Part 4

While success is worthy of one’s best efforts, and all men hunger for it, very few, indeed, have ever reached that happy goal. They failed because they refused to follow the pathway of a noble purpose. They believed that success was altogether a matter of outward form. Seeing the conqueror riding in triumphant procession, they thought that the applause arose, not because he had conquered, but because he wore a helmet and a shield. Hurrying to an emporium, they too purchased helmets and shields and strutted forth to win a world’s applause. Foolish souls! The public eye is keen and penetrating and always apprehends the truth. If the people greet a king with shouts, it is not because they see a gleaming crown, but because they recognize a royal soul beneath the crown. If the multitude cheer a warrior, it is not because he bears a standard, but because, in courageous conflict, he won a battle for the people. Spain greeted the discoverer of America, not because of the grain and fruit he brought, but because he had braved the dangers of a dark unknown, and blazed a pathway through untracked wastes.

History repeats the story of a weird Scythian custom. When the head of a house died his family would adorn his corpse in finest raiment, place it in a chariot, and, amid shouts and hosannas, draw it to the homes of former friends. Coming to each dwelling place, the corpse would be greeted with pomp and splendor. For the final home-coming the steps would be carpeted with silken shawl and choice embroidery, while lighted chandeliers flashed welcome to the dead and sunken eyes. Within the doorway the crowned corpse was placed at the head of a banqueting table at which his gay companions sat and made merry, eating and drinking in his honor. Thus many days were spent in honoring the dead before the body was laid away in the tomb. To us it was a most gruesome custom, but each Scythian youth struggled to possess a home of his own, that some day he might be carried as a crowned corpse through the city streets, and finally, be seated in honor at his own banqueting board.

This ancient custom was the outgrowth of a mistaken view of life still prevailing in many quarters, for the crowned corpse is seen to-day in many public gatherings. What else is the man who seeks office for the selfish purpose and pleasure of holding office? In youth he saw the governor’s chair or Senate seat, and found that every chord of his nature was awakened and longed to reach that goal. He determined that this vision of his soul should be transcribed from the pages of his imagination to the pages of his nation’s history. Two pathways opened. The one of a noble purpose, saying, “Seek office, that you may render needed service to your fellow countrymen.” The pathway of selfishness opened its portals saying, “Seek office for the sake of gain.” Seeing that trickery and deceit promised the easier way to gain his end, he started with leaps and bounds. He cast lots with dishonesty and dissipation. He became a perjurer, a liar, and a thief. He sold himself to an unworthy cause, at last the coveted crown was his. To-day he sits at the head of the table, not a great ruler, but a crowned corpse. In his struggle for power he lost all that constitutes real living.

What else is the man who seeks wealth for the sole sake of having money? For years he has lived the life of a slave, denying himself beauty, music, books, devotions, and benevolence, until, at last, his name appears in Bradstreet marked “AA,” and the world greets him as a king. Who is he? A crowned corpse. When he began his career two pathways opened. The one of a noble purpose saying, “Make money for the sake of doing good.” The other way, the way of selfishness, saying, “Make money to satisfy your own desires.” He chose the latter way. He has his robe and crown, and is seated amid light and applause, but he is not capable of appreciating its meaning. Long ago he died to honor, and truth, and love, and generous impulse. He knows not the meaning of life.

Among the crowned corpses should also be mentioned those who follow society for society’s sake. Through imitation they have destroyed personality. They have smothered their souls under the weight of their self-adornment. In their wild search for physical pleasure all the radiant, sparkling glory of a cultured spirituality has faded into the pallor of death. They are richly robed, they ride in state, receive the plaudits of their followers, sit at table spread with gold and silver plate, but they are now dead to all the higher things of life and are unable to appreciate the empty honors they receive.

The secret of successful living is to follow the pathway of a noble purpose. At first the path may seem a long and arduous one, but it is the only way that has booths in which to rest the weary feet and crowns for living souls to wear. It is in this pathway that one learns the secret of the Christ life, for as he journeys on the way to nobility a voice is ever whispering in his ears: “Life consists in living unselfishly. Seek power only that you may have strength to serve those who are weak. Gain wealth only that you may be able to multiply your usefulness.” The road of a noble purpose leads to a throne, not one for the dead body, but a throne for the living soul. Here too is applause, not such as the Scythian dead received but such as was accorded the Roman conqueror. What a thrill follows noble endeavor! What a joy to come to old age having fought battles for those who were too weak to fight for themselves, and brought victory where otherwise his people would have suffered defeat and death!

