The Book Fund Diary for 1884
are such old friends now, my dear readers and I — we have so long enjoyed familiar intercourse, and been for so many years delightfully associated in Book Fund work — that we need no formal introduction to each other. The commencement of this annual chronicle, which lovingly links our interests, and rivets our affections, requires no elaborate statement of the writer’s aims and intentions, since these are well known, and most generously promoted; neither are fair words of promise for the future, of diligence and devotedness on her part, needful, seeing that the work is a well-spring of joy to her, and is so dearly loved, that its service is a perpetual delight. Our only ceremony is very simple, and soon concluded: we give (in intention) a cordial grasp of each other’s hand; offer an affectionate New Year’s greeting; — then a very tender acknowledgment of the past kindnesses of my dear friends is given and accepted, and I at once apply myself to the task of making the Book Fund, as far as lies in my power, as pleasant and beautiful a thing to read about as it is to direct and administer. Shakespeare says, —
“S fittest tale gpeeha best being platnlg toft”;
and I am going to test the truth of his assertion.
A winsome letter from a pastor, once a student, comes to cheer me at this special season, when the many meetings of friends, and the gathering together of loved and loving ones, suggest a somewhat painful contrast to my loneliness and separation from my beloved. I record it, not alone for its sympathetic sweetness, but to show how deeply the grace of gratitude is rooted in some hearts, and what fair blossoms of encouragement and blessing spring up unexpectedly in our pathway, when we have been enabled to “scatter seeds of kindness” as we passed along.
My dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — Among the many kind friends remembered by us at this joyous time — if not by. letter, yet by loving and earnest prayer at the throne of grace — certainly the first must be your own kind self, and dear Mr. Spurgeon, to whom, under God, we owe so much. I have, therefore, the most sincere pleasure in sending you the enclosed card; and with all our hearts we wish you, and all your loved ones, a very happy and profitable season. Dear Mr. Spurgeon being away at Mentone, much of the joy and brightness of Westwood must have vanished with him; but this cloud has a silver lining, and, when we get above the cloud, we shall be able to see its shining side. We ’ trust that the dear President is quietly resting after his many labours; and it is ever a glad impulse of love to pray that he may be sustained and strengthened, and brought back to us in renewed health, and with a fresh baptism of Divine power for the Master’s service. Also I trust that your New Year may be cheered by the thought that there are thousands of loving hearts in which your name is enshrined, and whose prayers bear you up, like a sea of sustaining strength. Not least among these are the dear brethren in the College Conference, who have. been privileged to receive your help, and who have known the power of your sympathy, and whose grateful affection is ever shining upon you and your work; never more truly and tenderly shining, than when your sun is behind a cloud. And, above all, there is the unfailing joy which beams upon us in the face of Jesus, who is “the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.”
The writer of this letter could not possibly know that his assurance of prayerful remembrance was just the crumb of comfort my heart needed; yet so it was, and I thank him, and say, “A word spoken in due season, how good is it!”
January 6th, 6.30 p.m. — I am sitting alone, in my husband’s lonely study, the profound silence broken only by the ticking of the big clock; the volumes which line the walls look frowning and gloomy in the uncertain light of evening, and the precise orderliness of the whole room gives sad and significant sign of an absent owner. The first Sabbath of the New Year is drawing to a close, and the day, so fair, so bright, is going to die. All through the past twelve hours, the horizon has been glorified with light which seemed unearthly, and looking south, from these windows, across the many miles of country which stretch to the Surrey Hills, the vision has been so radiant that “thick coming fancies” could easily picture therefrom the jasper walls and pearly gates of the City which hath no need of the sun. The climax of this glory came with the sunset, when the western heavens were ablaze with fiery splendour, and the mingling and blending of colour were so wonderful and awe-inspiring that one could only exclaim in the words of the prophet of Patmos,” There was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald”! But now the many-hued light is fading away, the crimson and green banners which werfc streaming in the golden haze have changed into murky brown clouds which straggle in great broken patches across the sky, hasting to go down to their lair, and I turn again from the window, cherishing the sweet thought that perhaps the dear one a thousand miles away has been gazing on the same glorious scene, and that, though so far separated, we, have together been worshipping the great Creator of heaven and earth, blessing Him for the joy of being able to say, “This awful God is ours, our Father, and our Friend.” Now, as I sit in the soft twilight, very tender thoughts steal into my heart, and delightful memories of sacred hours here spent with my beloved come crowding in upon me. The stillness constrains me to listen for the voice which has so often made music to my soul, and I look around upon the books which I have so many times taken down and read to him, as though they might almost sympathize with me in the loss we together suffer by his absence. But they are dumb, and make no sign; all their wisdom, and learning, and piety, are locked up within themselves; they are treasuries of which my absent lord has the key, they are like stones which only my Philosopher can turn into gold.
“Dear absent love of mine, it did not need
Thy absence to tell me that thou wert dear,
And yet the absence maketh it more clear.”
A little longer musing on this tender theme brings a painful sense of loneliness and discomfort to me. I almost begin to murmur against the circumstances which make the separation from my husband unavoidable, and I am fast falling into a fretful and peevish condition when — with a rush of joy no words can describe, I recognize the possibility of being no longer solitary and desolate; my soul is thrilled with the solemn and entrancing thought that in this very room the Master’s Divine presence, so often felt, may again be realized by faith, and enjoyed by my longing, waiting soul. The Lord Jesus has been so wont to come to this spot to help and bless His ministering servant, that may-be — I thought it, and now I write it with all reverence — maybe He will not have given up the blessed habit of such visits, and I shall find Him, waiting here with His hands full of blessing, and His heart full of tenderness — even for me!
