Newspapers / The Christian Sun (Elon … / Nov. 30, 1877, edition 1 / Page 1
Part of The Christian Sun (Elon College, N.C.) / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
THE CHRISTIAN SUN. •== IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY; * IN NON-ESSENTIALS, LIBERTY; IN ALL THINGS, CHARITY. T ■Volume XXX. _L_ SUFFOLK, YA, FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1877. Tsi umber 4tS. FAREWELL. — %r" Summer is fading ; the broad leaves that grew So freshly green when June was young arc falling, And all the whisper-haunted forest through The restless birds iu saddened tones are cull ing From rushing hazel copse and tangled dell, “Farewell, sweet summer, Fragrant, fruity summer, Sweet farewell 1“ Upon the windy hill, in many a held, The honey-bees hum slowly above the clover, Gleaning the latest sweets its bloom may yield ; And, knowing that their harvest-time is over, Sing half a lullaby and half n knell, •'Farewell, sweet summer, Iloney-laden summer, Sweet farewell!” The little brook that babbles ’mid the fie* ns, O’er twisted roots and sandy shallows playing Seems fain to linger in its eddied turns, *""*And with a plaintive, parring vo«ce is saying Sadder and sweeter than my song can tell, Farewell, sweet summer, Warm and dreamy summer, Sweet farewell 1” The fitful breeze sweeps down the winding lane With gold and crimson leaves before it flying, Its gusty laughter has no sign of pain, But in the bills it sinks to gentle sighing, Aud mourns the summer’s early-broken spell, “Farewell, sweet summer, Rosy, blooming summer, Sweet farewell 1” So bird, and bee, and brook, and breeze make moan, With melancholy song their loss complaining ; I, too, must join them, as I walk alone Among the sights and sounds of summer’s waning ; I, too, have loved the season passing well— So, farewell, summer, Fair, but faded, summer, Sweet farewell 1 — George Arnold. |>ehdion^ YOUNG PEOPLE’S mm MEETINGS. A good Methodist brother, honored in what is commonly thought to be a speaking and a working j-kirchf says 0 one weakness of our ttSfjjious life ~ comes from the idea that no ono can be a saint unless he is persistently “inssing around,” speaking in meet ing, and making himself forward. The brother aforesaid takes no large amount of stock in chronic talkers’ and thinks there are occasional Christians w ho, if they would get down on their knees and humbly ask the Lord what he would have them to do, would be told to keep their mouths shut aud be quiet. There is some force in this criticism, especially coming from an unexpected quarter. It is possible for a prayer meeting to run away to wind and tongue. You are subjected to speeches rather than elevated by prayers. You are favor ed, without expense, with the veutii iitiou of a pet notion. You are held nniJcr the spout of a noisy harangue; iuundated^vith a freshet of dictiona ry ; put into an unsympathetic, unea sy, graceless aud prayerless condi tion of mind, and wonder how one can be a Christian and ever get to heaven against such frightful odds. There are exhorters who are in the perpetual condition of a broken em bankment, the last restraint gone, the whole reservoir let loose, and no suitable warning given of the turgid disaster. Then there may be the op posite extreme. There is a public si lence which is neither interesting nor refreshing. In many meetings there is some singing, some praying, some testifying, and a good deal of “opportunity.” Oue brother reluc tantly makes a few observations be cause “there is no oue else to speak,” another because he is “willing to bear his cross;” another because “the time ought to bo improved.” Nothing igspontaneous; nothiug bub bles aud flows. There seems to be a general feeliug that this is a hard un dertaking; a kind of depression at being involved in this Christian busi ness. Everything is done decently and in order, the remarks are suita bly dull and proper, the prayers com pass fea and land, and the meeting dies easy. Now, if there is any real life, force, uplifting, deep power in a church, it as sure to show itself in the prayer meeting; and by a reflex movement all this acts again upon the church, ^hen hearts catch tire you get the Ufgt news of it in the social meeting. Just th.‘*re are the flrst traces of the divine “gc'*D8s>” the hrs,t ®>gns that God is near, the flr0t sounds of Pen tecost, the first flutter.ings of wound ed spirits; aud a^airt, with this fur nace in something like ajj0ny ol flame, the church receives her bap tism of fire. Boston has been pray ing. Depend upon it, doubt, skepti cism, negation, cold culture, rant aud caricature cauuot resist Boston on its kuees. Very largely does the relig ious activity of the day expend it self in getting a big minister aud paying off a mortgage, but the atti tude of a church kneeling before Ood would be quite as flue a spectacle as the characteristic attitude of holding out a contribution box. We ought to have good pikyer meetings, and to this eud our young Christians must be taught to pray. Let them have a meeting called their own, as they have in the old Spring street, the West Twenty-third street, and other churchesiu Hew York aud elsewhere. They