my heart to speak a few
words suggested by intimacy and long acquaintance with Dr. Powell.
Many learned to respect and honor him through the abundance of his
labors in the broad field to which God in his providence called him
for service. But there is another side to that life, private,
personal, even more attractive and richly suggestive to those who
knew him best and were permitted to enjoy his friendship.
Our brother did not possess the conventional qualities which
sometimes are associated with the "cloth." He was without that
endless gravity which could almost fittingly grace a pedestal. That
pious deacon who had not "snickered" for above forty years, would
have found his moral sensitiveness somewhat disturbed by the free,
untrammelled way in which he spoke and acted. There was no monotony
in his make-up. He was natural--natural as devoid of all cant and
affected airs. When you met him, you had not come upon some person
trumped for the occasion; it was Powell, the very man you wanted to
see. He could not be anything but himself. Genuineness and unaffected
simplicity were revealed in him, as in few others. He could be as
serious as a country judge; but he was serious because the matter was
in him, and it was the hour for seriousness. He could be as playful
as a child, but it was because the play was in him and it was time
for play. When our brother was pastor of the North Church, in
Newburyport, it was our custom to meet every Monday morning in
Boston. On one occasion, a brother-in-law of mine, a boy in his
teens, accompanied me to Boston, where we were to meet Mr. Powell. We
soon found ourselves tramping about the city on errands. Mr. Powell
was effervescing with fun. At such seasons, and they were very
frequent, he took great pleasure in making me the victim of his
frolicsomeness. On this occasion, I found that Mr. Powell had
enlisted the boy in the scheme of hiding away from me every chance
they could get. Passing through a crowd, I would look around and
discover that they had absconded; and then it devolved on me to hunt
them up, I never shall forget how this manoeuvering interested that
boy. He came up to me and whispered the first opportunity he had, "He
is the funniest minister that I ever saw in my life." That was his
first visit with Mr. Powell, but it was not the last. On that day an
attachment was formed which has lasted through all these years. A
little boy, four years old, in Oak Park, where Mr. Powell resided for
some time, was asked by his father, what he wanted to do when he got
to be a man, and answered: "Be a minister and go hunting like Mr.
Powell." He was a man for the boys. He touched a responsive chord in
their nature. He could enjoy what they enjoyed with as keen a relish
as they themselves.
He was the very soul of friendship; he had a genius for it. The
friends that he made are only limited by the want of personal contact
with him. In the making of them it may be said "He came, he saw, he
conquered." How wide he opened his arms to receive us! There were no
partition walls to be levelled before we approached him. It required
no studied effort to get at him. The way was always clear; the door
was without a latch-string even; it was open. You never had to ask,
Is Mr. Powell in a proper mood to see his friends to-day? Why, it was
worth a journey of fifty miles just to meet that man and receive a
grasp of his hand! I remember going to a depot in Chicago to meet him
as he came in on the train. As soon as he singled me out from the
crowd, he rushed towards me, exclaiming in his bantering way: "Well,
well, well, this is the first sensible thing I ever knew you to do,
come on old fellow;" and he grasped my arm and hurried me away,
saying, "I am just glad to see you." When it is said, that he is the
"best beloved of all," is it not because he first loved us? The
generosity and friendliness of his soul captured our hearts. I
imagine that many thousands of dollars were poured into the treasury
of the A.M.A. evoked by the love kindled in hearts for our brother.
Men came to love the cause through him who loved them.
Mr. Powell was a man of enthusiasm; he worked at white heat. The
logic of his whole life seemed to be, "What I do I must do quickly."
He could not stop; he must hurry on. He could pass easily from one
thing to another. In all the years of my acquaintance with him I
never knew him to rest as other people rest. If his body was not
active his mind was. The river of his life had no sluggish intervals;
it was a torrent from first to last. His step was a bound; his
thought rushed in its movement. He could write a sermon in less time
than any other man in the seminary, so far as I know. Plans came to
him like an inspiration and were unfolded with a rapidity that seemed
to me wonderful. His scholarship was not technical. He always enjoyed
the larger sweep of things. He would have been the last man to devote
his life to the Greek preterite, and to question whether it would not
have been better to have confined himself to the dative case! Such
minutiae of erudition might be fascinating to others; it was not for
him. His large-heartedness, his sympathy, his wealthy and generous
spirit could not be condensed into a bookworm, or a recluse. They
rather equipped him to become a watchman, that he might declare what
he saw. He needed the whole Republic to range up and down in. His
ringing words might be heard on our Western frontier; but before
their echoes had scarcely died away, their wakening notes might be
taken up and reiterated on our New England coast. He was a voice
crying in the land. Like the Great Master, he was sent to "heal the
broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, to set at
liberty them that are bruised." It was the down-trodden races for
which he lived. Such a candle of the Lord would burn down to its
socket before the day was half spent. Such hot haste and burning zeal
must consume to ashes before the meridian is turned.
