if If all the sleeping folk will wake up And all the lukewarm folk will fire up And all the dishonest folk will confess up And all the disgruntled folk will sweet en up And all the discouraged folk will cheer up And all the depressed folk will look up And all the estranged folk will make up And all the gossipers will shut up And all the dry bones will shake up And all the true soldiers will stand up And all the church members will pray up And all that are, in debt will pay up You can have a revival! —Frank Knox The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to sheiv himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him (2 Chron. 16:9). A Minute I have only just a minute, Only sixty seconds in it, Forced upon me—can’t refuse it, Didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it, But it’s up to me to use it. I must suffer if I lose it, —Christine Warren Don’t blame the Lord if your church doesn’t prosper. He is more willing to give than you are to ask. — C.R.H. Thy Will Be Done “ Not my own will, but thine be done,’* He cried in agony, “ But Father, if it be thy will, May this cup pass from me.’* He drank the bitter draught for me; God turned His face away And on Christ’s head my sins were laid Which broke His heart that day. If God should call on me to drink, A cup of bitter rue, I should not count the cost too great; He is my Father, too. Unless I drink the chp He gives, Unworthy I shall be, And I shall never realize His perfect plan for me. I’ll never hear Him say, “Well done” When at His bar I stand And I shall miss the great reward Which He for me had planned. “ Dear Lord, I’m weak within myself. Help me to choose Thy best That I may do Thy perfect will And be forever blest.” —Anna Koehler We are indebted to the Book of books for our national ideals and institutions. Their preservation rests in adhering to its principles. —Herbert Hoover T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S : Give account if I abuse it, Just a tiny little minute— But Eternity is in it.
John Huss at the Stake When John Huss, the Bohemian mar tyr, was brought out to be burnt, they put on his head a triple crown of paper, with painted devils on it. On seeing it, he said, “My Lord Jesus Christ, for my sake, wore a crown of thorns; why should not I then, for His sake wear this light crown, be it ever so ignomin ious. Truly I will do it, and that wil lingly.” When it was set upon his head, the bishops said, “Now, we commend thy soul to the devil.” “ But I,” said Huss, lifting up his eyes to heaven, “ do commit my spirit into Thy hands, 0 Lord Jesus Christ; to Thee I commend my spirit, which Thou hast redeemed.” When faggots were piled up to his very neck, the Duke of Bavaria was officious enough to desire him to abjure. “ No,” said Huss, “ I never preached any doc trine of an evil tendency; and what I taught with my lips I now seal with my blood.” Traps The strangest and most cunning trap I have ever heard of is often used to catch the small white ermine of the northland. Ordinary traps would tear- the fur and ruin the pelt rendering it useless for market. Man has studied the habits of this little beast and has found that she likes to lick ice. So a large knife is greased and placed in the snow so that all that is visible is its shining blade. The ermine comes along and licks the blade. Of course her tongue is immediately frozen fast and she is taken captive. We shudder at such cruelty! We say it is unfair! But isn’t this trap akin to the one used by the devil and his fol lowers in the liquor industry? How shining and alluring is the tempting glass? “ Men of distinction” ads, and those that are similar, would lure us to become habitual drinkers! The results, far crueler than the catching of the ermine, mount in immense piles of human tragedy: accidents, broken homes, murder, suicide, wasted living, ruined characters, ruined pride and position. Not a pretty picture either! —Margaret Anderson Some minds are like concrete . . . all mixed up and permanently set. Time to Worry When we see the lilies spinning in dis tress, Taking thought to manufacture loveli ness; When we see the birds all building barns for store, ’Twill be time for us to worry— Not before. Page Twenty-two
She Slammed the Door On one occasion John Vassar, the great soul winner, was going from house to house distributing tracts and talking with people about their souls. One woman who heard about this strange man, and what he was doing said: If he comes to my house he will get the door slammed in his face. Without knowing that this woman had made such a state ment, Mr. Vassar rang her doorbell the next day. When she saw that he was the man that had been described to her, she slammed the door in his face. John Vassar sat down on her doorstep and sang: But drops of grief can ne’er repay The debt of love I owe, Here Lord I give myself away; ’Tis all that I can do. The woman heard the earnest verse as he sang and was convicted. She opened the door and called Mr. Vassar in, who led her to Jesus Christ. —Proof Plan as though Christ were not com ing for ten years. Live as though He were coming in ten seconds! —Revelation Calvary Covers It All A clergyman, talking about deathbed conversion, said to a Christian woman, “ Do you think that a deathbed repen tance does away with a whole life of sin?” “No,” she answered quietly, “but Cal vary does.” —Wonderful Word A sunny disposition gilds the edges of the blackest clouds. The Worst of It “ Do you want any berries, ma’am?” said a little boy to a lady one day. The lady told him that she would like some and, taking the pail from him, she stepped into the house. He did not fol low, but remained behind, whistling to some canaries hanging in their cage on the side of the porch. “Why do you not come in and see if I measure your berries right?” said the lady. “How do you know but I may cheat you?” “ I am not afraid, ma’am; you would get the worst of it.” “ Get the worst of it?” said she. “What do you mean?” “Why, ma’am. I should lose only my berries, and you would be stealing. Don’t you think you would get the worst of it?” I preach as if I never should preach again, and as a dying man to dying men. —Richard Baxter
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