will not disturb the equanimity nor usurp the privileges of the old folks, unless it may be iu cases wlieYe the older people consider it to be their mission to sit on the young people, keep them in order, and suppress every rising sign of life and action. If we are to have active hearts aud voices they uiHst be called out, edu cated, started early. The talent is apt to shrivel unless it is employed. A man who uses his pen hourly finds the use an easy thing ; a book keep er’s hand has a kind of automatic movement, but a farmer boy, howev er adept at straight furrows in the field, who attempts to wYite a letter once a month betrays an absence of ease and gracefulness, and his lines are liable to be constructed some what after the pattern of his familiar rail fence. A young people’s prayer meeting is a call upou beginners to bear a public part; aud so bearing the cross, if cross that can be called which is both a duty and a privilege, they become skilled and furnished. Their movements gain freedom in the course of time, and their work is with power and effect. Let the latent en ergies of our churches be thus devel oped, and we might at length have prayer meetiugs whore the most in teresting part of the proceedings would not bo the doxology and the rush for the doors. IUI Ul gniUKiUlUII clUU ^UCi ill conduct, let me take an instance. A young man called on his pastor one evening and proposed a weekly meet ing for those about his own age and younger. The pastor told him to go on anti nndertake what had been born of God in his own heart. The next Sabbath evening, an hour be fore the church service, four or five young men, in a small room, prayed together, all except one, for the first time in public. This was the right sort of beginning. If a public meet ing had been called, speeches made, great enthusiasm excited, and a com mittee of fifteen appointed, that would have beeu the last you would have heard of the whole thing. The epitaph would have beeu, “Died of committee.” Things done in a me chanical way have no soul in them ; things that grow have life in them, else why do they growl These young men and lads bound them selves together to sustain the meet iug, added to their numbers from time to time, kept to the little room, and after months of effort out grew the blessed Bethel, went into the lecture room, making such chan ges only as circumstances demanded, invited the young ladies to attend, then everybody, and at this present writing have an average attendance of a hundred to a hundred and fifty, nearly all of whom are young. There is no levity, no lack of decorum. The names of those who are willing to lead are recorded, and the list is followed in order. The founders naturally have the general oversight. The meeting is sustained, no time is lost, no impressive pauses occur. Theie is a good deal of siugiug, led almost entirely by the youug ladies. The separate exercises are brief; these Christians are not dead enough to say long prayers, make long speeches, and disappear in a flux of words. The earnest spirit and the sense of responsibility take care of all the proprieties. Converts give their brief testimony j parents see their children engaged ; older Chris tians look on kindly and help ; these young voices are gradually becoming familiar in the other meetings of the church; life attracts life, and we have here a strong hold upon the outside community. This movement has been as natural and spontaneous as that of the tree which first carries June and then October in its branch es. The fundamental truths are sure to be made prominent; there is much of Christ in the early love. The main object is not to have a training school, but to win the uncon verted. The success of efforts of this de scription has elsewhere also been nothing less than a marvel. The young are quick, ready, easily drilled, generally eager for work. They may help a pastor, may grow into the emp ty places, may resist temptation with active service, and save a church which otherwise would be a snbjecl for funeral obsequies. We should not override the older people, but il they have fears of being left behind it might not be amiss for them to eon seientiously consider whether they i could not be a little more spry. We want workers. The secret of recent evangelistic miracles lies in the wa king up of Christiaus. The pulpit alone will never save the world: but the world needs to be saved; is loud in its appeal. The young people’s prayer meeting may have much to do with the organization and equipment of the forces of conquest.