My spirit melted within me at this wonderful hope, and with bowed head and bended knee, by the Pastor’s empty chair, I “sought Him whom my soul loveth”; I sought Him — and, blessed be His name, He would not let me seek in vain. My gracious Lord drew near, and strengthened and comforted His lonely child, and so filled my heart with joy and peace that presently I could sing, though in trembling tones —
“This, this is rest, Lord Jesus,
Alone with Thee to be;
The desert is a gladsome place
With Thy blest company.
Amid the throng I might forget
That I am all Thine own;
I bless Thee for the desert place
With Thee, dear Lord, alone”
And now I tell of my weakness and need, and of His consoling presence and love; I record this tender episode of His grace, that He may be “admired in all them that believe,” and that my sweet experience of His present help in time of trouble may be a “song to cheer some one behind me, whose courage is sinking low.”
I intended this evening to write down some items of interest in Book Fund work during the past week; but this little story clamoured to be told, and has had its way — God’s way, I hope. May He bless the telling of its simple truth to the praise of His lovingkindness and condescending mercy!
February. — The new work of sending the “Sermons” every month to missionaries in foreign lands is proceeding vigorously and successfully, and most delightful letters from all parts of the world testify to the joy with which the gifts are received. The devoted men who labour in China have a large share of the blessing; for, by the favour of Mr. Hudson Taylor, all the “Sermons” for missionaries at the stations of the China Inland Mission are taken out free of charge. The boon of fresh spiritual food to these isolated workers must be great indeed; some of them are so completely cut off from European society that for months together they see only the natives of the land, and, but for converse with each other, would hear only the discordant tones of a people of strange language. We who are dwellers at home can scarcely realize the thrill of gladness with which, under such circumstances, the arrival of a packet of “Sermons” from England must be hailed by those exiled hearts.
As these parcels to China do not go through the post, I send the monthly parts, thereby insuring five discourses for the four weeks, and the dear friend who so generously provides all my needful stationery, and supplies my poor Pastors also, has prepared famous strong envelopes in which to enclose the books, and has had them prettily stamped, and nicely printed with the sender’s name in the corner! In these compact cases we expect the “Sermons” will travel safely into the interior of the Celestial Empire to their respective destinations, after reaching the general depot on the coast
For all other parts of the world the “Sermons” have to be entrusted to the post-office, and as I have not yet had responses from the remote stations to which I have directed them, I sometimes fear lest the little messengers should lose their way, or fall into evil hands. From India, Ceylon, China, Mexico, New Zealand, Texas, Jamaica, Newfoundland,
and Palestine, with all nearer stations, I have heard — but the workers on the Congo River, those at the Cameroons, and at other places difficult of access by post, have still to acknowledge the arrival of the packets.
At the present time we are sending to forty-four missionaries in China, and to one hundred and forty in other foreign lands; these numbers are augmented from time top time by new names, and we may thus consider the work established upon a very satisfactory basis, waiting the Lord’s further pleasure as to its extension, and knowing that He can grant to us, if it be His will, unlimited power, both of resolve and resource.
A few extracts from letters are sure to be appreciated, and I therefore give the following:
From Palestine —
Just now, as I was starting on a missionary journey, your welcome letter, with Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons,” arrived safely. I need not say how glad I am to receive the helpful gift; but I feel very thankful that we, the natives of Palestine, have kind friends to sympathize with, and help us. I can assure you that these “Sermons” will be warmly welcomed whenever you send them. I shall not forget you in my prayers.
From Norway —
I wish to express my warmest thanks for your kindness in sending me! your dear husband’s “Sermons.” They will be a very great treat Uv me; for I enjoy them more than I am able to tell you. Very few of our brethren in your highly-favoured country can know the loneliness we feel for lack of fellowship and communion with other workers. It is often many months; and sometimes a whole year, between the times we” see each other’s face; but these “Sermons,” coming to us regularly, will, cheer our weary hearts, and refresh our tired spirits.
From Trinidad —
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — The letter printed on the fly-leaf of your circular may have been the means of inducing you to undertake the work of sending “Sermons” to distant lands; but I am sure the Lord’s hand is manifestly in the matter, for He certainly knows how acceptable. Mr. Spurgeon’s utterances will be to all missionaries, and how well adapted they are to comfort and refresh and inspire weary workers. The native preachers to whom you have sent them are delighted at the idea of receiving such treasures monthly, and beg me to thank you, on their behalf as well as on my own, for the great boon thus afforded us.
3 ir
From Hayti — (a deeply interesting letter; I am tempted to give a lengthy extract from it) —
I beg you to accept my best thanks for the “Sermons,” and I pray that the Lord may largely increase your usefulness, and abundantly bless this new effort. Just now I am besieged by the enemies of our town, and cut off from all communication with our churches in other places; * my work as a medical missionary is largely extended amongst the wounded, in consequence of our unfortunate revolution. Every day: some are missing, and others die from gangrened injuries. The doctors of the town will not go to treat the poor; they fear the shells that explode every now and then in the streets. Our town is in a beautiful valley, surrounded by three ranges of green hills, and on these our enemies’ cannon are placed. The siege has now lasted four months, and no food can be obtained from the interior of the country; and, in ’ addition to the famine, dysentery and fever are killing the people by; dozens. Our Baptist Medical Dispensary will make a mark here never to be forgotten, and I believe the Lord will save some by this means amongst my ninety sick ones. I know there are some anxious to be ’ saved. We have been visited by fourteen bombs and shells; our old Mission House is bored with holes; our chapel windows are broken, our, benches spoiled, and our harmonium rendered entirely useless. But I do not mean to give up. (Is not this the language of a true hero? ) 1 4 am about finishing at my own expense a little place, and a baptistery, in spite of all discouragements. The consuls hive left the town, because k they expect a general bombardment; but how can I leave my sick ones, to die? They have no earthly friend to help them, they are penniless,; and can have no medical care if I leave the place; and besides, our committee have asked me to stay till the revolution is over! Under my care I have some men who were wounded with rifle-shots in the spine;
I have lent the “Sermons” to them, and they are delighted to read .*■ them.