The world honors those who honor it. The ruler who has followed the pathway of a noble purpose is always honored by his people. Before him is spread the banquet of a nation’s reverence and homage. The man who, in getting money, has kept his hands clean from dishonesty, made just returns for all labor he required, and has kept his heart tender toward his fellow man, is honored by everyone. Men delight to fill his days with happiness, as honeysuckle loves to fill the air with sweetness. When the world discovers a woman whose desire for society is not to satisfy her vanity, or fill a shallow soul with selfish pleasures, but her desire is to scatter jewels of love and gems of inspiration to make rich and beautiful the lives of the common folk, it crowns her in the temple of its heart and calls her an angel sent of God.

The days of autocratic power are ended, but the hands of the people are busy building thrones and weaving crowns of gold. So long as there is a love for nobility in the human heart men and women of nobility will be placed in power. Life consisteth not in the abundance of the _things_ which a man possesseth but in following the pathway of a noble purpose.

X

SWORDS FOR MORAL BATTLES

The best weapons with which to fight moral battles have already been forged, sharpened, and polished, waiting to be unsheathed for conflict. There are some things that the ingenuity of man cannot improve. Man’s genius may perfect the locomotive to give swiftness to his feet; it may magnify his voice until his whispers are heard a thousand miles away; it may perfect machinery giving speed and accuracy to his busy fingers; it may print his speech and multiply his audience a millionfold; it may open new fields of endeavor, thus increasing the circle of his influence; it may do many things to break down barriers, and increase usefulness; but all the genius and skill of man can never devise nor contribute to any life a better or keener weapon with which to fight moral battles than belonged to us the eventful morning we left the old homeplace and mother’s presence, to begin, among strangers, our first conquest with the world.

As a royal exile David was facing a grave crisis. The relentless enemy was pressing hard, and he possessed no means of defense. Leaving his hiding place, he hurried into the presence of Ahimelech and asked for a spear or a sword. As Ahimelech was a priest, and not a warrior, he was about to dismiss the young man empty-handed when, suddenly, he remembered. Wrapped in cloth, hanging behind the high priest’s robe, was an old sword, the very one that this young man had one time taken from the stiffening fingers of a dying giant, whom he had slain on the eventful morning of his first great conflict. Slowly and carefully the old man took the gleaming blade from its resting place, unwrapped it with reverent touch, explaining that it was all that he had to offer. David was instantly filled with delight. His eyes gleamed with fire, his heart and soul were thrilled with memories of that bright morning, when, filled with the ardor of youth, he had run down the mountainside to make conquest with the giant. This was that giant’s sword! The very one that he had wrenched from the stiffening fingers of the vanquished foe. Reaching forward he grasped it in his strong right hand saying: “There is none like that; give it me.” There may have been and probably were better and more beautiful swords in the world; keener steel may have been forged into swords for the generals and kings of other lands, but for David there was none other quite so efficient as the one with which he had gained his first victory.

There are no newly discovered weapons with which to fight the moral battles of to-day. As David was aroused from the shrinking spirit of a fugitive to become a conquering king, by being given the weapon of his former battle, so each man must make requisition upon the past. Behold the weapons which hang in the sacred temple of our souls awaiting the grasp of a courageous hand.

There is the sword of our childhood dreams. Let memory make you a little child again with brother and sister about the hearthstone on a winter’s evening, and let your heart glow with good cheer. Or let the sunshine of summer fall across your way until you are a child once more, running with bare feet through the winding ways of the meadow, chasing moths and butterflies, or wading the stream back of the old schoolhouse, your heart as carefree as the rippling waters. Let the dull monotonous hum and soothing influences of those happy days of wonderment come back to your heart until your eyes half close and you begin redreaming your youthful dreams. Blessed dreams, that cause the muscles of your face to relax, while laughter comes to the lips, and compels you to forget the blistering ways you have trodden since those sun-bright days. Dream your dreams of tenderness and confidence, for the tendency of the city is to harden the heart and dull the sympathies. Then will you have a worthy weapon with which to make battle. You need your old-time faith in God and confidence in man, your former optimistic view of life that gave brightness to every future fancy; your trustfulness in mother’s love and father’s counsel; the belief that divine power was working for your success because your heart was pure; let these memories and fond dreams come to you once again. You need them. Without the dreams of life the arm has little strength and the will but little power. Let them come back, bringing smiles for your face, and wreaths for your brow, and heaps of gold for your coffers. Youthful dreams must never fade from the gallery of memory if men would achieve. Lay hold upon them with all your power, knowing that while manhood’s wisdom is valuable, it is not half so effectual in fighting life’s battles as are the warm dreams of youth. With the sword of a worthy dream a man can defeat any adversary, scale any rampart, take any stronghold. Youth’s dreams were never intended to be lost. They are stored away in the most sacred part of your nature. Plead for their return, and finding them, exclaim with David, “There is none like that; give it me.”