—Ch. Union. "JESUS WILL TAKE CARE OF ME." I had travelled with some friends to attend Mr. Moody’s farewell meet ings at Aberdeen, before he sailed for Wick and Thurso. These meet ings were ouly to occupy the after noon and evening of one day, his three weeks stay in the town having been completed. In the atternoon, accordingly, we heard the address to converts, “Confession of the Name by which we are Saved” being his theme. In the evening we attended a large and crowded meeting in the prin cipal hall of the town, during which the people heard the Grspel most plainly given from John 3. When the meeting concluded, he invited all who were “anxious about their own souls, and would like to be saved that flight,” to meet him in one of the smaller rooms adjoining the hall. About seventy women in distress were kneeling there when I entered, while he prayed, leading them by his earnest petitions, in the name of Christ, straight to the throne where they might»“ootain mercy, and find grace to help in the time of need.” Soon he was obliged to leave for the quay froiii Whence hkr'sFeamer started for Wick; and we remained together. A blessed time it was! The Lord drew woudrously near, and healed so gently many sorrowing and love, in bis promised Word, par don lor to-day, strength for to-mor row; while many believed, and ac cepted the offered gifts. At eleven o’clock we separated. Itaiu was de ceiving heavily, and as midnight drew uear, and we decended the steps of the building where we had met, a heavy canopy of darkness was rest ing over the city, relieved only by the glimmer of the street-lamps, which shone back in wet reflections from the flooded streets. Standing ou the pavement, under a lamp, 1 saw one solitary little figure—a child, with a print pinafore over her head, bare feet, her little frock dripping wet, as she stood in the dim light under the heavy falling rain. “Poor little girl 1 why is she here on such a night?” This was my thought; but I should have hurried on my way to the hotel where we were staying, with the thought unspoken, had I not been interrupted by a little voice. “Is Mr. Moody in ?” said the child very earnestly, coming forward and looking up at me with grave, wistful eyes. “Ho, my child,” I said; “he has goue.” “Gone!” she said. “Where has he goue ? “He has gone to the quay,” I said, “to get into the steamer for Wick.” “But whieh quay,” 6aid the child in a toue of the greatest distress, and with largo tears gathering in her eyes. “My dear child,” I tried to explain, “you cannot see Mr. Moody now.— He has started already. He was to go at eleven o’clock, and it is past that time now. But you can shake bands with mo instead, and give me a message for him. I will say good bye to him for you. Have you got any message ?” By this time t|ie tears were rolling down her cheeks, her two little hands were clasped tightly together, her lit tle heart so full she did not heed the rain from which I was trying to shel ter her with my umbrella. “Oh, has he gone I” she sobbed out. “Oh, tell him 1 thank him for coming to Aberdeen— because—because*—he helped me to find Jesus.” I tried to comfort the precious lit tle heart, so full of joy and sorrow, and told her that “Jesus loved” her, aud would teach her about himself, and make hot very happy. Tlieu 1 asked her the question, “Do you be lieve in the Lord Jesus, dear child?” “Yes,” she said, so simply** “I’m aye resting in Him.” I took her little cold wet hand in mine for a moment, aud there we parted. Bet as I turned away from her 1 beard the ptfftm' of the bare feet behind me onc^more, and soon I saw the small fahe, so geutle, all the tears gone, looking up at me once mote, while she asked roe, “Jesue will take care of rue,'wiuna Her Thank God, an easy question to an swer. j “lie says, ‘I will hold thee by thy right hand. I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’ He loves you, dear child.” “Thank you,” she said, and she was gone. The little child knew in whom she believed, and could trust him In the darkness.—Elizabeth It. Cotton, in an English l’aper. “COME AS YOU ARE.” Early one morning a tire broke out in one of the houses in a narrow street in London. The alarm was given by a policeman on duty, and speedily the ehigiues were heard rattling along to the scene of action ; but ere they could get to work, the flames began to issue forth, and rise high into the air. Presently a young man was seen to appear at one of the upper wiudowsofthe house iu his night clothes. The tire escape, which had also arrived, was placed against the house, when a fireman ascended the ladder, and called the young man to make all haste, and escape for his life. But to his surprise, the young man refused to come away just then, saying he wished to dress first. The fireman repeated his warning with increasing earpestuess, “Come as you are! come as you are!” but to no purpose, for he still said he would come when he got dressed. When one below in the street heard this, he broke open the front door, and tried to ascend by the stairs : but' the wind admitted by the open door soon fanned the flames into redoubled fury, and compelled the man to re treat. The youth within had gone to his bedroom to dress, aud the fireman was unable to enter through the win dow IB consequence of the heat and smoke. Meanwhile the flames rose higher aud higher, when suddenly the stairs gave way, and the roof fell in with a terrible crash, burying the unfortunate young man beneath the ruins, and rendering escape no long er possible. A day or two after, wheu search had been made for his body, it was found amid the wreck and rubbish, all charred aud blacken ed, aud otherwise terribly disfigur ed. A sad and awful death surely ! and rendered all the sadder when we re flect that but for his own infatuated refusal to