Reflections on his Fiftieth Birthday. What a Wonderful Being is
Man! Governed, not by Instinct, but by Reason. Man Lives by Deeds, not
Years. How to Grow Old. Half of Life Spent in Satan's Service. Renewed
Consecration. Last Three Birthdays. His Trust in God.
The seventh day of March has come again. Fifty times has come this
anniversary of my natal day! Half a hundred years old to-day! What a
period through which to carry the burdens and responsibilities of life!
(What a time for which to give account to God for wasted moments and
opportunities lost!) What a period to be devoted to building a
character for the skies! What a period of time devoted to the issues of
eternity!
What a wonderful being is man! Time is but his cradle, from which he
walks forth into a world where life is parallel with the ages of God.
An intelligent, expansive being that will never cease to be--what a
thought! When the sun grows gray with age, his eye is dimmed, and
darkness reigns, man will still be drinking in the light of heaven from
the morning star of eternity. The century-living crow doubles this
period of man's probation, with life as it began. She builds her nest
the last year, as she did the first, with no improvement sought. She
rears her young the hundredth time as she did the first, by the long
experience none the wiser. This is her nature. God made her thus.
Instinct is wonderful, but it never improves. It grows not wiser with
age nor the ages. It nothing from experience learns. The sparrow builds
her nest, and the beaver his dam, just as they did in the years before
the flood. The little quails an hour from the shell, will hide at the
danger-signal of the mother bird, when they never saw a hawk, nor heard
of one's existence. How different this from man! More helpless than the
stupid beast, and more senseless than the creeping worm, he starts to
make the pilgrimage of life. But what a change does time produce! The
child more helpless than the humming insect of an hour, becomes the
monarch of the world. He bridles the lightning in its home above the
mountain peaks, and makes it do his bidding. The terror of the ages
past, becomes his willing servant. He harnesses the steam, that for
ages spent its power in the open air, and with it moves the world. He
sends his whisperings through old ocean's bed, where the great
leviathan sports, as if he talked to one across the room. He leaps
aloft as if on steady wing, till his look is downward where the
lightnings play and the thunderbolt leaps to its deadly mission.
Wonderful development! The heavens declare the glory of God, and the
earth proclaims the dominion of man. He was made a little lower than
the angels, and crowned with majesty. Age counts with man, and years
bring knowledge, but not unfailing wisdom. Did man grow wise with age,
as a sure result, age should be an unfailing blessing sought. But
imbecility it often brings and childish discontent. These are the
blighted sheaves of evil sowing in the spring and summer days of life.
With right ideas of life, men grow wiser and better, as they older grow
in the service of their God. Life is not measured simply by the flight
of time. Men live more now than they did before the flood. Intenser
now is _life_. Into a few decades, is now crowded the patriarch's
experience of nearly a thousand years. How to grow old, is a problem
not to be despised. It should not be left to solve itself. To grow old
gracefully, is to make a picture on which the world delights to look.
But, alas! how sadly blurred is the picture by many made! It is sad to
see one's religion sour with age. While young and strong the loved
disciple on the bosom of the Master leaned. Then when age had dimmed
his eagle eye, and time had stolen his elastic step, he had the same
love for his children in the faith. His was a sweet old age, the
outgrowth of a life of faith and love. He grew old gracefully. When
brought, as was his wont, and before his congregation set, his last
sermons were mainly the touching, tender words, "My little children,
love one another." O, that his mantle could on many of us fall! But
oft, alas! we see grow cross, self-willed and sour the shepherd of the
flock. This, too, when age should give his words both weight and
wisdom. Lord, give me poverty and affliction, if it be thy will, but
save me, I pray, from this sad end. Far better that one die young,
than grow old against the grain. "Is life worth living?" the sages ask.
That depends on how one lives it. Lived aright, it is worth living, and
many such worlds as this beside. Otherwise 'tis not. Of right living,
the more the better; of wrong, the less. The life lived faithfully to
God, can never be too long; its opposite, too short.
Of the half-century, this day gone, one claim I can safely make--it was
not spent in idleness. The years to Satan's service given, were well to
his account put in; and those devoted to a better cause, I have tried
to give as faithfully to Him to whom they all belonged. For the years
in Satan's service spent, like Saul of Tarsus, I conscientious
ignorance plead. O'er eyes unused to heaven's light, sectarianism's
vail was thick. But no sooner was known the way of life, than in its
path I tried to walk; and in it have I tried to keep, till this good
day. Thus equally divided has the time been spent. Except the years of
childish innocence, twenty-five were in the service spent of him who
for this life pays the soul in spurious coin, and leaves it bankrupt in
the life beyond; while an equal number, praise the Lord, have a better
Master claimed. For the rest of life, be it long or short, the long
side will the right side be, while hitherto it otherwise has been. The
periods of service have not before been equally divided, nor will they
be again. But the sides have changed proportions, praise the Lord!
