T H E K ING ’S BUS INESS
the collapse of culture and philosophy as a force to regenerate a nation, so it will drive the Christians of this Twentieth century, with its pretended goodness, its pride of science, art and civilization, back to the simple Word. Surely our duty is to stand fast, and if we are only true to ihe Bible, and the Christ of God, a vista of unimag inable power and progress will be re vealed the Redeeming, the Risen, the Reigning, the Returning Son of God.
gians and scholars, and a surrender of the very citadels of criticism and theology. Our hope is that one result of this calamitous war will be the absolute collapse of the German supremacy in criticism, and a saner attitude on the part of British-American theologians towards German leadership. Our prayer is that as this war has given the overwhelming demonstration of J ESUS, my Lord, my God, My life to Thee I owe, For Thou has !borne my guilty load Of Sin and Death arid Woe. Thy Blood alone sufficed My captive soul to free At such a Ransom priced How dear my soul must be! Such wondrous love as this A seraph’s thought exceeds; Nor could he sing my song of bliss, Or pipe it on his reeds. On Thee I cast my care Whose tender grace Divine Of scanty crumbs made bread to spare, Of water choicest wine. A decade ago in the province of Hunan, China, missionaries were “foreign devils,” converts to Christianity were beaten, mobs yelled, “Kill the foreign devils!” and mis sionaries were murdered. Now the once beaten welcomes the evangelist in the city gates, the governor, himself attends the meetings and his own band plays at the close, “God Be W ith You Till We Meet Again"; 3000 students sit under the preach ing and 1000 accept the invitation to own themselves seekers of Jesus.
A SONG OF SALVATION By J. H. Sammis.
Mysejf, my all I lay Here at Thy feet outpoured; Behold thy servant and, I pray,
Help me to keep thy Word. And in thy field wide-spread I’ll toil through blight and bloom Till pillowed where Christ laid His head In Heaven’s ante-room. Till He who once appeared To put my sin away Shall come in clouds of glory sphered To usher in the Day. Or, like to him whose faith In Christ grew never dim, I’ll walk with God and not see death But mount alive to Him. Speaking of effects of the Sunday cam paign in the city, a woman said a neighbor of hers had told the driver of a beer wagon to stop delivering beer there. “The driver told her,” the woman went on, “that she was the tenth woman on his route to stop, and all had told him Billy Sunday did it.” Several other women told how saloon keepers were complaining of lost business. —Evening Telegraph, Philadelphia. Thè Beermen hate Sunday as they hate Sunday. Both play havoc with their trade.
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