PERMIT one who has loved Doctor Terhune for fifty years, to pay tribute
to his character and outline his attainments.
He was born in New Brunswick, New Jersey, November 22, 1830. It does
not seem possible that this was his birth-year, he was so vigorous and
his spirit was so youthful to the end. The best things in life were
his rich inheritance. His father, Judge John Terhune, for fifty-four
years an elder in the Presbyterian Church, was a rare man, and for
generations the family had led in the moral and material development
of New Jersey. He was named for Edward Payson, his father’s friend,
a saintly Christian leader still remembered in the American church.
Few boys have had a happier childhood. It was partly spent with his
grandmother in Princeton. Her house was a centre of influence. Doctors
Alexander, Hodge, Miller, and other professors were her intimate
friends, and the boy was welcomed at their homes. Members of their
families were life-long companions. Entering Rutgers, he was graduated
in the class of 1850 with Doctors Elmendorf and Sheperd, Judges
Lawrence and Ludlow, and others who became equally distinguished.
His heart was set on becoming a physician, and for nearly two years
he studied medicine. Then he obeyed the higher call and consecrated
himself to the Christian ministry.
On graduating from the New Brunswick Seminary, several calls came. He
accepted that of the Presbyterian Church of Charlotte Court-House,
Virginia, and in the spring of 1855 began his pastorate. It was an
ideal charge for any man. The best blood of the Old Dominion was
in the congregation. No less than eighty-six of the members were
college graduates. In 1856 he married Miss Mary Virginia Hawes, of
Richmond. Their home became as near the ideal as any this earth has
known—beautiful in its comradeship, beneficent in its influence.
In 1858, Doctor Terhune was called to the pastorate of the First
Reformed Dutch Church, of Newark. To decide as he did, must have been
a singular test of faith and courage. The claims of material comfort,
intellectual fellowship, and family ties on one side, on the other a
depleted church, in a community almost entirely dependent for support
on manufacturing interests, most of which were then bankrupt. But
Doctor Terhune was a soldier of the cross, and the red fighting blood
ran too strong in him to resist the opportunity that called for heroic
self-denial, constraint, toil and trials of faith and patience that
would, for years, tax to the utmost every power of heart and mind. Few
men have possessed as clear a vision of life; for him there were no
illusions in the Newark outlook. He knew that, in the modern city life,
then just beginning, must be fought the main battle of Christianity
with the powers of evil. His commission was to lead, and he accepted
the detail. For eighteen years Doctor Terhune remained at his post.
Immediately his work began to tell for blessing, nor was this confined
to his parish;—the entire city felt his presence. While his work in all
its many parts was of the highest order, the man was always greater
than his work. Men, women, and children instinctively loved him. They
brought to him their problems, then felt his impression on their
hearts. And it was abiding. To-day a great company scattered throughout
the earth thank God for what he wrought in them.
In 1876, in consequence of the state of Mrs. Terhune’s health, Doctor
Terhune resigned his Newark charge, and went abroad. His ministry did
not lapse, for all the time he labored as chaplain, first in Rome and
then in Paris, having entire charge of the American churches there.
Immediately on his return, in 1878, he received calls from leading
churches in Newark, Plainfield, New Haven, and Springfield,
Massachusetts. The last named he accepted. There he remained for five
years, honored and loved throughout the city. Then came another call.
The Williamsburg Reformed Church in Brooklyn had had a remarkable
history. At times prosperous, then on the verge of collapse. In the
centre of a great population, with a plant capable of accommodating
an enormous congregation, it had never fulfilled its promise. Unless
an unusual man, with rare gifts, not merely eloquence and ordinary
leadership, but with almost divine tact, patience, and unselfishness,
came to save it, the church would disband. Doctor Terhune loved the
Old Dutch Church as loyally as any man who has ever served her, but
this call must have taxed his sense of proportion. I am sure it was
his Master’s higher call that decided him to go to Williamsburg. He
had never cared for wealth except for its uses, was generous in every
direction, and needed all the salary he could win; and the church was
$80,000 in debt; its membership was scattered, and its attendants
divided into antagonistic groups. More than one friend urged him to
refuse such a sacrifice. What the seven years’ labor there cost him
only God knew. He became twenty years older in appearance, and he lost
much of the splendid vitality that had never before failed him for any
length of time. But he left the church united, entirely free from debt,
and with a promise for the future never before so bright. A year abroad
was needed to establish his broken health.
Since then Doctor Terhune, while refusing another pastorate, has been a
constant laborer. Large churches in Chicago and St. Louis called him.