What a scene of suffering, desolation, and woe is here - pictured! Yet how calmly the Master’s servant carries himself in the midst of the fast-accumulating horrors! How unquestioning is his. obedience 1 how full of confidence in God are his determinations! how dignified and grand his„ self- surrender! There is a tempest of fire raging round the’ city, and a devouring sword is going through the land;! famine and death wait at the street corners for fresh victims, and the cries of the wounded and dying mingle sorrowfully with the lamentations of bereaved and bleeding hearts; but the light of his holy courage and steadfast devotion shines steadily forth from his watch-tower, and the blood, of souls, will never be required at that watchman’s hand.
When I read his touching letter, so brave, so resolute, so full of consecration to God and love to sinners, my heart said, “Lord, keep him as the apple of the eye; hide him beneath the shadow of Thy wings.”
How thankful I am that the “Sermons” reached him and his poor patients through the dreadful rain of the bombshells, and the menacing dangers of a cruel siege! God must have given special charge concerning them, and doubtless He sent some sweet words of consolation or enlightenment by them to the souls of those sorely stricken men. I should feel richly rewarded for sending out the parcels if only this one instance of their acceptable work had come to my knowledge.
Let me beg of you, dear friends, to pray very earnestly and constantly that always, and in every place, the success of this new service may be assured by the gracious favour of the Lord upon it, and the attestation of His Spirit to the power of the printed gospel.
It is a great delight to drop such manna round about the tents in the wilderness, and to send such a flock of white doves with messages of peace to the regions beyond; but the dew of the Lord’s blessing must underlie the heavenly bread before its taste can be “as of wafers made with honey”; and the olive-leaf in the dove’s mouth must bear tokens that the “depths have covered it” ere it can fitly tell the story of abating waters, serene skies, and perfect safety.
Therefore, I pray you, for this let your requests be made known unto God
March. — “An excellent book,” says Coleridge, u is like a well-chosen and well-tended fruit-tree. Its fruits are not of one season only. With the due and natural intervals, we may recur to it year after year, and it will supply the same nourishment and the same gratification, if only we ourselves return to it with the same healthful appetite.”
This quotation, if I could but have had it ready on my lips, would have been a pertinent reply to the suggestion of a friend who was lately advocating a change, and — as he considered it — an improvement in tny present system of managing the Book Fund. “Why do you not loan the books,” he said, “and so keep the Pastors constantly supplied with fresh reading? The volumes you give them will lie idly on their shelves when once read through.”
Unfortunately for me, my “happy thoughts” never make their appearance at the moment they are wanted — they are as shy as spoilt children, and quite as intractable; so, although I knew he was absolutely mistaken, my friend’s opinion was but feebly combated, and very likely he retains the impression that to convert the Book Fund into a huge lending library would be a wise and desirable reform.
Lest any other friend should have indulged in a similar flight of fancy, I confide to my little “Diary,” and thence to him, if he be one of my readers, my firm and deep conviction that to make the books the poor pastor’s very own, either by gift or his own purchase, is the best, most beneficial, and only truly blessed way of carrying on the work. So far as I am concerned, it is the only possible way also. The notion of lending the volumes might commend itself to a well-managed society, with plenty of money and assistants at its command; but it would be an unreasonable undertaking for one person to attempt, and would soon end in an utter collapse of the whole affair. There are now on my books over twelve thousand names of ministers who have received grants from the Fund: how impossible it would have been to have benefited such a multitude in any other way than by giving to the poorest, and allowing others to purchase at reduced prices!
A minister’s library should be richly stored with commentaries and works of reference; these stand waiting their master’s use and pleasure; they are not intended to be read through and done with, but are life-long friends, whose counsel and guidance are available at any moment, and whose presence in his study is a joy and refreshment to the pastor’s heart. Just imagine loaning “The Treasury of David” to a man for a month, and then obliging him to pass it on to somebody else! I should call it a cruel kindness to set such a draught of nectar to his lips, and allow him to sip only once! I should be ashamed to put the golden treasure into his house, and then in effect say,
“Now, scramble for the thought-nuggets as quickly as you can, for the carrier’s cart will call for the package to-morrow!”
No, my friends; not so would I deal with those whose searching of God’s Word needs to be continually aided, directed, and stimulated. Theirs is the most solemn work that a mortal man can have committed to his charge, and my ambition is to place at their disposal such profoundly spiritual, aids to its accomplishment that, by the blessing of God,* they may be workmen needing not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth, making full proof of their ministry.
Books that can be read through at a sitting, and are either so ordinary or so feeble that the operation leaves no trace or effect upon the mind of the reader, are not the sort of literature that I covet for my poor Pastors, or that they would gratefully accept at my hands. I want commentaries on* God’s Word by the most devout and learned writers; I want books full of the marrow and fatness of the gospel, spread forth as a glorious feast for the satiating of their own’ souls; I want volumes that are storehouses of “things new; and old,” that God’s ministers may draw therefrom abundant supplies for their work of feeding the flock of God. This deep longing of mine, to send forth only the best and choicest of theological works, makes me somewhat impatient of the obligation imposed upon me by the kindness of some well-meaning, but mistaken friends, who will most amiably persist in making my book-store the depository of all sorts of unsuitable volumes. Oh, if they would but send me the value of these in money, so that I could purchase books that would bless my poor friends, how much: more grateful should I be! But they cannot quite see the matter as I do, they think any good book will serve a minister’s turn; honey can surely be extracted by these* bees, even from the dried leaves of a sapless old volume of ancient memoirs! So they send me parcels of books that might b$ useful for any purpose but mine, and at this moment the shelves of my book-room are crowded with gratifying but very inconvenient proofs of interest in my dear work. As this is not the first time I have indulged in a growl over such gifts, will intending donors lovingly take the oft-repeated gentle hint, and spare me further occasion of displaying a much-regretted discontent with their kindlymeant presents?
