Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 1, 1861
A SHOUT FOR FREEDOM.
[Those of our brethren who have abandoned the use of tobacco, will rejoice as they read the following lines, that they have overcome the habit. And we trust that those who have not yet gained this victory, will be induced by their perusal, to make more strenuous efforts to free themselves from that thralldom than ever before.—Ed.]
As much as we boast of liberty, thousands among us are doomed to the most abject servitude. They may not be tortured by the lash of the southern planter, or crouch beneath the tyranny of a despot yet they are doomed to a still worse bondage—the slavery of appetite. Passing by the multitudes who quaff the intoxicating cup, and suffer its numerous ill, sacrificing wealth, home, friends, reputation, and even heaven itself, let us consider a class of slaves whose chains, being less apparent, are, nevertheless, more firmly rivited upon them—the slaves to the use of tobacco.
Here two questions arise, which will form the basis of this article: Is the use of tobacco an evil? and is there a remedy?
All will admit that chewing, snuffing, or smoking to excess, as some practice it, is an evil. But in regard to the evil generally there would be a great variety of opinions. We deem it, therefore, important to examine the extent of the evil, in order properly to apply the remedy. Let us consider its deleterious effects physically and morally.
Tobacco, according to the most approved botanical authors, belongs to the same order as Atropa Beladonna, or deadly nightshade; and Datura Stramonium, or poison thorn-apple. It is without doubt a native plant of American soil. Its extract forms one of the most virulent poisons yet known. Linnæus, an eminent botanist, has placed it in the class Lurida, which signifies pale, ghastly, livid, dismal, and fatal. How strikingly characteristic of the appearance and end of many of its votaries!
The use of tobacco seriously affects the organs of sensation.
The taste. This organ is located in the tongue, and its uses are of the utmost importance. It is also a source of great enjoyment. In sickness, when this organ is rendered inactive by fevers, the most delicious fruits are insipid and tasteless. Need we wonder, then, that its functions are greatly depreciated where this organ is constantly subjected to the action of an extract the most penetrating and poisonous, possessing both the properties of narcotic and irritant!
The sense of smell consists of a thin, white, transparent, and flexible skin, formed of fibers interwoven like net-work and connected by nervous filaments to the brain. The acuteness of this sense differs in different individuals. It enables us to enjoy the delightful odors of nature, and to distinguish between wholesome and unhealthy diet. The eye, the ear, and the touch would be insufficient without this organ. Now, while we observe its functions often suspended by a slight cold, can we doubt that the fumes of tobacco, so poisonous in its nature, hanging like a sooty cloud in the form of smoke, or the dust of the rattling ear in the form of snuff, obstruct and injure the sense of smell?
The sense of touch is formed by numerous minute projecting filaments, which are spread over the whole external surface of the body, being a termination of the nerves. Now, if the nervous system is seriously affected by the use of tobacco—as we shall endeavor to show—then this organ must be affected in the same proportion.
The ear is peculiarly complicated in its arrangement, and, like the other organs of sense, is connected with the nervous system, and must of necessity be more or less influenced by tobacco on this account. Dr. Mussey presents the case of a surveyor, by the name of Cummings, of Plymouth, New Hampshire, who, by the use of tobacco in all its forms for thirty-five years, became nearly blind and deaf. Upon giving up the use of tobacco both his sight and hearing returned, and all his senses became keener at the age of sixty-three than the average of men at that age, being able to keep notes without spectacles, with no other change in his habits but in the use of tobacco.
The eye is perhaps one of the most interesting and important organs of the body which is not absolutely essential to sustain life. Many would choose to be deaf and dumb, rather than be deprived of sight. Philosophers disagree in regard to the connection of the eye with the brain, but that it is so connected through the medium of the nerves scarce admits of a doubt. Now, as smoke is generally hurtful to the eye, and as it must of necessity come in contact with the eye of the smoker, it must therefore be injured by this habit. We have seen its effects in the account of Mr. Cummings.
Tobacco seriously injures the alimentary and digestive organs.