There is the sword of your old-time enthusiasm and resolution. There was a time when you believed yourself the possessor of a divine quality that would compel your brightest dream to come true. With age you are becoming more prosaic. You are not so confident and self-assertive. You excuse your shortcomings by asserting that you are becoming “more conservative,” forgetful that conservatism is very often only a refined name for dry rot or petrification. No man can win a fight with merely the weapons of conservatism. What you need is the old-time enthusiasm with which you announced your determination to leave home, the enthusiasm with which you packed the old trunk, and that fired your soul as you drove away from the old homestead, and made you determined to win fame and fortune at any cost. Time instead of deadening should kindle the fires of enthusiasm. You are living in the greatest hour of history. You are better equipped and environed and protected than the people of any generation. The quest was never so valuable; the rewards for noble endeavor never more abounding. There is no reason for any man giving up to indifference or despair. Take up your old-time enthusiasm until your heart burns with power that quickens the step and strengthens the arm. Lay hold of this conquering sword with which you have slain many a giant and cry with the spirit of a true conqueror, “There is none like that; give it me.”

There is the sword of your childhood faith in God. As you have grown older you have acquainted yourself with many theories and tried many dogmas strange and fanciful, but none of them have had sufficient strength and keenness to win your battle. You have been compelled to throw them aside, and now, in the crisis, you are compelled to face the enemy of your soul without means of defense. Then take up the sword of your childhood faith in God that filled your younger years with beauty, that warmed your enthusiasm, and made you fight single-handed while an army trembled. Kneel once more as you knelt at your mother’s knee; look up with an open face toward your Father in heaven; cherish his words and keep his commandments; and from this hour no man can defeat you. In the outstretched hand of your Christian mother is the sword of your old-time faith in God. May you have the wisdom of David when he saw the sword in the hands of the priest and exclaim with all the earnestness of your repentant soul, “There is none like that; give it me.”

There is no modern improvement in making swords for moral battles. Man’s progress in the sciences is not because he has improved but because he has employed the laws of nature, laws that have coexisted with the world. The telephone, telegraph, and incandescent are not the result of man inventing electricity. Science wins all her conquests by using old swords but perfect ones, because they come from the hand of God. We need no new religions, cults, or creeds. Being man-made they have no excellence of steel or temper. The emphasis must be placed, not upon the theory, but upon the moral laws which are just as vital to the spiritual life as natural laws are to the development of science. These laws are perfect. The Ten Commandments are incomparable. Not one of them is unnecessary but each one vital to triumphant living. Add to these the new commandment of Christ that we are to love the Lord our God with all our mind and heart and soul and strength and our neighbors as ourselves, and we have an arsenal with which to conquer all the powers of earth and hell.

The world is weary following the ways of men. Righteousness alone exalteth a nation. “Back to God!” is the war-cry. “There is none like that; give it me.”

XI

SPICED WINE

In his Songs Solomon referred to a beautiful Oriental custom. The bride and bridegroom drank from the same cup, that they might show the assembled guests their willingness to henceforth share all the cups of life, whether sweet or bitter. To add to the joy of the wedding banquet the cup from which the wedded ones were to drink would be passed first to the others who were seated with them. As it passed from hand to hand each guest would drop into the ruby wine a gift of fragrant spice, expressing thus the earnest wish that every bitter cup of life might be brightened and sweetened with the spices of good friendship. From the first moment of wedded life their loved ones wished that they taste of nothing save joy and happiness. In his great poem Solomon somewhat alters the ancient custom and represents the bride performing this service of spicing the wine for the husband, as much as to say, “I would render unto thee only the sweetest, the purest, and the best that earth can hold.”

One of the greatest needs of to-day is a spirit of willingness to spice the sour wines which others are daily compelled to drink. There are few greater services to render both God and man than to proffer the cup of spiced wine.

The church as the Bride of Christ should offer to him no service that is not sweet and aromatic with the spices of sincerity and love. This is the only way the world will ever be taken for Jesus Christ. The church must offer something better, more pleasing, and more wholesome than the wines that this world has to offer. It is the tendency to give to God the drainings from life’s vintage. We often spend the week in pursuit of selfish pleasures, drinking the sweetest wines and giving them freely to our chosen companions, and then, in hours of worship, give to God the cheaper, sourer wines, making religious worship unwholesome, acrid, bitter, and nauseous.

Unless we do away with our acrimonious methods and make our services to God more aromatic and pleasant, the church is going to lose all hold upon her boys and girls. As a child’s growing body requires sugar, so his awakened spiritual powers need that which is sweetened with the spices of gladness and whole-heartedness.