Oftentimes have I thought of our brother in connection with a remark
once made by Rufus Choate. Mr. Choate was an over-worked man, and in
his later years, the tension under which he was laboring was quite
apparent. He was met by a friend on the street one morning who
reminded him of his careworn appearance. Said his friend, "Your
labors are too unremitting, and what is worse, you are endangering
your constitution." "Ah!" said Mr. Choate, "my constitution was gone
long ago; I am living on the by-laws now." In the last years of his
life, it seemed to me that our brother was living on the by-laws of
his constitution.
He was aware that but a brittle thread kept his earthly moorings; but
this did not deter him; he must work while the day lasted; for the
night cometh when no man can work. While the vital spark remained, he
would not, indeed we may say, he could not stay his hand. And so in
the midst of his years God took him.
What a privilege to have walked with him in the fellowship of love,
and to have enjoyed the richness and fullness of his friendship! What
springs of tenderness in his nature ready to gush forth to refresh
and quicken the tendrils of a drooping heart. How the sorrows of
others found echo and response in his own soul. The grim messenger
death once entered my own home, and made all a desert and a
desolation. I never can forget the letter that I received from our
brother at that time. What melting tenderness and sympathy were
expressed in it! He was smitten and afflicted; he was wounded and
bruised for my sake. It was as if he was the stricken one and not
myself. But I could not account, however, at the moment, for the
blotted and blurred appearance of the writing. But it was all
explained in a postscript. "Please excuse the writing. I could not
keep the tears back; they fell so thick and fast as nearly to destroy
the legibility of my letter." How can we help loving such a man? He
took up the sorrows of others and made them his own; aye more, he
took up the woes of a race and made them his own. When did the
colored man have a better and more faithful friend than he? Who was
more completely and absolutely identified with his interests than he?
Burn down the colored man's school house through the malign influence
of caste feeling, and you had kindled in his soul the fires of an
indignation which quite eclipsed the original conflagration.
I have been permitted to observe the advancement and development of
his faith. As the years carried him forward in his course, that faith
assumed stronger as well as more graceful and beautiful outlines. He
was not one who never had doubts or questionings. The difficulties of
belief as well as unbelief, were not unknown to him. But when he took
up the mighty task to which he consecrated his life, and was left to
grapple with illiteracy, superstition and the needs of a benighted
and down-trodden people, knotty questions in theology no longer vexed
him, for he recognized that there was but one all-sufficient solvent
for the dark problems which thrust themselves into the foreground,
and that was the redemptive power of the Gospel of Christ. Men may be
puzzled and perplexed concerning the theory of sunshine, but there
are no questionings on the subject that can override the practical
effect of the sun. The sun shines in spite of our metaphysics! Our
brother advanced into the practical aspects of faith, and had the
assurance that Christ was the light of the world, in spite of our
theories of inspiration.
He had an unbounded faith in applied Christianity. There was nothing
it could not do in the way of recasting and uplifting the despised
peoples of the land. We had but to go forward in the name and power
of our great Leader to effect the national redemption. But I must not
detain you longer. He has gone out from us. His mission is ended
here. Those eloquent lips must remain forever sealed on earth. He
simply ceases to be seen of us. We follow his path of translation
with mingled tears and joy. The future life, whose place is beyond
the skies, was a matter of great concern to him. I recall the hour
when he returned to his room from a lecture on the immortality of the
soul. He was almost overcome by the discussion which was being
carried on in the class-room. He wanted the subject taken out of the
realm of probability, and brought to the test of certainty and
demonstration. "O, chum!" he exclaimed, "I wish I might die now; I
can hardly wait for the demonstration!" He did not wait long. The
bending heavens caught up his spirit, and he has gone into the holy
city through the beautiful gate which opens over all graves.
"Thus saints, that seem to die in earth's rude strife, only win
double life; they have but left our weary ways to live in memory
here, in Heaven by love and praise."
EULOGY BY DR. STRIEBY.
After what has been so eloquently and fittingly said I have very
great reluctance to appear before you to speak of Brother Powell. I
have on several occasions spoken of him, and it is only because I am
unwilling that the office and the office workers should not in some
way be recognized that I consent to say a few words to-day.