First, the teeth. Who has not heard of a sure remedy for toothache in a pipe or quid of tobacco? This reminds me of a celebrated cure for corns which I once read in a public journal: "Soak the corns well over night in salt and water; in the morning cut off both feet just above the ankles: never known to fail." To think of smoking or chewing poison till the nervous system is so prostrate that it ceases its action, is to present a remedy worse than the disease. The use of tobacco, whatever may be said to the contrary, is evidently an injury to the teeth. Dr. Wm. Alcott on this subject says, "the soundness of the teeth is always in proportion to the soundness of the gums, and the lining membrane of the mouth and alimentary canal; and the fact that tobacco injures this lining membrane, is as well established as any fact in physiology." Drs. J. C. Warren and Mussey testify, "that many tobacco chewers have their teeth literally worn to the gums, as the natural effect of tobacco on the teeth is to lessen their hardness." "Scores," says Dr. M., "who have come under my observation, where the front of the jaws shut close, had the grinders so much worn, where the quid lay, that there was a space between them varying from one-tenth to one-sixth of an inch; and for twenty years I have questioned patients with cancers around the mouth, whether they used tobacco, and if ever I have found one to answer negatively, it was only the exception to the rule."
We proceed from the teeth to the stomach. How common the plea among tobacco users that they are troubled with indigestion, and need this stimulant to assist nature! How absurd, when the natural tendency of this habit is to throw off the saliva, whose very property is to aid the digestive organs! Dr. Rush, and many others of the medical profession, unite in their testimony that the use of tobacco is a fruitful source of dyspepsia and other diseases of the digestive organs.
Tobacco seriously affects the blood. Modern philosophers agree with Moses, the most ancient historian, that "the life of the flesh is in the blood." Lev. xvii, 11. Solomon, the world's wisest king, teaches the manner of its circulation through the system. Eccl. xii, 6. The average quantity of blood in an adult is estimated at about twenty-eight pounds. This, by the action of the heart, is thrown to the extremities about fourteen times every hour. When passing through the arterial system it is of a bright floral red color, having50been purified in its passage through the lungs by inhaling the vital air. As the blood returns, and gathers upon its surface the impurities of the system through which it has passed, it becomes dark in the venous system till it again reaches the lungs. Can there then remain a doubt of the deleterious effects of tobacco on this life blood, when, instead of inhaling the pure oxygen upon the lungs, there is taken with it the poisonous effluvia of tobacco in the form of smoke, dust, and spittle, to be carried through all the ramifications of this complicated machinery! More than this, as "the blood is the life," if that life-blood is impregnated with poison, its effects will be transmitted to the offspring, and thus the evil becomes wide-spreading in its influence.
The nerves are a prolongation of the medullary substance of the brain, which extends through every portion of the system. They are the organs both of sensation and motion, embracing both the feelings and the will. It is estimated that in the human body there are about 10,000 nerves. In their operations they convey influences from their extremities to the brain, and also convey the influences of the will from the brain to the voluntary muscles. As these organs are diffused through the whole system, does it require a great stretch of credulity to believe that they are often seriously affected by the use of tobacco, a poison so penetrating in its nature? And as the body and mind are always more or less in sympathy with each other, and as the whole physical man is injured by the indulgence of this habit, we conclude that consciousness, memory, reason, faith, imagination, yea, the whole intellectual man, is injured by it in the same proportion.
But let us consider the moral bearing of this habit. We shall use the term morality in its strict theological sense. "Morality," according to Dr. Webster, "is the quality of an action which renders it good; the conformity of an act to the Divine law, on the principles of rectitude, performed by a free agent, from a motive of obedience to the Divine will." We take the ground that the use of tobacco is a great moral evil. None will pretend to pursue this habit in conformity to the Divine law. That law, which is our rule of action, requires us to "abstain from the appearance of evil." We do not deny that tobacco may be used beneficially as a medicine, which may be said of arsenic and other fatal poisons. But we do say, without fear of successful contradiction, that its habitual use is at least unnecessary. The origin of the habit, in some cases, may be with a misguided physician, but more generally the practice commences in childhood. Like an infant playing at the mouth of a den of serpents, or the lair of a tiger, unconscious of danger, they fear no evil till the grasp of the destroyer is upon them.
Waste of property has an immoral tendency. "Time is money," has grown to a proverb. It is penciled on our time-pieces, placed conspicuously in our mechanic shops, and heralded in our public journals. Now, if property is squandered in the shape of wasted moments in the use of tobacco, its immoral tendency is so far established. We leave this thought with the reader. He can not, will not deny this point.
