When some one asked, "How could it have been worse," he answered: "It
might have been true."
Doctor A.A. Willetts, "the Apostle of Sunshine," used to say: "There
are two things I never worry over; one is the thing I can help, the
other is the thing I can't help." "Count your blessings," was a
favorite expression of the same beloved old man.
There are more bright days than cloudy ones, a thousand song birds for
every rain-crow, a whole acre of green grass for every grave, more
persons outside the penitentiary than inside, more good men than bad,
more good women than good men; slavery, dueling, lottery and polygamy
are outlawed, the saloon is on the run, the wide world will soon be so
sick of war that universal peace, with "good will among men," will
prevail, labor and capital will be peaceful partners and human
brotherhood will rule in righteousness throughout the world.
"O, this is not so bad a world,
As some would like to make it,
And whether it is good or bad,
Depends on how we take it."
Fanny Crosby, whose gospel hymns are continually singing souls into
the kingdom, when but six weeks old lost her sight and for ninety-two
years made her way in literal darkness, without seeing the beauties of
nature about her, the blue sky with its sun, moon and stars above her,
the faces of her loved ones, and yet at ninety-two she said: "I never
worry, never think disagreeable things, never find fault with anything
or anybody. If in all the world there is a happier being than myself,
I would like to shake that one's hand." No wonder out of such
contentment came such songs as, "Jesus is calling," "I am Thine, O
Lord," "Safe in the arms of Jesus."
How different the cultured young woman, with all her senses preserved,
who after passing through a flower garden where perfect sight had
feasted on the beauty of the scene said:
"To think of summers yet to come,
That I am not to see;
To think a weed is yet to bloom,
From dust that I shall be."
Poor soul! Instead of enjoying the summer she had, she was coveting
all the summers between her and eternity. Instead of thanking God for
the immortality of the soul when done with the body, she was
disappointed because she couldn't carry the old body along with her.
Don't let these things trouble you. Live one summer so you will be
worthy to breathe the air of the next if you live to see it; take care
of your body so it will make a decent weed if God chooses to make one
out of your remains.
Enjoy what you have, don't covet what you have not, thank God for your
home on earth, follow Fanny Crosby's receipt for contentment and you
will be happy enough to shake hands with her in the "Land of the
Leal."
Before I close would you like to have me point you to greatness? In
attempting to do so, I would not point you to Congress hall or Senate
chamber. You can find greatness anywhere.
That was greatness when John Bartholamew held the throttle of an
engine going over the Sierra mountains, with a train load of
passengers depending upon his skill and caution, and swinging round a
curve he saw the wood-work of a tunnel before him on fire. To attempt
to stop the train then, would be to halt in the flames. He threw on
more steam and sent the train whizzing through the furnace of fire.
Passing out on the other end he was badly burned, but still held the
rein of his iron horse. A poem dedicated to this brave engineer closes
with the verse:
"I 'spose I might have jumped the train,
In thought of saving sinew and bone,
And left them women and children
To take the ride alone.
"But I thought on a day of recknin',
And whatever old John done here,
The Lord ain't going to say to him there,
'You went back as an engineer.'"
History of life on the ocean tells us of a ship doomed to go down with
four hundred human beings on board. The pumps were not equal to the
task of holding the water down to the safety line. The captain said:
"We will draw lots for the life-boats, one hundred and twenty will go
in them and the remainder must go down with the ship."
One after another drew his lot. A sailor, who had drawn the lot of
death, walked to the railing and said to a comrade in a life-boat:
"When you reach the shore, see my wife, tell her good-bye for me and
help her in getting my back pay, for she will need it," and he stepped
back and took his place with the doomed.
Finally the old mate thrust in his brawny hand and drew a lot for the
life-boats. He stepped aside to watch those to follow in the drawing,
when a very popular officer of the ship drew his lot. He was doomed to
go down with the ship. Though a brave man, the thought of his loved
ones at home overcame him, and dropping upon his knees he said: "O
God, have mercy upon my wife and little children."
The old mate went up to him and taking his hand said: "We have been in
many storms together and have been good friends for years. You have a
wife and three sweet little children, while I have no one that will
rejoice at my coming, nor will any one weep if I never return. It
might have been my fate to go down instead of you, and it shall be.
You take my lot, and I'll take yours."
The offer was refused, but the mate forced his friend into a boat
saying, "Good-bye, I'll die for you like a man."
The greatness of this world doesn't all belong to your Solons,
Solomons, Washingtons, Napoleons, Grants, Lees or Gladstones, but
yonder in the humbler walks of life are heroes and heroines, who in
the final reckoning day, will pale the lustre of some whose names are
engraved on marble monuments and whose praises are perpetuated in
poetry and song.
If you ask me to point you to greatness I do not direct your minds to
historic heights, but that you may win your share of greatness I close
this address by saying, wherever your lot in life be cast,
"In the name of God advancing,
Plow, sow and labor now;
Let there be when evening cometh,
Honest sweat upon thy brow.
Then will come the Master,
When work stops at set of sun,
Saying, as He pays the wages,
'Good and faithful one, well done.'"