340
October, 1934
T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
iBMffiSPfl H H GodnuhSBbe perfect.-?HI Mm J H unto
/3VOM S
OF A BOOK
P OW E R
B y ROBERT G. LEE* Memphis, Tenn.
with great transfiguration. A good book is an author, writing the literature of godliness on the fleshly tablets of human hearts—a jeweler, adorning the mind with thoughts that give light. A good book is a comrade giving instruc tions, continuing with us on the intellectual road, in mute fidelity, from childhood to the end of life. A good book is a tailor, keeping the rustle of divine garments in the ear —a musician, building before the eyes of the soul rhythmic palaces of melody—a pilot, guiding away from the shallows into the deep things of life, of history, of love, of God. A good book is a telescope and microscope in one—showing us God’s signature, written sometimes hugely large and sometimes very small, on every page of this universe— God’s vast autograph album. I read of how a woman, whose name has been forgotten, gave a tract to a very bad man—Richard Baxter. It seemed to be a matter of no importance. But Baxter read the tract, and it was the means of his salvation. Then, later, Baxter wrote a book, The Call o f the Unconverted, which brought a multitude to God, among others, Philip Doddridge. Doddridge wrote a book, The Rise and Progress o f Religion, which brought tens of thousands into the kingdom, among them, Wilberforce. Wilberforce wrote a book, A Practical View o f Christianity, which brought a multitude to Christ, among them, Leigh Richmond. Leigh Richmond wrote a tract, “The Dairyman’s Daughter,” which has been the means of the salvation of unconverted multitudes. And that tide of influence rolling on through Richard Baxter, rolling on through Doddridge, rolling on through Wilberforce, roll ing on through Richmond, on, on, on forever and forever —because of a good book! No wonder Rufus Choate said, “A book is the only im mortality on earth.” No wonder Whipple said, “Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of Time.” No wonder Plato said, “Books are immortal sons deifying their sires.” No wonder Kingsley said, “Except a living man, there is nothing more wonderful than a book.” No wonder Bartolini said, “Without books God is silent, justice dormant, natural science at a stand, philosophy lame, letters dumb, and all things involved in darkness.” No wonder Bulwer said, “A thousand ages were blank if books had not evoked their ghosts, and kept the pale unbodied shades to warn us from fleshless lips.” The freedom of the city, where one walks in crowds alone, The silence of the upland, where one climbs anear the throne, The blitheness of the morning and the solemn hush of night Are in this pleasant world of books for one who reads aright. Here, pure and sharp, the pictured spire its Cleaving point uplifts; There, swept by stormy winds of fate, Time’s sands are tossed in drifts; And I who sit beside the fire, an heir of time and sense, My book to me, the angel of God’s sleepless providence. The good book! Have it as a companion!
“Of making many books there is no end" (Eccl. 12:12). Consider What We Can Do By Means of Books By- means of books we can march with the war-worn spear men of Alexander down beyond the rim of the known world, and watch this conqueror as he rears new dynasties amid the wreck of dismantled kingdoms!We can hear grate on the coast of Britain the
R obert G. L ee
keels of the boats of the low-Dutch sea thieves whose chil dren’s children were to inherit unknown continents. We can travel afar and thrill to the triumphs of Hannibal as he scales the Alps and rushes down their icy slopes into sunny Italy to threaten the Roman dominion. We can walk with Peary amid ice floes of Arctic seas—go beyond dim centuries and see the banners float above armed hosts and conquerors riding to victories that have changed the course of time—go with Columbus until he touches the shores of a new world, with Magellan as he girdles the globe, with Hugh Miller among the rocks, with Galileo and Newton among star gardens, with Faraday among the universes of atoms and electrons. We can journey on pathless oceans—listen to prophecies of forgotten seers, to dead poets singing to us the deeds of mighty men and the love of beautiful women, to the war horns of King Olaf wailing across the floods, to harps sounding high festivals in forgotten halls. We can sit down with the kings of Nineveh and Tyre, enter at leisure into the intellectual heritage of centuries, see all the kingdoms of the world with the glories and tragedies thereof, and walk with the noblest spirits through the most enchanting regions. Thus we get some conception of the power of a book. And, when we use a book, we see how the hand pulls back the curtain from the events of a life, and helps us travel to the uttermost parts in time and space. We understand how wars that devastated continents rage, without creating a disturbance, in a narrow room. We see how, without moving from a cozy nook or swinging hammock or warm fireside, we can crawl through jungles with an explorer, fight Indians with Custer, or take a flight into the high realms where Shakespeare’s marvelous creations flock to meet us and Milton’s choral hymns of Paradise peal in our ears. Consider the Good Book A good book is a ship of thought, voyaging to us with precious cargo of truth and beauty. A good book is an artist nainting the vision splendid in various colors before the dullest eves—an orator sneaking with power—a soloist singing a song that, passing from itself, enters the memory *Pastor, Bellevue Baptist Church.
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