The use of tobacco often leads to intemperance and idleness. Go among store and tavern loungers and record the names of all who abstain from the use of tobacco, and you will find them to be only the exceptions to the general rule. I will not say that every tobacco user is a drunkard; but I will say, that almost without an exception, every drunkard is a tobacco user.
Tobacco users behold your associate! If filthiness has an immoral tendency, then we have another evidence of the immorality of tobacco using. Mix in society and who do you generally find most chaste in their conversation, those who indulge or are free from this habit? That obscene jest, that vulgar attempt at wit or blasphemous attempt at Scripture quotation, is frequently either followed or preceded by the curling wreath, as of the smoke of the pit, or a dark polluted stream from those worse polluted lips. I am aware that there are exceptions, would to God we could say "honorable exceptions;" for although there are points of honor in those who use tobacco, I have yet to learn where lies the honor of tobacco chewing. I think this honor should be classed with the honor of rum-selling, rum-drinking, and duelling—the less we have of it the better. Not only does the bride plead with her newly pledged husband to abandon a habit of all things most offensive to her, while he remains unmoved; but crowds of beautiful females are seen, with handkerchiefs to their faces, while the would-be-thought gentleman is seen puffing tobacco smoke in their faces, or pouring streams of pollution at their feet. "Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon."
But let us call up witnesses to testify to the filthiness of tobacco. Speak, ye tobacco-scented mouths and stomachs, ye crammed nostrils and smoke-dried faces! Ye mechanic shops and gilded saloons; ye steamboat decks and railroad cars; ye shining stove-hearths and glistening spittoons; ye rich and costly carpets and hearth-rugs; ye coaches, cabs, and crowded omnibuses; ye seminaries, academies, and colleges of learning; ye halls of legislation and temples of religion—speak and bear testimony to the filthiness of this habit. Come forward, ye ladies dressed in delicate fabric; ye "maids of honor," who sweep, and scrub, and clean; ye benevolent societies, who furnish and keep in order the house of God; ye who have snuff-taking cooks and tobacco-chewing bakers—say, is it a filthy practice? Speak, ye cart-loads of old tobacco pipes and tubs of snuff handkerchiefs; ye pyramids of juicy tobacco quids and floods of richly-colored saliva; ye lads and lasses who have snuff-taking grandmas and tobacco-chewing grandfathers—say, is this a filthy habit? Come from the four winds, ye tobacco-scented zephyrs, and bear on, from every clime, your testimony upon the question, is the use of tobacco an evil?
Let us now attend to the second question:
IS THERE A REMEDY?
The old proverb, "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," comes too late to that man who is confirmed in an evil habit that binds him as in the folds of the boa-constrictor. To prevent, in his case is to cure. But if the great Physician has provided a remedy for the very worst of diseases, the plague of the heart, and has opened a fountain which can cleanse from the foulest stain, then there is hope even here. We would say, then, to every tobacco user, there is hope, for there is a remedy. "Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." We proceed to present several successive steps to the annihilation of this most disgusting yet expensive habit.
1. Reflection. This is most important. Think of man's original state in Paradise. Did his happiness consist in pipes and cigars, etc.? Think how recently its use commenced, and how the people lived without it. Contrast the difficulties of tobacco users with those who are free. See the tobacco chewer in that richly carpeted mansion, with closed fire-boards and minus a spittoon. See him approaching the sanctuary, struggling to decide whether to sacrifice his appetite, and sit an hour without his quid, or pollute the holy temple of God while listening to a discourse from the words of the apostle, "Let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit," etc. Reflect on the influence you may have in society, both in the indulgence and the abstinence from the practice, and lastly, upon its expensiveness, and the good that might be accomplished with the money thus spent.
2. Resolution. Not merely a resolution to try, but to quit at all hazards. It will be all in vain to try. I'll try, may do wonders in other enterprises, but will be foiled here. I'll try, is "the strong man armed." I must have it, is the "stronger than he that overcometh him and taketh from him his armor and spoileth his goods." To overcome this habit needs an indomitable will. Like the prodigal after his reflection, in his second step of reform he must say, "I will arise and go." There must be no compromise, such as giving up the quid and smoking an occasional cigar, or vice versa. This would be like an attempt to tame a tiger by giving him occasional bits of flesh just to inflame his appetite. But "lay the ax at the root of the tree;" then deal a death blow, as you would in killing a serpent, at the habit at once. And as you would press on to the destruction of a writhing serpent after the first blow, repeating them in quick succession, so deal with this habit. As to the weapons to be used, I would say anything may be of use which will correct this morbid appetite for tobacco.