* *
In justice, however, to other friends who do the Fund good service by judicious contributions, and are therefore not included in the above criticism, I must say how thankfully I receive the gifts which are selected with reference to my known needs, and how pleased I am when a “Matthew Henry” makes his appearance at “Westwood,” or a party of old Puritans come on a passing visit I have several good and generous friends who are constantly on the look-out for such special books as they know I shall prize, and one gentleman regularly sends me the catalogue of a large bookseller’s stock-in-trade, with permission to indicate the theological works I should like to possess. “Mark them? is about all he ever says to me; but this means a great deal, and I gladly take him at his word, and set “S. S., her mark,” against all the best and choicest entries. Nor does he disappoint my faith; for many grand old works are thus consigned to my care, and duly passed into the hands of those who will search in them as for hid treasure. To him, and to all who, preferring to make their gifts in kind rather than in money, thus thoughtfully supply me with really helpful works, I give most hearty and unfeigned thanks.
April. — As usual, I have copious extracts to give, from the loving and grateful letters received from recipients of books. I believe these quotations are always read with very deep interest, and in selecting and arranging them. I feel I am giving glimpses into the very heart of my work; laying open, as it were, the secret springs which nourish its inner life, and make it prosperous and beautiful. Grati-* tude to God is the sweet fountain which supplies these constant streams of praise; the gifts are received as from Him, though my hand places them within reach; the sweet wine comes from the Land of promise, though my fingers press the blessing from the cluster. And if my poor
Pastors justly recognize the Father’s love thus conveyed to them through earthly channels, how much more should I praise and thank Him, seeing that I am doubly blest in first receiving and then bestowing? To my Lord I owe the first conception of such a blessed service; from His tender compassion for a sick and suffering one came the choice delight of an occupation which soothed and refreshed my spirit; and as in past hours of pain and sorrow He helped me by teaching me to help others; so now, since He has restored health to me, He makes these ministrations to His servants a source of continual comfort and inexpressible joy. I think no one can read the following letters without rejoicing and blessing God for the happiness which the dear Book Fund work brings to poor ministers — and to me, even before it reaches them.
One of “our own men” writes as follows: —
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — The parcel of books you sent me has arrived safely. Your prayer that they might “bring gladness and blessing” was speedily answered. Like sunshine in April they came, when I was exceedingly weary in heart and mind, and my dear wife and I smiled through our tears as we saw the extent of your generous gift. Then the Lord heard our praises, as we went before Him with a new song for this renewed mercy. Inspired by these fresh helps to the study of God’s Word, and for the ministry of Jesus, I pray that the dew of the Divine Spirit may so rest upon me that many jewels may be won for our Kings own crown. And may you, dear Madam, be long spared to cheer the hearts of the Lord’s poor labourers as you have cheered mine 1
* * * *
The next is from an Irish pastor, warm, loving, enthusiastic, the sort of letter that, coming at breakfast-time, makes of that meal a love-feast, when we eat our meat with gladness and singleness of heart.
With deepest gratitude I acknowledge the safe arrival of your very valuable parcel. On seeing the numerous and handsome volumes, X could scarcely repress the feeling that you were too kind to me. Only that gracious Master who called me to His service could provide such a friend as you have proved to be. I think that the most acceptable gratitude I can show will be the constant repetition of my first act on opening the parcel: to fall on my knees and pray that the sweetest, nchest, deepest realization of the Divine assurance, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” may be your present happiness and reward. My heart is stirred with emotion by your gift, and filled with gratitude for your practical kindness. Meanwhile, I do not forget for a moment the devout thankfulness due to Him who gives you grace to undertake, and friends to assist, means to accomplish, and supplies to continue, the hallowed toil which brings a blessing to so many souls. Unto His name be the abiding, increasing, and pre-eminent glory.
* *
From a clergyman, who is an intense admirer of Mr. Spurgeon and his works, I received the following encouraging testimony: —
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — I cannot find words to express my gratitude for the handsome present of books which arrived safely on Saturday. I was busy preparing my sermons, but I was obliged to leave off to look at the volumes which I prize so highly, and to thank God for His goodness to me through you. I was delighted to find the books by George Muller; little did I think when I read about his present in your Report that I should be one of the fortunate recipients. May the Lord bless you for so kindly remembering me!
What a blessing your Book Fund is to those of us who have but scanty stipends to depend upon! I have so many classes and services that I find the volumes of “Sermons” an immense help to me, and as soon as I have selected a text, I turn to the index in “The Treasury” to see if Mr. Spurgeon has preached from it, and generally, to my great delight, I find it; but too often, alas! it is in a volume which I do not possess. I have derived so much benefit to my own soul from these discourses that I earnestly crave for more of them, first, to feed on myself, and then by God’s help to feed others. Your new work of sending the “Sermons” to missionaries in foreign lands is a grand one, and I shall be very glad if you will accept a mite for that Fund with my prayers and best wishes — I wish I could spare more.. but you know my circumstances.