Should not this turning-point in life an epoch make? A half century,
and a half divided life, in one! Surely I shall not look upon its like
again.
The past few birthdays I have noted as those of former years were noted
not, and for reasons I need hardly state. The first that deep
impression on the mind did make since apprehension was that each would
be the last, was three years ago, amid the orange groves of the sunny
South. The day was lovely as the Queen of May; and friends more lovely
than the day, made it a time not to be forgotten. The feasting of the
outer man was the lesser part of the day's enjoyment. "The feast of
reason and the flow of soul" was chief. Three of us were seeking health
in that sunny land. Two have found it, but not there. In a fairer land
by far than this world can boast, did they find the fountain of
perpetual health. Beneath the branches of the tree of life, have they
also sat and plucked its leaves for the healing of the nations given.
I, the feeblest of the three, and thought the nearest to the other side
to be, on the shores of time am struggling still. Thus it is with man's
poor guessing.
Two years ago the day was cold and bleak. It drizzled through the
dreary hours, freezing as it fell. But to many loving hearts, its sleet
and rain were not its gloom. On this day was laid to rest in Mother
Earth the loved remains of one numbered in the health-seeking trio of
the year before. What a contrast with that day one year before! The day
and its events, how sadly changed! But such is life. Well do I remember
on this asking, "Shall I another birthday live to see?" And well do I
remember, too, the thought expressed in grave response. While, in the
providence of God, it was possible, of course, the other way were all
the probabilities. But this so oft before the case had been, it left a
ray of hope. And that has now been more than realized. As said our
sweetest poet, how truly can we say:
"God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform."
One year ago, in the balmy breezes of the "Lone Star" State, compelled
was I by feebleness of frame to miss the sumptuous feast by loving
hands so deftly spread. And sad, yet happy thought, those as ever ready
on the poor to wait, are now in those of the Master clasped. And still
I linger, and the years go by. Such is life. Deep and many are her
mysteries. God knows it all, but he keeps it to himself. But what are
now the prospects for the year to come? Better now, by far, than they
before have been in all these dreary years of pain. Would it not be
strange, if once again in providence divine I should mingle with my
fellow men, and tell them, as of yore, the story of the cross? Indeed,
it would; but stranger things have happened. Stranger things by
providence divine have come to pass without the aid of "Warner's Safe
Cure," or other disgusting humbuggery, with its offensive intrusion
into the reading of decent men. The providence of God is not dependent
on patent nostrums; nor is He limited in His healing power to calomel
or blue mass. Prayer is oft more potent than all the noxious drugs of
man's device. God has promised, when consistent with His holy will, the
prayers of His believing children to hear and bless. And in numbers
more by far than this poor life is worth, have these from earnest,
pleading souls gone up to God. Hence to-day we rest in the cheering
hope that these have not been in vain.
Should it please the Lord to give the health I need to fight again the
battles of Christian life, what responsibilities will it bring! That
strength must all be counted His who gave it. All those years must be
wholly His, His cause to serve. The interests of His kingdom to His
children left, must be strictly guarded. Conflicts with men, even those
we love, will come to him who strictly guards the faith, as Jude
directs. In all conflicts with fellow men, for two good graces I humbly
pray--the courage of Paul and the gentleness of John.
This holy Lord's-day morning, the sun rose bright and charming as on
the seventh day of March it did three years ago in the sunny land of
Florida. For the first time in many weary months did I a whiff of the
outside air inhale. Oh! how delicious! 'Twas like a prisoner's whiff of
the air of freedom. But this was not the best. To sit again with the
brethren around the table of the Lord and hear again the sweet old
story that is forever new, what a feast to the hungry soul! Then the
birthday feast is next to be enjoyed. Loved ones gathered at the dear
old "cottage home" to celebrate the marked event with music, song and
recitation.
The birthday cakes and other "dainty tricks" by loving hands prepared
and sent to grace the festive board, told tales of love. One thing
alone marred the pleasure of the day and checked the overflow of its
cup of bliss: Two loved and loving ones were far away and disappointed
in their hope of being here. These would have made the ring complete,
the family circle whole. But such, again, is life. Its disappointments
will forever come. We should expect them, therefore, and be content.
This is my fiftieth milestone along life's rugged road. At this
half-century mark I set up a pillar, as did Jacob of old.
"Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
Hither by Thy help I've come,
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home."
Thus far in life has a loving Father led me, and in his providential
care I trust for all the rest. I place my trusting hand in His, asking
to be led as He sees the way. "Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah," shall
be my constant prayer. And thus, dear Father, the rest of life I leave
with thee.
Dear Lord, should birthdays more be mine
To spend on earth to Thee,
Thy cause shall claim them wholly Thine
As earnest work can be.
And should'st Thou will the next be one
In Thy bright home above,
I gladly say, "Thy will be done,"
And join Thee in Thy love.
COTTAGE HOME, March 7, 1886.