And here I would recommend the course of a noted dram-drinker who signed the total abstinence pledge. Soon after he took the pledge he called at a neighbor's house to borrow an article, and, as the custom was, he was offered a glass of cider. But said the man, "I have taken the pledge." "O! well, a glass of cider won't hurt you," said the other. But he refused, and the neighbor repaired to another place to get the desired article, when a most burning thirst came upon the other, and he soliloquized thus: "What will be the harm to take a very little of that cider just to quench this thirst?" "But," says conscience, "you are pledged." Here his habit again assaulted him, and the thought was again suggested, "What is the harm?" At this juncture, addressing the habit which was struggling for victory, he said, "Well, old fellow, if you are so very thirsty, I think a little cold water won't hurt you." So suiting the action to the word, and not waiting for another struggle of the besieged habit, he goes to the well and from the "old oaken bucket" he drank as long as breath would allow from nature's bubbling fount. He paused, thought of the cider; his thirst returned, and poising the old bucket on the curb he repeated the draught, doubling the dose. The habit surrendered, and he went home shouting the victory, having drowned the "old fellow" in a bucket of water. I would say deal not with this monster homeopathically, but hydropathically.
3. Association. In addition we would say, look well to your associates and places of resort. If you had been bitten by a serpent on some mountain, you would dread mountain scenery, and would tread cautiously if business called you there. Tread cautiously, then, where lurks this poisonous tobacco worm, and look out for its sting. Among all these resorts none should be more dreaded than the polite and fashionable cigar circles. These are like the gilded saloons, where the devil's hook is covered with gold and tinsel.
4. Lastly. Let your watchword be, "liberty or death." I once heard of a man who thought he should die before morning with toothache. Being alone, and fearing it would not be known of what disease he died, he wrote on a slip of paper and put it in a conspicuous place, "Died with the toothache." But he fell asleep and the morning found him well, and in his joy he neglected to take down the notice of his death, which was afterward found by his friends. I never knew a case of one who, in the strength of grace, resolved to quit the cup of inebriation, that died with the delirium tremens. Many have thought they should die in the struggle, but they have come off victorious by perseverance. So will it prove with the resolute and determined reformer in the habit, who, like the patriots of the Revolution, rely on the "aid of divine Providence." If the foe demand an immediate surrender, then shout, "Victory or death!" You may feel that you must die, but write not your obituary yet, but resolve to strike another blow for freedom, and determine no longer to be a slave in a free country. When one stronghold gives way, stop not to count the spoils, but press on to other conquests, shouting victory! victory! And as Gideon, with his three hundred men, took the vast multitude of the Midianites by crying, "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon," so may you conquer by shouting the Sword of the Lord and emancipation!—Ladies' Repository.
ALL FOR CHRIST.
Thou, who didst stoop below
To drain the cup of woe,
Wearing the form of frail mortality;
Thy blessed labors done,
Thy crown of victory won,
Hast passed from earth—passed to thy throne on high.
Man may no longer trace,
In thy celestial face
The image of the bright, the viewless one;
Nor may thy servants hear,
Save with faith's raptured ear,
Thy voice of tenderness,—God's holy Son!
Our eyes behold thee not,
Yet hast thou not forgot
Those who have placed their hope, their trust in thee;
Before thy Father's face
Thou hast prepared a place,
That where thou art, there they may also be.
It was no path of flowers,
Through this dark world of ours,
Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread;
And shall we in dismay
Shrink from the narrow way,
When clouds and darkness are around it spread?
O, Thou who art our life,
Be with us through the strife;
Was not thy head by earth's fierce tempests bowed?
Raise then our eyes above
To see a Father's love,
Beam, like a bow of promise, through the cloud.
Ev'n through the awful gloom
Which hovers o'er the tomb,
That light of love our guiding star shall be;
Our spirits shall not dread
The shadowy way to tread,
Friend! Guardian! Saviour! which doth lead to Thee.
