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THE K I N G ’ S B U S I NE S S
account of not having this compelling power? A Christian man sometimes spoke mildly to his unbelieving brother about his soul, but with no results. Eventual ly the latter was saved apart from the believing brother; tnen he asked him, “Why did you not deal with me about my salvation when you knew my great danger?” His brother replied, “ You remember that I have spoken to you in a way.” “ But you should have put me in a corner and not let me go until I came to Christ.” This man wanted to be compelled to the Savior; and he would have counted it an act of real brother ly love. Many are wanting to be com pelled in a loving way, but we are too much afraid they will resent it. Love can take liberties others cannot. A wealthy family in New York City occupied a five-storied house. One day they discovered the house was on fire. There was some expensive furniture on the ground floor; the father and son tried to pave some before the fire got down to it. They got one large piece of furniture to the door, and it filled the whole doorway; the father was on the outside and the son inside pushing it out. At last they saw that it was too large to go out, so they tried to push it in. To their horror they found it so fixed in to the doorway that it would not go out nor in, and the son was imprisoned near the roaring flames. The father became frantic; in a few minutes his son would be a cinder. Oh, that we could see the danger of lost souls as that father saw the danger of his son. We would then know what it means to compel them. The father went to a window in that room, but it had iron bars; he tried to break them, but they were too strong. The flames were enveloping his son, then with a cry to God for strength and a superhuman pull at the bars, he broke one and saved his son.
CHRIST OR CHAOS The earthquake shock and whirlwind’s roar, Have rocked the world from shore to shore; Old thrones are crumbling into mud, Old crowns are trampled red with blood"; Like ocean flayed before the wind Are tossed the hearts of all mankind; War’s hate has gnawed earth’s mother breast; There is no peace, there is no rest. Beyond their depths old leaders grope To clutch in gloom some shape of hope; The wisdom of the wisest fails, The lore of statesmen naught avails; The old diplomacy is dead; Old priestly hands in vain are spread; Old systems of well-buttressed thought Are left behind, as things of naught. Old social orders cannot meet Conditions fresh from battle heat; The warrior at his best still sows The fertile seed of war and woes; The theories of sane dreamers wilt As the new dawn afar is split; Lured here, lured there the people hie, Despairing turn from beckoning lie. The world must flee from chaos, death, Back to the hills of Nazareth, Where waiting calm a peasant stands To build the new world with his hands. The old world-makers as they try To build secure, but pass Him by, Or toss a sweet, adoring song, Or, bending knee, pass swift along. He waits to enter on his own, The wisest statesman earth has known, ’Tis Christ or chaos! Only He Can make the peoples sane and free, Can lead the leaders safely forth To build anew the stricken earth Freed from the rule of force and hate. Truth, justice, love His craft of state. WILLIAM EARL PERRY, In Los Angeles Times.
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