Special interest is sometimes attached to the Book Fund grants by the fact of their chance delivery to the recipient on a day already made notable to him by a personal joy. Three or four years ago I mentioned the somewhat singular frequency with which my grants assumed the character of birthday gifts, and since that time I have constantly observed a recurrence of this same interesting feature in the work. The following letter will give a good idea of the way in which a parcel is welcomed under such circumstances: —
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — Please accept my best thanks for your generous gift, and your earnest prayers on behalf of my unworthy
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self. You will be glad to know that the Lord directed you to send me this gift on my birthday. A coincidence of this kind may be apparently accidental; but whether this be so or not, it will have for me an ever-abiding sweetness. You have made my twenty-seventh birthday both happy and memorable to me, and I register this gift of yours among the precious mercies of my life. Henceforth, upon so many anniversaries of my natal day as I shall be graciously spared to see, as surely as the light of the morning dawns upon my eyes, the remembrance of your kindness will revive in my heart. The books are just what I wanted, full of life and power. I look forward to sweet seasons of delightful intercourse with them. May you be long spared thus to encourage and aid the young servants of Christ! The consciousness of your earnest and loving sympathy moves my soul to its very depths, and I shall ever be, Yours very gratefully, ■.
*
These letters are like the songs of larks, they are music on wings. Mark how the notes of thankful joy rise upward to the Lord, the Giver of all good things; the heart rests not with the earthly blessings, precious though they be, but soars heavenward to pour forth its gladness in jubilant thanksgiving and rapturous praise.
But, apropos of sky-larks’ songs, I must tell you, dear reader, what happened the other day, and how beautifully a sweet singer’s confidence was rewarded, when fearlessly leaving her earthly treasures in our Father’s keeping (Matt. vi. 26), she mounted upward to pay her full debt of daily orisons at “Heaven’s Gate.” You may find, perhaps, some “linked sweetness” between the little story and our present subject, or even, failing that desired end, may not be displeased with me for introducing the homely incident to your notice.
We were making a tour of the garden and pastures, admiring the beauty of the young year’s fresh life — noting with tender interest all the charming details of newly, awakened responsibility in every living thing — marking the sweet, impatient growth of leaves still rumpled and creased from their recent unfoldings, and rejoicing in the whispered promise of golden days to come which trembled on every scented breath of the perfumed air.
Down in the Dale field we came across a skylark’s nest. built in the long grass, a lovely little soft-lined cup of cosiness, with three pretty brown eggs in it The sweet songstress had flown at the approach of human footsteps, and thus revealed the secret place of her wee home to inquisitive but kindly eyes. We looked with profound admiration on her happy work, and then quietly, retraced our steps, having loving sympathy for the poor little fluttering heart which might perchance fear the despoiling of its treasures. A day or two afterwards the visit was repeated; but imagine our consternation when, on opening the gate of the field, we saw that the cows had been let into that pasture! How would the great, clumsy, sweet-breath’d creatures treat the little home in the grass? Would it not be crushed and trampled by their unheeding feet? We had placed an upright stick near the nest to show its position, and very doubtfully we made our way across the field, fearing to find ruin and desolation where we had left peace and prosperity.
When we reached the spot, our surprise and delight were great to find the home intact, and the wee birds safely .hatched; for though the cows had munched the grass close down to the ground all round the nest, not a hoof had touched the little inmates. So, there they were, three cunning mites, with stubby bodies, and big downy heads, cowering close together in instinctive fear of the human presence which overshadowed them. The cows grazed quietly by, and overhead the pretty mother trilled forth her delicious carol in the morning sunshine, pouring out her heart’s gratitude and gladness in libations of song! And there, till the little birds were feathered and flown, the cows were every day pastured, yet never a hurt came to the wee nest m the grass! Who watched over the mother in her peril as she sat upon the eggs? Who guarded the nestlings in their hourly danger when the slight protection of her tender body was removed? Who shielded the tiny birds from the tread of the great beasts’ feet? Did Daphne know that the nursery on the ground-floor must be cared for and respected? Or did Strawberry’s mother-instinct tell her that little living hearts beat as truly in that wool-lined cup as in the sweet hay-crib where her own darling was lying? I cannot tell — -
the matter is too deep for me; but the lark knew all about it, and it may be that, could our ears have been opened to understand the language of her hymn of praise, as she rose higher and higher in the calm blue sky, we might have caught, here and there amidst the joyous notes, some such words as these: —
Not one,
Not one of them,
Is forgotten
In the sight of God.*
Not one,
Not one of them,
Shall fall to the ground
Without your Father, f
Fear ye not therefore.
Are not ye
Of much more value
Than they?
Did she not do well thus to sing and trust? Oh, sighing and doubting reader, cast away your fears, and follow her fair example; you shall not only joyfully leave your earthly cares with your heavenly Father, but you shall get nearer to God’s throne than you have ever been before!
The a Conference-gift” this year was Dr. Hanna’s “Life of Our Lord on Earth,” a book pre-eminently useful, instructive, and delightful. Originally published in six volumes, the new edition, in a somewhat abridged form, which was chosen for our Pastors, was the last literary effort of this venerable servant of Christ, who cherished an earnest desire that it might be brought within the reach of the largest possible number of readers.
It claims and deserves patient and prayerful study, and I think both will be accorded to it by our dear brethren, who greatly value and delight in the present thus always happily associated with their yearly festival, and “Feast of Tabernacles.”
* Luke xii. 6. (R.V.) f Matthew x. 29.
May. — We will now return for a short time to our letters, even at the risk of a little monotony; for they give most delightful evidence of the blessing which the Lord in His tenderness causes to rest upon the Book Fund work, and they indicate in some degree the honour which He bestows on His dear servant’s writings.