This is the only way by which the church shall get and retain its grip on men of affairs. All week long these individuals have been tasting the acid and the bitterness of earthly struggle and competitive ambition. Sunday morning comes and they are tired, and nervous, and all worn out. What they need is a cup of spices, each bit of spice a gift of love. They need to have their minds taken away from the bitterness and acidity of life and given something that is fragrant and stimulating, something that will revive and strengthen them for future activity. This is the purpose of the church. It is to gather from all quarters of the earth all things that are good, wholesome, and attractive, and press them, as a gift of love, to the lips of every worshiper. It is to crowd each service with inspiring song, short helpful prayers, warm-worded greetings, and enthusiastic handshaking, until the silver chalice brims with gladness. Bring all your spices into the house of God and offer to Christ a pleasing gift. There is no telling how much good you can do. Look into the face of your Creator whenever you enter his temple and pray with an earnest heart: “O Lord, I would this day cause thee to drink spiced wine.”

This should not only be the attitude of the church toward its Lord, but it should certainly be the spirit with which it daily faces the world. As we confront each individual we should be able to say: “I would cause thee, my brother, my sister, to drink spiced wine.” We should go through life so prepared with the spices of good cheer that the moment we found one with a cup of bitterness we could remove all its disagreeableness before it is pressed to their parched lips. We should carry spices for their cups, and not pepper for the eyes, or salt with which to rub the sores of our enemies. Spices so sweeten the cup that men forget their hatred and find themselves glad that we are here.

Give them the spices of a good disposition. Our dispositions are not unalterable gifts thrust upon us at birth, but are largely a matter of cultivation. If we associate with that which is sour and crabbed, our dispositions will, of necessity, assume the same nature. If we live a life of goodness, we will most naturally have a sweet disposition. The difference between peaches and pickles is far more than a matter of spelling. Peaches are not pickles, because they absorb the sunlight and the sweetness of the soil, until even their tartness is delicious to the taste. Pickles are not peaches because they absorb only those things which suggest and harmonize with salt and vinegar. We never think of pickles without thinking about vinegar. Their difference is in the choice of elements used in building tissues. The same thing is true with us. We make our dispositions, and because we do, we should be lovers of the aromatic spices with which God has crowded the world. O that those who profess to love God would cease shaking pepper into others’ lives, and begin to put sweet spices of a good disposition into cups already too bitter with the gall of sorrow and disappointment.

Give them the spices of a cheerful conversation. No good comes from burning the mind of the world with the acid of criticism, or distressing their lacerated hearts with the story of our personal discomforts. Give spices. Instead of telling how the rheumatism made the joints creak on their hinges, tell the story of how once you were able to leap over the fences and how you swung from the topmost branch of the old apple tree. Instead of telling about the horrors of insomnia, and how little you slept that past week, and how miserably the morning hours wore away, tell about the red bird that sang under your window and awakened a thousand memories of your childhood, tell how you noticed the fresh air of the morning awakened symphonies among the dew-laden leaves. It is so much nicer to be a candle that gives light than a smoky chimney that belches soot and cinders. The world always appreciates its bearers of good news. Happy conversation is within the reach of every one. No matter how blind we may be to the blessings of to-day, memory holds a box of spices within easy reach, and we can fill our words with a sweetness that will cast an undying fragrance.

It is not difficult to be cheerful when we remember that we meet only two classes of people, no matter how far we travel, or how long we live. The one class consists of those who are making failure of life. Each word we speak brings to them either the bitterness of wormwood or the good cheer of wild honey. The opportunity to give encouragement to the downcast comes every day. Tired, worn, and jaded, they meet us upon every street corner and press against us at every assembly. O that they might rejoice as they taste the spices we are placing in their wine! The other class of people whom we are meeting are those who are making success of life, and who are very often the most neglected. Because they receive worldly honor we think them extremely happy, not recognizing their loneliness. The world never hesitates to press its sponge of vinegar and gall to the lips of those who are serving it.

Several years ago there was a large gathering in Calvary Church, New York City, to pay tribute to Dr. Edward Washburn. Phillips Brooks, Bishop Potter, and many other men of distinction met in that magnificent service and offered words of praise to the goodness, courage, clear thinking, untainted love and unselfish devotion of that mighty man. After all had ended their words of praise a little woman, dressed in black, who had been the companion of Dr. Washburn for so many years of married life, slowly arose to address the audience. Amid an intense silence she repeated over and over again these words: “O, if you men loved Edward so, why did you never tell him?” What a revelation of heart-hunger! Long years of bitterness when all might have been relieved with just a little spice, that is readily found and easily bestowed.