A Proud, Unhumbled Spirit
A proud, unhumbled spirit is a constant source of unhappiness and perplexity.
FIRST STEPS TOWARDS CHRIST.
What are the first steps of a soul in coming to Christ?
1. The initiatory step we would commend to you, my good friend, is—sincere prayer. Do this at once. Do it irrespective of the amount of feeling, or of the degree of your conviction of sin. You may be but slightly convicted of your guilt. If you have a sufficient sense of the evil of your heart to desire a better heart and a purer life, that is sufficient feeling to commence with. If you have confidence enough in Jesus Christ to go and ask him for a new heart (instead of undertaking a self-salvation), that is a sufficient faith to start upon. Remembering that the mightiest saint was once a lisping, groping, feeble babe in grace, do not despise the day of small things. If you are convinced by the Holy Spirit that you ought to give yourself to Christ, then to prayer, you do not need to be told for what to pray. An honest inquirer can be trusted to frame his own petition and will make his own liturgy. The less stereotyped the better. Pre-eminently let your requests be honest. Then let them be importunate. Let them be mainly directed to Jesus Christ for the pardon of your sins, and for divine aid to help you to do your duty. For these two things, “pray without ceasing.”
2. The second vital step is the prompt abandonment of known sin. Let us imagine an individual awakening to his need of Christ, and setting about the work of securing his salvation. He opens his Bible and reads, “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.” Further on he reads, “Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.” From his Bible he goes to his knees. After his morning prayer he sallies out to his place of business. The first acquaintance that meets him politely presents to him a claim for an honest debt that ought to have been paid many months ago. It is a debt; that is enough. The divine command, “Owe no man anything,” is the original of John Randolph’s apothegm. Pay as you go. It means what it says. Our anxious troubled friend admits that his creditor ought to be paid, and secretly admits to himself that he could pay him if he would put himself to some inconvenience. But instead of shouldering up the sacrifice and doing his duty as an honest man, he sends away the creditor with another silver promise (in lieu of a silver payment), and with a new furrow in his brow, goes into his counting room. *
In his “first works” our friend failed, and then strangely wondered how it was that his soul was making no headway, and his prayers were receiving no answer. We admit, indeed, that an obedience to the law of Christ that day, would not have purchased for him an acceptance with God. But it would have made him a very different man, as he presented himself before the Saviour at the mercy seat. It would have strengthened his as yet weak and irresolute purpose to live to God. It would have been a sincere attempt at obeying Christ by renouncing sin and crucifying selfishness. It would have been a first step toward a practical following after Christ.
3. To the anxious inquirers whose eye may rest on this paragraph, we would say, each one of you has some first steps of actual duty to perform. Salvation is a free gift on the part of God; but on your part it is a work. “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” God graciously gives the inestimable boon of pardon and a new heart through the mediation of Jesus Christ; but he gives it to those who prove their desire for it by repentance and practical obedience. It is not for us to specify to you all the thousand methods in which you are to do your “first works.” In the general we would say, refuse the first temptation to sin. Secondly, obey God at the first call of duty. Begin to serve him. Crystallize inward emotions into external acts—deeds of benevolence—sacrifices for conscience' sake. Make your repentance real by making it fruitful.
One of you, for example, goes right away from that closet in which he has been praying for a new heart, and hunting up a person whom he has wronged, he makes reparation on the spot. Another one seeks out an ancient enemy against whom his heart has been simmering a slow hatred for years, and offering his hand says, “Come, sir! you and I have quarreled about long enough; let us forgive and forget.” [How differently that man will pray the next time he comes before an all-forgiving Saviour.] Another who has bolted out a poor erring daughter, sends for her to come home again—remembering as he does so, how Jesus once drew a weeping outcast through a baptism of tears to his own loving heart. Still a fourth seeker after Christ finds that his appetites are his snare. So he says to himself, “I must give up my glass, or give up my soul.” His first step toward Christ is to shatter that satanic antichrist, his decanter, into a thousand fragments. For the Holy Spirit, and the spirit of the wine-cup cannot tabernacle in the same soul. An audible prayer before his family has been a first step with more than one awakened man. It was hard work to get through it between the suppressed smiles of his children and the scarce suppressed tears of his astonished overjoyed wife. But never in his life—though he were to outlive Methuselah—will he offer a prayer that will tell so prodigiously on his spiritual history as that first, broken, stammering, disjointed, but agonizing prayer before his household. When he offered it he took his first decisive step toward Christ. My friend, have you taken yours?