avail himself immediately of the means of rescue which had been placed within his reach, the young man might have escaped, if with nought else, at least with his life. Header, may not this suggest, and even picture forth to you, the still greater infatuation of those who, from youth to manhood, and from mauhood to old age, and on to death itself, refuse to ‘‘flee from the wrath to come?” And if so, beware lest such be your practice until the door of mercy be closed. Many loud war nings may have been unheeded by you in the past, because the “conve nient season” to which you have been looking forward has not yet come. Ilemember, the time is short; and yoil know not what a day may bring forth. Then escape for yonr life; look not behind you; an Al mighty Saviour stands ready to re ceive you ; and his word is, “Come as you are / ” A Life of Temperance.—To live a life of temperance is to live a long life, or at least longer than where ex cesses are iudulged in. And what is more, it is better enjoy^tfe; .,the hour is worth more than in the other case, and of how much more value ys the day with its rnauy hours, and the year with its many days ? Yet this is a short time compared to a life full of years. But this is not all. The last days, so dreaded by many, so bur deusomc and dark, become a season of rest—rest not so much from labor as from enjoyment—a quiet outgoing of a successful life. But it must be “temperate in all things”—in labor, in diet, in even the good that it does. It is the temperate joys that are the lasting joys. Extremes are danger ous; temperance avoids them. It has an even tenor, without monotony. It meets therefore with few mishaps. One* fully established, it is desira ble to live it, and the way of life be comes easy as well as pleasant aud cheerful. £ The gospel is a proclamation of a frees alvation, for chief of the sinuers, without money aud without price; it bids them receive and live, embrace aud be happy, obey and be holy “Whosoover will, let him take the water of life freely.” Believe in Christ, and then the soul and the whole Bible will be full 9f light. DENYING A CHILD WISELY. One of the hardest and one of the most important things in the training ora loved child is to deny him that which he iougs for, and which .we could give to him, bnt which he had | better not have. It is very pleasant to grat'fy a child. There is real en joyment in giving to him what he asks for wheu we can do it prudently. But wise withholding is quite as im portant as generous giving in the proper care of a child. Next to starving a child, the un kindest treatment of him is to give him everything he asks for. Jivery parent recognizes this truth within certain limits, and therefore refuses an open razor or a cup of polsou to a child who cries for it. But the breadth aud the full significance of the principle involved are not com monly accepted as they should be. A child ought to be denied many things which in themselves are harm less. It is an injury to him to always have at the table the dishes which he likes best; to have uniformly the cut or the portion which he prefers ; to have every plaything which his pa rents can afford to him ; to dress— even within their means—just as he wants to ; and to go, with them, wheu and where he pleases. That child who has never a legitimate desire uu gratified, is poorly fitted for the du ties and the trials of every-day life in the world. He does not, indeed, en joy himself now as he might hope to through a different training. It is sadly to a parent’s discredit when a child can truly say, “My father, or my mother, never denied me any pleasure which it was fairly in his, or her, power to bestow.” It is because of che evil results of not wisely denyiug the little cues that an only child is iu so many instances spoken of as a spoiled child. There is but one to give to in that house hold. Ue can havr jttSt-SO _nnjch more than if there were half a dozen' children to share it; and commonly he gets it all. Parents give to him freely ; so do the grandparents, and uncles and aunts. He haidry knows what self-denial or want is. His very fullness palls upon him. It is not easy to surprise him with an unex pected pleasure. He not only grows selfish and exacting, but he lacks all the enjoyment which comes of the occasional gratification of a desire which has been long felt without the expectation of its being speedily met. It is by no means necessary that an only child should be thus spoiled in training. Some of the best trained children in the world have been only children. Many a parent is more faithful and discreet in securing to his or her only child the benefits of self denial than in many another with half a dozen children to care for. But whether there be one child or more in the family, the lesson of wise de nial is alike important to the young, and the responsibility of its teach ing should be recognized by the pa rent. Few' of us older persons can have everything we want, everything that love can give, everything that money can buy. Most of us have many rea sonable wishes ungratified, many moderate desires uufilled. We have to get along without a great mauy things which others