THE K I NG ' S BUS I NESS
1127
his heaven-born talents on a futile cru sade! As though one man could set himself against the whole world! He had no organization to back him; no representative committees to prepare the way for him; no learned societies to spread abroad the wonders of his new philosophy; no patrens of the fine arts, no recognized religious bodies to arouse public curiosity in his personality or his preachings. In the wilderness without food, in the crowded city a homeless wanderer, in the Halls of the Mighty without author ity,'in his own country without honor. So he lived and loved and labored and prematurely passed away. Accepted only by the lowly and the downtrodden to whom he offered no worldly prize or hope of material gain, loved by a mere few who followed him without reason and believed in him without knowing why. Suspected at first, opposed always and finally feared by the constituted rulers of the land, he was sold for thirty pieces of silver, the price of a slave, delivered over to a for eign governor, condemned to a felon’s death and executed in the potter’s field. There his life’s work ended in hope less failure, as all but a chosen band of devotees firmly believed. He was the poorest man that ever trod this earth. His name was Jesus of Nazareth. And today he sits at the right hand of God in the glory of the Father, and his kingdom shall have no end. After all in this present short period of earthly life, who shall say which is the rich and which is the poor man?— Harry Bowling. THE ROOSTER I love to watch a rooster crow1— He’s like so many men I know, Who brag and bluster, ramp and shout, And beat their manly chests without A single thing to crow about.
TH E POORE ST A N D TH E R ICHEST
E was born of poor parents in an obscure and despised ham let. He did nothing to better his worldly position. He fitted himself for no definite trade or profession—spent no time in studying the useful arts or sci ences—tilled no soil, raised no crops, sold no goods in the market place. He was careless where practical men are always careful. Apparently he held cheap all that the world holds dear:— career, name, fortune, position, for which the best men of his time fought and struggled and lived and died. Penniless he came into the world and penniless he left it. To the things of the morrow he gave no thought, to shel ter or fuel or food or clothing. If the passer-by offered him bread, he accepted it; if not, he went hungry; or plucked some ears of grain as he walked through the cornfields. He had no fixed abiding place; he slept wherever night overtook him. Surely, according to the materialists, no life was ever more foolishly frittered away. Why should he have denied him self the blessings of a home? Why had he no wife to watch for his goings-out and comings-in, no children to take up his work when he laid down th^ burden? Why did he never feel the passionate touch of a woman’s lips on his through the weary pilgrimage of his short, strange life? He could have had all these things* the rightful heritage of his race. How, indeed, could he expect the world to honor him who cared nothing for the honor of the world? His dis appointed neighbors must have shaken their heads ominously at his pitiable lack of ambition. So visionary, such a dreamer, wasting
Made with FlippingBook - Online catalogs