What I have to say relates not so much to his public life as to our
office relations with him. It has been my sad duty to go to the
graves or speak at these meetings in reference to the death of all
the officers associated with me when I came into this work; Lewis
Tappan, George Whipple, S.S. Jocelyn, G.D. Pike--all of these I have
followed to the grave. There is this one difference between Brother
Powell's death and that of the others in our memory--all the others
had a long, wasting sickness; we remember the darkened room, the pale
face, the parched lips, the night vigils. But we have no such thought
in regard to Brother Powell's death. The morning after the holiday of
Christmas I came to the office not to hear the statement that Brother
Powell was very sick, but the astounding announcement "Brother Powell
is dead." This was indeed terrible; but the memory of Brother Powell
has not been darkened with the thought of sickness, but remains with
us just as he was in health and vigor. We still think of the quick
step with which he came into the office, the hearty cheer with which
he greeted us, the pleasant face that shone not only at the door, but
through the whole day. He was a busy worker, as has been said, but
ever and always the same bright face, the same cheerful heart, the
same warm love, the same readiness to help bear everybody's load,
went through the long day. If you have ever spent a day in the
mountains, with its breezy temperature, and yet with the sun filling
the whole blue heavens and shining on all things--water, mountain,
valley, tree and grass--if that day has left its memory of brightness
and sweetness in your heart, such is the memory left on us in the
office by Brother Powell.
I must speak of his faithfulness as a worker. It has been referred to
in better language than I can give, but Brother Powell was
indefatigable; he knew no rest; when he toiled until the string
snapped he would go down into a sickness that lasted usually just six
days; then he would rise as quickly. This one instance will show how
he sacrificed himself. On one Sabbath he preached two or three times;
then on Monday he sank down in a six days' illness, but on the next
Sabbath morning he had agreed to preach in Mr. Beecher's church in
Brooklyn, and taking himself out of his bed, he did preach in that
church twice, and then sank down into another six days' illness. It
was in this way that the man burned out his life in the service. I
often urged him to rest, I urged his dear wife to persuade him to
rest, but I always had from him the assurance, "It is more wearisome
to spend the day in trying to rest than to work." He always worked at
a white heat or he was sick.
Brother Powell was a consecrated man, and with this I shall close.
His eloquence was appreciated. He had calls to go elsewhere, to
greater fields with larger salary, to apparently greater popularity,
but these he always and unhesitatingly declined. He stayed with us,
and I believe that it was Brother Powell's sympathy with the Lord
Jesus Christ in those poor, degraded races that led him to say, I
will give my life to them and let the honors and emoluments of the
world go. Such was the man we loved and honored in our hearts.
EULOGY BY PRESIDENT TAYLOR.
I knew Brother Powell, of whom the friends have spoken so
beautifully, touching our hearts so deeply.
I was most impressed by two things in Brother Powell--his radiant
joyousness and his delightful humor, and the ease with which he could
make the transition from the telling of a funny story to the uttering
of a devout prayer, thus leading others with him up to the very steps
of the throne of grace.
A while ago, in Scotland, there was an old Covenanter, William
Guthrie by name, who had a disposition very much like Brother
Powell's, full of joyousness and fun--let us call things by their
right names--and on one occasion a large number of brethren gathered
together in his manse, among whom was James Durham, better known as
the author of a book on Revelation, who was a popular minister in
Glasgow at the time. He was a very serious man, like the dog that
John Brown tells about, with a life so full of seriousness that there
wasn't anything of the joyous in his disposition, but on that day
Guthrie was bubbling over with fun, and while they were worshiping he
was called upon by a brother to pray, and he went just straight up to
the Hearer of prayer, and they were all moved to tears by his
devotion; and Durham said after they arose from their knees:
"William, I can't understand. If I had been as merry as you were a
little while ago, I could not have prayed for four and twenty hours;"
and Guthrie replied: "If I hadn't laughed so much I couldn't pray."
My model is Paul. Hear what he says: "Rejoice in the Lord always, and
again, I say, rejoice. Let your moderation be know unto all men. The
Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer
and supplication, with thanksgiving let your requests be made know
unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,
shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."
You see how near the joy follows the serious.
The Lord knew that the Christian lives in the ray of sunshine of
Jesus, and we do dishonor to our Master, because we do not let our
joyousness speak for him. And I bless God that wherever James Powell
went he went with joy, the man he was. He did not keep it within. The
joy of his Lord was with him even on the day when men shall depart
because he is with them.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN FREEDMEN AS FACTORS IN AFRICAN EVANGELIZATION.
BY REV. M.E. STRIEBY, D.D.