have, aud which we would like. It is probable that our children will be called to similar experiences when they must finally shift lor themselves. They ought to be in training for this now. It is largely the early edueatiou which gives one proper control over himself and his desires. If in childhood oue is taught to deuy himself, to yield gracefully much that he lougs for, to enjoy the little that he can have, iu (spite of the lack of a great deal which he would like to have, his will bo an easier and a happier lot, when he comes to the realities of maturey life, than would be possible if, as a child, he had only to express a reasonable wish, to have it promptly gratified. For this reason it is that men who w’ere the children of the rich are so often at a disadvantage, in the battle of every day life, with those who have come up from comparative poverty. The wealth of their parents so- freely at their disposal, increased the num ber of wants which they now think must be gratified ; aud their pamper iug iu childhood so enervated them for the struggles aud endurances which are, at the best, a necessity in ordinary business pursuits, that they are easily distanced by those who wore in youth disciplined through en forced self-denial, aud made strong by enduriug hardness, aud by finding conteutmeut with a little. It is a great pity that the lull and free gifts of a loving parent should prove a hindrance to jh 'child’s happiness, a barrier to his success iu life; that the | very abundance of the parent’s giving should tend to the child’s poverty and unhappiness! Yet this state of thing? is in too many instances an nndenia ble fact. Children of the present day—espe cially children of parents in comfort able worldly circumstances—are far more likely than were their fathers and mothers to lack lessons of self denial. The staudaid of living is ! very different now from a generation since. There were few parents in 1 any community in this country thirty ■ years ago who could buy whatever they wanted for their children; or, indeed, themselves. ’I here was no snck freeuess of purchases for cliil dreu, for the table, for the house or the household, as is now common on every side. Children then did not ex pect a new suit of clothes every few mouths. Often they had old ones made over for them from those of their parents or of their elder brothers and sisters. A present from the toy shop or bookstore was a rarity in those days. There was not much choosing by children what they would eat as they sat down at the family table. There was still less of plan ning by them for a summer journey with their parents to a mountain or sea side resort. Self-denial, or more or less of privation, came as a neces sity to almost every child in our younger days. But how different now ! The influence of the inflated currency and of the tictitiffus^vatuesy which followed on our civil war, has been scarcely less pernicious over the children in their homes, than over young men who started business in the days of wild speculation, or over workmen who have come to think that ihe,standard of their wages must be what they desire rather than what their employers can afford to pay them. The average child of the past ten or fifteen years has received more presents and more indulgences from -ills, parents in any one year of his life .1_~ .1 tion before received iu ail liiS years of his childhood. Because of this new standard, the child of to day ex pects new things, as a matter of course; he asks for them, in the be lief that he will receive them. Iu eOusequence of their abundance he sets a smaller value npou them sever ally. It is not possible that he should tkiuk as highly of any one new thing, out of a hundred coming to him iu rapid succession, as he would of the only gift of an entire year. A boy of now a days can hardly prize his^new velocipede, after all the other pres ents he has received, as- his father prized a little wagon made of a raisin box with wheels of ribbon-blocks, which was his only treasure iu the liue of locomotion. A little girl can not have as profound enjoyment iu her third wax doll of the year, with eyes which open and shut, as her mother had with her oue clumsy doil of' stuffed rags or of painted wood. A new child's book was a wonder a generation since; it is now hardly more to oue of our children than the evening paper is the hither of the family. It is now hard work to give a new sensation—or, at all events, to make a permanent impression—by the bestowal of a gift of auv sort on a child. It would be far easier to stir prise and to impress many a child by refusing to give to him what he asked for and expected; and that treatment would bo greatly to his advantage. It is every pareut’s duty to deny a child many things which he wauts; to teach him that he must get along without a great many tliiugs which seem very desirable: to train him to self-denial and endurance, at the ta ble, in the play-rgom ; with compan ions, and away from them. What ever else he has, he ought not to i lack this training. What provision I in this direction is made for the children iu your family f—Sunday School limes. It is the absence of love to