THE OLD vs. THE NEW MAN.
THE following is a striking illustration of the contending elements in man’s mental nature. It shows how men who are in the main good, often give way to the temptation of some strong propensity, and thus mar their characters:—
Pass your hand over Deacon M.’s head, and about an inch and a half above, and a little forward of the ears, you find a protuberance which phrenologists call the bump of acquisitiveness.
By nature the deacon loved mammon; by grace he loved God. Between them there was continued war. Both fought—one like Michael, the other like the Devil. As there was long war between the house of David and the house of Saul, so there was long war in the earthly house of the deacon.
As with Gad, so with the deacon; a troop overcame him, but he overcame at last as appears by the following circumstance:
In the same church with deacon M. was a poor brother. This poor man had the misfortune to lose his cow. She died. To get him another the good deacon headed a subscription with five dollars, and paid it. This act disquieted mammon. Mammon with true Iscariot zeal, began to rant and rave:—“Why, charity begins at home; the more you give, the more you may; let people learn to take care of themselves.”
The Deacon was a Baptist; but he found that baptismal water did neither drown, wash away, or wash clean the old man. The tempter backed mammon, and putting a glass to the deacon’s eye, showed him, not the kingdoms and glories of this world, but the poor-house, wretchedness, poverty and rags, and said, “All these things will your master give you in your old age as a reward of your charity.”
To still these clamors, deacon M. went to the destitute man, told him he must give back the five dollars. The poor man returned it. This last act roused the NEW MAN, and now nature and grace stood face to face.
To give or not to give, that is the question.
Thus stood the deacon, poising, balancing and halting between two opinions. The deacon spoke: “My brother, some men are troubled with their old women; I am troubled with my old man. I must put off my old man as the Jews put off their new man—crucify him, crucify him.” Then unstrapping his pocket-book he took out a ten dollar bill and gave the poor man. “There,” said the deacon, “my old man, say another word and I’ll give him twenty dollars.”
FAIR WEATHER FAITH.
By T. L. Cuyler
BY T. L. CUYLER.
“How did you feel auntie, while the horses were running down hill?” “I trusted to providence till the breechin’ giv’ way, then I shut my eyes and giv’ up for lost! The good woman in question was not the only Christian whose faith held only by a strap. There are thousands who are precisely in this predicament. While business was thriving they trusted in God, and were ready to put some commercial confidence too in their fellow men. When political skies were clear, they could see the Almighty on his throne, and had some faith also in right, in freedom, and in national justice. But now when the great deeps are broken up, when the “Union” is foundering, and one State after another parts its cable, when the evil spirits of cowardice, cupidity, and compromise are all abroad on the air, these very men stand dumbfounded and panic-struck. That their faith in men’s common sense should be somewhat shaken is not strange. But that they so soon lose confidence in the very sheet-anchor of RIGHT, and begin to doubt the overruling, farseeing wisdom and love of their heavenly Father, is at once their disgrace and their danger.
But let us not say harsh things. We are all more or less weak on this very point. It is the easiest thing in the world for us all to exercise fair-weather faith. In times of civil quiet, of mercantile prosperity, of health and happiness, it is easy to trust God. When the wind blows favorably into my swelling canvass, and my well rigged bark flies like the sea-gull over the azure waters, why should I distrust the great disposer of winds and waves? When my business thrives why should I tremble for my daily bread? When the health of my household is perfect; when we can all gather around our table a happy, healthy, hungry group, and do justice to the steaming cakes, redolent of the buckwheat field and the bee-hive, who of us think of the great Physician? We are all believers then (if ever), and our confidence in God as a most kind, loving, and affectionate Father is complete. It costs us nothing to trust him. Neither is a prosperous Christian who walks in the sunshine of God’s favor, and feels the warmth of a clear assurance beaming in through every window of his soul,—neither is such an one often afflicted with distrust. His52danger lies in the opposite quarter. He is in peril of presumption and self-complacency. But not of distrust. We can all trust God in fair weather.