In these, he became for upward of a year a stated supply, but he knew
that his physical strength was waning. A few years ago, he underwent
a serious surgical operation, and for nearly six months lay helpless
from its effect. Indeed, his life was despaired of. I talked with
his surgeon, who told me that, in his long experience, he had “never
known a patient endure greater or more constant suffering; I cannot
understand his marvellous self-control. He is always bright, always
thinking of others, and never of himself.” It was characteristic.
After his recovery Doctor Terhune led an active life. The churches
sought his help, and he was a frequent preacher in New York, Newark,
and elsewhere. More than forty years ago, he purchased a tract of land
on Pompton Lake, New Jersey. It was then a primitive region, to which
he was attracted by the scenery and the opportunity to satisfy his
special recreation; for from boyhood he was a great fisherman. As time
and means permitted, he made “Sunnybank” blossom into rare beauty. How
he loved this home! There he lived close to nature, and the trees,
flowers, streams, and sky rested and refreshed him. Because a true
child of nature, she gave back to him rich treasures that are denied to
most; a joy in her communion; knowledge of her secrets; a vision of God
through her revelation. There dear friends gathered about him, and the
ideal beauty of a country home was, through his inspiration, revealed
to some for the first time.
A year ago, Doctor and Mrs. Terhune celebrated their golden wedding.
After a day of loving congratulations from friends almost innumerable,
who, in body or spirit, gathered about them, they took their wedding
journey in their carriage, driving horses born on their place, through
the country of his boyhood and elsewhere. The refreshment of this
fortnight of perfect happiness lingered on for all the remaining days
of earth.
More than forty years ago, while a pastor in Newark, Doctor Terhune
united with Alpha Delta, an association limited to twelve active
members, meeting monthly at their homes. With its founders in 1855,
among whom were Drs. G. W. Berthune, Robert Davidson, A. R. Van Nest,
A. B. Van Zandt, and others, he was intimate. After the death of Doctor
Chambers he became the senior member, and in 1900 prepared its history,
a copy of which is before me now. In the brief studies of the character
of nearly two score friends, there is revealed the secret of his power.
He possessed the genius of friendship as few have done.
Ten days before the end came, he read to Alpha Delta a paper prepared
at our request, “The Story of the Jamestown, Virginia, Settlement and
the James River Estates.” Every monograph of Doctor Terhune had its
special value, but into this last he poured the memories of happy
years and an estimate of values in human life, as never before. All
through there ran that subtle charm of style, tender pathos, and gentle
humor of which he was master. And there was added a peculiar quality
impossible to define. I think we all felt that, unconsciously, he
had pictured himself, always seeing, knowing, loving, and inspiring
the best in men. Not feeling well, he left us suddenly. There was no
good-bye. Perhaps it is better so. But Alpha Delta can never be the
same to us here.
After a week of fever he fell asleep, to awaken in the Father’s House,
to the vision of the One he loved, and with Him, the children who had
passed before.
More than once I have been asked to describe the distinctive
characteristics of admirable men, and have named them “many-sided,”
and “standing four square.” But as I think of Doctor Terhune, the
trite phrases seem insufficient. Nor is it easy to differentiate his
character. He was a strong man physically, intellectually, and morally.
As few of his generation, he held his course through a long life of
trial consistently. He had a definite hatred of sin, and when duty
called, never hesitated to particularize the evil of which men were
guilty. But in this he always aimed to discover to such the good they
were capable of attaining. His fearless courage was balanced by the
finest gentleness. His presence was gracious, and the charm of perfect
manners was natural in him. Instinctively, men looked up to him and
remembered his sayings. Doctor Terhune was a diligent man; all his
life he was a student. He loved his books intelligently. His literary
experience was unusual in its range and depth. Even more than books
he studied men; their problems were his greatest interest. He thought
these out so wisely and sympathetically that he seemed to possess the
prophet’s vision.
In the pulpit, Doctor Terhune was earnest, clear, direct, and simple.
His teachers had been rare men in the school of eloquence that was
the glory of America fifty years ago. On occasion he was equal to the
best of these. As I recall his presence in his Newark church, I seem
now to hear his wonderful voice ring out words that moved men to purer
thinking, nobler living, and greater loyalty to the Master he loved.
As a pastor, he was devoted to every interest of his people; in their
homes no guest was as welcome. These, and other traits I could name,
found their spring in as tender a heart as ever beat; constantly he
carried there all God gave him to love. Next to the members of his
family, I think his ministerial brethren realized most this supreme
value in their friend. They knew he loved them as few men could. I have
never heard him speak an unkind word of a clergyman. His presence never
failed to hearten and stimulate them in their work. So he honored his
manhood and his calling. He has left behind not only a stainless name,
but living and blesséd power.