The next few extracts will be taken exclusively from the communications of clergymen of the Established Church, who are justly reckoned among the kindest and most courteous of my numerous correspondents. When my Book Fund was first established, I did not contemplate the possibility of its being serviceable beyond the circle of the poorer Dissenting Pastors; but the Lord has graciously “enlarged my coasts,” and given me the joy of ministering to all sections of the Christian Church. I make poor clergymen as heartily welcome to the Book Fund gifts as “our own men” from the College, and I am often cheered by seeing how universal and keen is the desire to possess my dear husband’s works, and to profit by the patient labour he has expended upon them. Again and again have newly-ordained curates told me that, at their examination, the Bishop has recommended the “Sermons” to them, or has said, “Get Mr. Spurgeon’s work on the Psalms, there is none like it”; and many a cordial letter comes to “Westwood,” from country vicars and rectors, begging that their young curates may participate in the Book Fund benefits. I think my friends will be very pleased to read such kind words as these which follow from five different clergymen.
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — I desire to thank you sincerely for the valuable parcel of books which has just arrived. The least comforting part about it is that there’s no more to follow! (This was the fourth grant. ) However, I am very grateful for all your kindness, and if ever I should become a well-to-do rector, there is no fund that I know of that I should have more pleasure in helping than your Book Fund. I feel sure that thousands of poor ministers thank our covenant God that He put it in your heart to commence and carry on such a blessed service. It is a work which is more than twice blessed — I would rather say, ten thousand times ten thousand! My book-shelf is not so very slenderly furnished now — thanks to your liberality — but I shall not rest satisfied till Mr. Spurgeon’s seventh volume of “The Treasury of David” finds a place there. My wife joins me in love and gratitude to Mr. Spurgeon and yourself.
Dear Madam, — I have this evening received your handsome present of books, and as they lie on the table before me, I can hardly realize that they are indeed my own. I thank you most sincerely for this grand and useful addition to my small stock of helpful literature. If God spare me for a long ministry, these books will adorn my library when your revered husband and yourself shall have entered upon your eternal rest, and they will remind me of one whose zeal in the Master’s service I pray that I may ever strive to imitate, desiring earnestly to possess like earnestness, power, and love for perishing souls. I shall remember the Book Fund before the Throne of grace.
Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — The books you have sent will be invaluable to me. I feel that in order to understand God’s Word, and to sustain freshness and vigour in preaching, much reading is necessary, especially such reading as is contained in your husband’s works. I have been a reader of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” for many years, and if my means permitted, I would purchase all that he has published. If it be ever in my power to help on the work of your Book Fund, I shall gladly do so; and I now pray that God’s blessing may richly rest upon it.
Dear Madam, — The long-looked-for parcel has this moment arrived, and the first thing that came into my hands on opening it was your kindly- worded letter, which gave me great pleasure. I hasten at once to tender to you my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for a gift of the highest worth and value I have ever received in my life. I trust, with the blessing of God, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to be enabled to glean and gather from these books precious truths that will be both helpful to myself and to my people. Now that I am possessed of a “fiddle”* of so good and sweet a tone, my earnest desire will be so to wield the “stick” that I may draw forth many a soul-winning tune. Allow me again to thank you from my heart for all your kindness.
My dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — The interval since I received your costly and unique parcel of books on Saturday has been to me one of the gladdest and happiest seasons of my life. Every spare moment since their arrival I have been digging into the wondrous mines of spiritual wealth which these precious volumes present, and feasting on the rich, soul-refreshing dainties which they provide, and my spirit has truly been quickened and comforted, and made joyous thereby. You could not have sent me a better selection; it is a storehouse to which I shall continually resort. I thank you from the very depths of my heart, and my dear wife joins most sincerely in this expression of gratitude. May your life, and the life of your beloved husband, be long spared for such kindly deeds as these!.
I have had the pleasure of helping a good brother in the Holy Land who is devoting his life to the service of the
* See “John Ploughman’s Pictures.”
32 3
people there, and amid great hardships is following the apostolic plan of making known the gospel by going everywhere preaching the Word. He has been through Palestine on foot, almost “from Dan to Beersheba,” and, Imowing something of Arabic, he is able to speak to the people “all the words of this life.”
He tells mournful stories of the very slow progress made by missions in the country, and says he has long felt it to be a disgrace to Christians that these benighted people should be left to perish, no man caring for their souls. “Little as I and my wife can do,” he writes, “we are at least disposed to try what simple Christian life and talk, and reading of the Scriptures, and (as far as may be possible) St. James’s idea of ‘ pure and undefiled religion,’ can by the blessing of God effect in this land.”
Two months were spent among the “Lebanon savages,” and then a journey on foot, and alone, through the country which once was “Thy land, O Emmanuel!” revealed so sad a state of things among the depraved and neglected inhabitants, that an intense desire was aroused in our friend’s soul to carry the lamp of life into this gross darkness. The determination was soon taken, the consecration quickly made, and then, to render himself proficient in the difficult language which must be mastered, the first thing needed was an expensive lexicon and grammar. How were these to be obtained? Our friend is poor — as this world reckons riches — and it seemed as if the books were quite beyond his reach; but, one day writing home to England, he mentioned his need to a friend, a clergyman, and begged him to devise some method of supplying the indispensable treasure. There was the Lord’s loving guidance in this; for the clergyman, who was himself unable; to give such costly works, yet knew of my Book Fund, and at once wrote to me, hoping that the precious gift might be within my power and province. I had to overstep my rules a little; but the request, the special need which prompted it, and the singularity of its presentation, were sufficient excuse for the brief departure from ordinary regulations. I procured the books, and the good clergyman forwarded them, and thus, between us, we made the poor man very happy. u What a beautiful
Evangelical Alliance!” said he, when he received them — “a Baptist minister’s wife sending books to a Wesleyan preacher, through the intervention of a Church clergyman 1” Since then I have regularly forwarded the weekly “Sermons” to this devoted man, and I know they bring great joy and comfort and blessing to his heart. Will my dear friends, as they read this paragraph, ask the Lord to help and strengthen the lonely worker in that desolate land — a land so cursed by the sin of its people that it is no longer holy ground and “delightsome 99 in God’s sight, but it “perisheth, and is burned up like a wilderness, that none passeth through”?