But if the tempest begin to marshal its cloud-squadrons into the skies; if the sun and stars appear not; if the sea lash into foam like an enraged lion; if great, green, greedy caverns open in the sea to swallow up our trembling bark, can we trust God then? Will the cheap confidence of the calm hold through the hurricane? There is the question; there is the true test of faith.
How often had the disciples gone out with the Master on Galilee's bosom, when the boat swam like a swan before the well pulled oar, and they felt no whispering of distrust. What faith had they then! But on that memorable night when the white caps came rolling and rioting from under the black cliffs of Gadara, and leaped into the shivering skiff, then the poor panic-stricken creatures began to shake the sleeping Saviour with the whimpering cry: "Carest thou not Master that we perish?" His rebuke is suited to just such times as these: "Oh, ye fearful ones, why have ye so little faith?"
For what is that trust good for that only abides with us in the bright hours of life? It is just as good as a lantern which should only shine when the sun is up, and then go out in the darkness. It is about as good as an anchor which only holds when the idle ship is swinging on the glassy swells of a quiet harbor. It is about as serviceable as the temperance of those men who are very abstinent when no wine "giveth its color" before their eye; or the patience of those who walk very lightsome when only feather weights are laid on their shoulders. Have we not seen a stout bravery in some pulpits, that threw its shot and shell across the globe into the sins of the Antipodes, and yet was all balm and honey toward the iniquity that sat in "purple and fine linen" in the 100 dollar pew right before the desk? Even of about as much worth is fair-weather faith.
The trust we need is a trust in integrity though every bank fail—a trust in freedom and justice though the Union should burst like a rocket in mid air—a trust in God, though desolation darken our fireside, and death dig a grave right beneath our couch or cradle. As Christians we must "trust God though he slay us." The faith we need is a lantern that will gleam the brighter as the night of trouble grows the darker,—a light unto our timid feet, a lamp unto our broken, up-hill pathway. The trust that honors God is a trust through thick and thin, through noon and midnight, through poverty and reproach, through prosperity and convulsions too, through hard words and hard blows, through threats of base men and the violence of evil spirits tormented before their time. And you, my poor desponding brother, bruised and broken, hanging your head like the bulrush under spiritual discouragement, you can be restored by only one medicine. You want the simple tonic of trust. Nothing else will cure that dyspepsia of the heart and quicken your appetite for God's word, and send a new glow over the wan cheek of your consumptive courage. You are well nigh useless now in your closet, in your home circle, in your church. Your faith has gone out. Cry mightily unto your Saviour: "Lord increase my faith." May God hear you, and give you a trust that will lean on him though the very earth were removed, and the mountains were cast into the midst of the sea. May you have the all-conquering confidence of him who wrote from a prison cell to his far away spiritual son—"the Lord stood with me and strengthened me; and the Lord shall deliver me from every evil work, and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever!"
He always wins who trusts in God,
To him no trial's lost,
God's will is sweetest to him when
It triumphs at his cost.
Lord, not my will, but thine be done!
My soul—from fear set free,
Shall cast her anchor 'neath thy throne,
And trust alone in thee.—Independent.
HOW AM I TO KNOW WHETHER I HAVE THE HOLY SPIRIT?
If you have the Holy Spirit, you have seen the evil of sin; you have repented of sin; you have forsaken sin; you hate sin; you watch and pray against sin; you have received the spirit of love. If you have the Spirit of God, you love God supremely. You love the Father, who gave his Son to suffer and die. You love the Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, for what he hath done and suffered on your account. You love all the sincere followers of Jesus Christ, and confine not your regards to a party. You love the human race at large, as children of the same family, and you wish them to know the things that belong to their peace. You are of a forbearing and forgiving temper; you pity, and pray for sinners, who, through blindness and ignorance, oppose at present their own eternal interest; you are of a thankful spirit; you thank God for making you to differ, by his grace, from many others, and you praise him for every favor, both of a temporal and spiritual nature; you are zealous for the honor of God in the world; you desire to rejoice in Christ Jesus, and in all the duties of Christianity; you esteem the applause, the pleasure and the wealth of the whole world as nothing, in comparison of the love and blessing of God, through Christ Jesus.