The presence of the Freedmen in America is an anomaly in the world's
history. European nations have gradually abolished serfdom, and the
master and the slave being of the same race, the line of separation
has soon broken down. In America, slavery is abolished, but the
master and ex-slave are as far apart as ever. America is a nation of
immigrants, mostly from Europe and Africa. The Europeans soon
assimilate, and only the tradition of the individual family tells of
the particular nation from which it came. But the African immigrants
are still, after nearly 300 years' residence in America, separated
from the white race by visible marks of color and features, and are
thus, at the same time, identified with the land of their fathers.
Are not these facts suggestive? Does not the persistent race-identity
of these people, linking them still with Africa, suggest a duty they
may owe to it; and do not their vigorous intellects and warm
religious characteristics indicate that duty to be a high and sacred
one?
On the other hand, Africa, the land of their fathers, is another
anomaly in the world's history. For a thousand years it was unknown
to the civilized world; its people are the most degraded upon earth,
and it is a shame and reproach to the church that it has done so
little to enlighten them,--yea, a double shame when, as is now well
known, Mohammedanism is spreading most rapidly over the whole
continent.
These added facts emphasize the question already asked, Are not these
freed Negroes peculiarly fitted and providentially called to carry
the gospel to their fatherland? Is there not here a Divine purpose
that the church should be quick to see and prompt to carry out? As
the Hebrews were taken to Egypt, disciplined by bondage, and made
familiar with the arts of the most enlightened nation then on earth,
and were thus prepared for their high destiny in developing the plan
of salvation, so are not these children of Africa, chastened by their
severe bondage, brought into contact with the civilization of
America, and fitted by their ardent religious impulses, destined to
bear a large share in the work of Africa's evangelization?
It is to the development of this thought that I invite attention. Let
me first revert to the slow progress of Christianity in Africa,
Christianity, soon after the apostolic age, made one of its brightest
triumphs in Northern Africa--in Egypt and Abyssinia. But ere long
that light went out there and never penetrated the great continent.
So far as is now known, darkness has ever hovered over it--ignorance,
superstition, degradation, cannibalism, slavery and war, have made
and perpetuated that darkness.
But I wish now to call attention to the efforts of the church in
modern times to preach the gospel in Africa. There are now, so far as
I can ascertain, forty-one societies engaged in missionary work
there. The number of missionaries employed by them in Africa, foreign
and native, is 1,086. These have endured the malaria of the climate
and the dangers from hostile people, and some of them have shown the
most heroic spirit of self-sacrifice. They have been preceded by
others, who have laid down their lives in the work, and the living
stand on the graves of the dead, expecting soon to follow. A measure
of success has attended and rewarded this zeal, and a few favored
examples can be found of men who have long endured the climate and
have seen the good work grow upon their hands. But the results, as a
whole, have been discouraging. Christianity has found a precarious
footing along the shores of the continent while, as yet, in the vast
interior the missionaries are compelled to follow at a tardy pace the
footsteps of the explorers. Africa is yet unevangelized.
The causes of this are not far to seek. The white missionaries from
Europe and America succumb under the fatal malaria, or are deterred
by the unreasoning and deadly hostility of the natives. The
missionaries are a foreign people, with different color, features and
habits. They are known to the natives as coming from nations that
have plundered and enslaved them. They come as a superior race,
unable to meet the natives on the basis of a common brotherhood. A
gulf yawns between them. The Christianization of Africa needs a new
impulse from some other quarter.
On the other hand, and in sharp contrast with all this, is the rapid
progress of Mohammedanism in Africa. This progress has been noted by
the modern explorers, but has been recently brought more distinctly
to the attention of Europe and America. Dean R. Bosworth Smith, in
the _Nineteenth Century_ for December, 1887, thus states the extent
to which Mohammedanism covers Africa: "It is hardly too much to say
that one-half of the whole of Africa is already dominated by Islam,
while, of the remaining half, one-quarter is leavened, and another is
threatened, by it. Such is the amazing, the portentous problem which
Christianity and civilization have to face in Africa, and to which
neither of them seems as yet half awake."
The causes of this rapid spread over Africa are easily discernible.
The Mohammedans, though they appeared at first as conquerors, became
at length Africans by their permanent residence on the soil, and they
went forth afterwards in propagating their faith, not as warriors,
but as fellow-citizens and brothers. They resembled the natives in
color, manners, and modes of thought, and readily assimilated with
them by marriage ties and the affinities of home life. Their converts
among the native races were even more naturally welcomed, as friends
and brothers. They, of course, found no difficulty with the climate,
for in it they were born.