* % *
June. — From the breezy heights of Beulah Hill we command a lovely and uninterrupted view, not of the fair earth merely, but of the fairer firmament above it; our windows are observatories whence many a longing, loving glance is cast heavenwards, and one of the chief pleasures of restful or contemplative hours is found in silently watching the ever-changing aspect of the sky, and noting the manifold glories of that wonderful cloud-land which divides our earthly home from the promised inheritance on high. I never tire of gazing on the beautiful mysteries of the clouds. I love to watch the grand and solemn rolling of black and rugged masses, when storms are abroad, and the wind is marshalling them to a dread convention of brooding tempests; and equally well I love to see them when, in summer days, the cloudlets float like flakes of driven snow across the deep blue ether, and lose themselves at the feet of mountains that rival the Alpine peaks in beauty and sublimity. Sometimes the watcher will see a cloud of such celestiaL beauty that to his enamoured fancy it looks
“As though an angel, in his upward flight,
Had left his mantle floating in mid-air.”
Or anon, with pensive pleasure, he may mark
“Clouds on the western side
Grow grey and greyer, hiding the warm sun.”
But under all aspects they are enchanting and suggestive; their very movements are restful to my spirit, they always
In the Service of the Book Fund. speak to me of the Lord’s great power and love, and many a time have burdens of care been lifted from my heart, and carried away, by these celestial chariots, “as far as the east is from the west.”
* * * *
This is rather a lengthy preface to the relation of an incident which was remarkable for its brevity; but I have been betrayed into such rambling by the fascination of the subject, and the fact that it was whilst engaged in my favourite recreation that the following pleasant portent presented itself to my admiring eyes.
We were standing at the window, my dear husband and I, noting the splendid effects of the sunset upon a bank of fleecy clouds which skirted the horizon, when all at once we noticed an unusual object in the sky, and perceived that a winged creature of uncommon size was sailing slowly and wearily towards us from the south-west As it drew nearer, we could see that it was a large sea-bird of some kind, and with the greatest possible interest we watched the strangers flight, till, in passing over our house, he was hidden from view. The sight stirred my heart strangely* “That must be our darling’s harbinger,” I said, “bringing us a message from our home-coming boy.” “Your 4 Sea-gull ’ will be with you soon,” its brief presence seemed to say; “the waves are bearing him swiftly home, and the God who guided me here will bring him safely to your embrace.” Surely it was a happy omen; it comforted me to think that the Hand that
“Wings an angel, guides a sparrow,”
had directed this sea-bird’s course, and bidden the beat of his heavy pinions speak a language of love to my longing heart But, please God, my 44 Sea-gull,” when he comes, will not pass away as quickly as did this herald from the ocean. He will fold his white wings for a little while, and nestle by his mother’s side, and gladden her life with his sweet presence, and bless and be blessed in his own dear home.
Blow softly, O propitious gales, — and ye rolling billows,
bear securely on your mighty shoulders the good ship which carries this beloved son across the world of waters. Let there be no “sorrow on the sea” to this dear voyager, O Lord; but do Thou give the winds and waves a charge concerning him, to bring him safely to his desired haven; and may every ocean breeze waft the sweet message to Westwood, “I am coming — I am coming home!”
A letter to my dear husband to-day, enclosing ios. for the Book Fund, contained also such sweet encouragement for me, that I feel my soul must make her boast in the Lord about it; for I am sure He sent it as a cordial to revive my drooping spirits, and therefore “the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.” He knows what hard work I find it to write these Annual Reports, and so He often sends me cheering, and help, and comfort, as I labour — paying me extra wages, as it were, because the work is difficult; sending me double portions of meat from His table because I am weak How blessed it is to serve Him! Oh that heart and hands and life might be more consecrated to that service! The writer of the letter in question is an aged disciple, who has known and loved the Lord for many years, yet to him my little books have been made the channels of blessing, and I could clap my hands for joy, while I marvel at the wondrous grace which chooses to work by such insignificant means. The good old man tells his Pastor that while lying on a bed of sickness last year, he used to read my little “Diary for 1882”; and he says, “Her trust in the Lord for success in her labour of love was the means of reviving my faith, and helping me to put more confidence in my blessed Lord, whether for life or death. I love the motto she has chosen for this year: ‘ O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together, and I think that this last Report is the best of all, if that can be. These ‘Lectures to her Students’ are read with much profit, as well as pleasure. May the Lord long spare you both for the comfort of His chosen, the extension of His kingdom, and the advancement of His glory!” This sweet morsel gave me strength and solace for many days.
Let me try to describe for you a scene in a minister’s study on a certain Saturday evening; it is a picture on paper, but it was a fact in real life, and it will serve to show you how the Lord uses the Book Fund parcels to carry comfort and strengthening grace to His tried and troubled servants: —
The room is small, and very poorly furnished, a tiny fire burns in the grate, for it is mid-winter; but, beyond this, there is an absence of all the suitable surroundings of a minister’s study, and you can count the books upon your fingers. The pastor sits there with bowed head, and weary body, after a day of heavy work, and, shall I tell it? of very scanty sustenance. A deep sense of responsibility is upon him, and he feels the weight of souls on his heart; but, in addition to this, special cares, just now, press upon him heavily: troubles of church and building matters, questions as to ways and means, fightings without, and fears within, which vex and grieve him sorely. He tries to cast his burden upon the Lord, and put the cares in the background; for he has to seek and plead for a text for to-morrow morning’s service: but the troubles seem to roll in upon him like the waves of the sea; and though, one after another, precious promises and glorious truths present themselves as he turns the sacred pages, he can fix on no text which brings him deliverance, or comes to his heart with the power of the Spirit, as the word which shall first satisfy his own soul, and then refresh and bless his people.