Christ, not its fullness, that makes us so im patient of the weaknesses and incon sistencies of our Christian brethren. Then when Christ is all our portion, when he dwells with us aud iu us, we have so satisfying an enjoyment oi his perfection that the imperfection of others is as it were swallowed up, and the sense or our nothingness makes us insensible to that which is irritating to individual feelings aud habits. - They who doubt the truth of reli gion because they can tind.po Chris tian who is perfect, might as well de ny the existence of the sun because it is notalways noonday. Tue current coin of life is plain sound sense. We drive a more sub stantial thriving trade with that than anything else. r THE INIQU.TIES OF THE FATHERS. TSV REV. T. I). WITHERSPOON, D. D. During a season of religions awak ening a ease of peculiar interest pre sented itself. A young lady called at I my study in deep distress. As she was not a member of my congrega tion, and her pastor was a man uni versally esteemed and beloved, I won dered that she should come to con sult a comparative stranger. The mystery was soon solved only to give place to another. She had come be cause she loved her owu pastor so much that she could not bring her self to make a confession which she knew would grieve ar.d horrify him. Jiut what was this confession f She had supposed it would be a less diffi cult task to communicate it to me, bat her courage failed her. It was some terrible siu, at the very thought of which she shuddered, but the nature of which her lips refused te tell. Some time passed in fruitless ef forts to secure from her the coufes siou which she had come to make, and her agouy seemed every moment to increase. At length I took my Bible aud, opening to the twentieth chapter of Exodus, asked her to place her linger upon the commandment she had broken. Slowly and with a great struggle she lifted her finger and placed it upon the words, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God iu vain.” Knowing her gen tle birth, her pious parentage, her re ligious training, and tbe refined so ciety in which she moved, I was amazed, and inquired how it could possibly be. The silence was now broken, and she told me all. She did not, indeed, utter profanity with her lips, bat her mind was filled with horrid oaths; oaths which, as she protested, she had never heard from human lips, and which, therefore, could only orig inate with herself; oaths too horrible to be repeated, and yet obtruding themselves upon her even in the midst of her devotions, until her soul seemgil-to be but a depository of the most blasphemgyytHj revolting for mulas of ;)rofaufc.''i£ jp^- She had heard oaths at times, but never such"*' as those which were constantly com ing into her mind. How did they originate f by what strange law of association were they constructed t Must there not be sorno demoniacal possession to account for them ? Long did this distressing state of mind coptiune, and even after it was gone, and peace and relief were found at the cross, there remained the un solved mystery, Whence came these horrid oaths that so polluted and haunted the soul of this geutle and pure-miuded woman ? Time rolled on, and my mind re volved about the mystery until, on a certain occasion, some gentlemen were speaking iu my presence of the father of this young lady, and of his recent decease, when one of them re marked that he had heard many men swear, but had never known any man who could invent such strange and awful oaths, and utter them with such terrific emphasis, as did this man in his earlier and irreligious days. To my readers must be left the connection between this extraor dinary profanity of the father and the terrible visitation in dfter years upon his lovely and accomplished daugh ter. Had she heard him use these oaths in her infancy and before his conversion, when he conceived that, she was too young to remember them, or had this tendency to profanity been transmitted as an hereditary taint, just as the thirst for ardent spirits, or the lore of money, or any other base passidn, is transmitted? I only state the facts. I base no the ory upon them, but I find iu them, however explained, a startling ful filment of the Scripture threat that "the iniquities of the fathers shall Jje visited upon the children,” and I find in them a solemn ^admonition to pa rents to guard with the utmost care lives which are not only full of solemn responsibility as regards themselves, but momentous in** their inttuepce forgood or ill upon their children.— Christian Weekly. 5r_ Love finds love. The deaf and dumb child yet sees love in the moth er’s eye: when she becomes a mother she knows what the look of that eye meant. We are to find Him through love. Paul somewhat found “this iu Him, and so the Epistles are an apo calypse. . - Knowledge is a comfortable aud necessary* retreat and shelter for ua iu our advanced age; aud, if we do not plant it while youug, it will give us up shade when we grow old. Subscribe for the Sun.
The Christian Sun (Elon College, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Nov. 30, 1877, edition 1
1
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75