Weary and faint — he is very, very poor — and almost overwhelmed by the difficulties of the way, he turns to the fire with his open Bible on his knee, and sighs. Oh! such a sigh! Will the angels hear it, I wonder, and come and minister to him, as they used to do to their sorrowful Lord? Perhaps so; but his heavenly Father has also prepared an earthly solace, and the answer to his cry is even now at the door. The bell rings, and a large parcel is left “For the Pastor,” and is taken at once to his room. In a moment he feels that relief has come; he knows the superscription, and divines the contents; in his joy he almost caresses the package; then, with trembling fingers, he cuts the string,
Ten Yeats of my Life
and spreads the treasures out before the Lord. Yes, literally “before the Lord for now you see him kneeling by the side of the open parcel, thanking and blessing God for such opportune mercy, for such streams in the desert, such blossoming roses in the wilderness. While prayer and praise mingle on his lips, his hand rests upon a small book of Mr. Geo. Muller’s; this he takes up and opens, and the first words which meet his eye, standing out in bold relief, shining as it were with heaven’s own light, are these: —
“Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.”
This is what he needs, this is God’s message, this is “the word with power,” and the command is obeyed, and the promise is fulfilled, in that first rapturous moment of enlightenment. He has broken down completely now, the tears are running down his cheeks, but they are rills from the fountains of joy, not of sorrow, and will refresh and heal his spirit. The Lord Himself has spoken to him, an angel has strengthened him, and after a season of adoring communion, he rises from his knfies, strong to labour or to suffer, as his gracious Master wills. That Saturday night will never be forgotten by him, so well-timed was the mercy to relieve his misery, so precious was the light which shone in upon his darkness.
If we could have gone with him to the house of God on the Sabbath morning following, we should have seen that the blessing so graciously given was resting on him still; nay, more, that it was so abundant in the plenitude of its life-giving power, that it overflowed from his heart into the souls of his people; for saints and sinners alike wept, some over sin, some over recovered joy, and both over the goodness and grace of God in the face of Jesus Christ. God’s message to one heart repeated itself to many, and there was rejoicing in heaven and earth that day!
* *
July. — Thursday evening, July io. — About io p.m. my darling son was in my arms, and the sweet and long-anticipated joy of seeing his dear face, and hearing his loving words, and rejoicing in his welcome presence, was granted to his waiting and expectant parents; and I really think that the pain of five years’ absence was almost annihilated by the pleasure of the first fond kiss! “Mother’s Sea-gull” has returned again, the Lord has brought home His banished, and while our mouths are filled with laughter, and our tongues with singing, every word we speak seems tender with gratitude, every blissful moment of reunion bears up to God a tribute of thanksgiving for so great and choice a mercy.
My “Diary” may not record all the details of this rapturous meeting, for a Book Fund Report should not be altogether an autobiography; but it cannot be quite silent on the subject which has brought me such exceeding gladness, nor can it refuse to score some notes of praise, while the joy-bells are ringing so merrily in my heart. Sixteen thousand miles to come home to see father and mother! Weary work these long journeys are, and “Sea-gull’s” wings grow very tired; but goodness and mercy have followed him all the way, and the love, and light, and welcome of Home more than make up for it all.
Many prayers were ascending to heaven from both sides of the world, that a safe and prosperous voyage might be vouchsafed to the beloved traveller; and I think my friends will be interested to hear of one special instance in which these petitions were answered in a very remarkable manner.
At my request he will himself tell the story of his singular adventure, and thus enrich “Mother’s Book” with a precious testimony to the power and prevalence of prayer.
“It was a happy circumstance that the good ship 4 Iberia’ arrived at Adelaide on a Lord’s-day morning, and remained till noon of Monday. I was thus enabled to spend some four-and-twenty hours ashore, in company with valued friends whom I had not seen for nearly six years. The Pastors of the several churches, being occupied with their forenoon services, had sent representatives to welcome me to South Australian shores, each in the hope that hi9 evening meeting might be attended and conducted by the new arrival. The delegate of the one who had telegraphed
his petition to Tasmania and Melbourne was the successful applicant He who came first had to be first served. I cannot refrain from recording the glad fact that the hurriedly-arranged service was full of blessing; for quite a number had occasion to praise God that the word by the way was the means of their conversion. I could not regret a delay which gave me another opportunity of proclaiming the saving truth; and though delays are proverbially dangerous, this one certainly did not prove so to the precious souls that were born for heaven. Mine was but a flying visit; yet the good seed was dropped into hearts already prepared for its reception. Who can hesitate to sow beside all waters after such tokens for good?
“On the following morning it was my pleasure to breakfast in company with several ministers of the city and suburbs, and to converse and worship with them. Having left all details concerning time and train in the hands of mine host, I succeeded in catching, though very narrowly, the eleven o’clock train for the Semaphore, off which place the homeward-bound steamer was anchored, awaiting mails and passengers. It should be known that, at a certain junction, the railway branches for Largs Bay, where, as at the Semaphore, a long pier juts out into the shallow sea. These jetties, though two miles apart, are about equidistant from the moorings of the Orient steamers, the difficulty being to know for certain from which the start should be made, and at which boats can be obtained. At the aforesaid junction we alighted, by order of our cicerone, and crossed the platform to a train bound for Largs Bay. It soon after appeared that this step was fatal; for the guard informed us that he was not leaving for half-an-hour. Then it dawned on us that the carriage we had just vacated would soon reach the Semaphore, from whose pier, undoubtedly, the last steam-launch for the ‘ Iberia ’ would leave when the train arrived. Poor I was left in the lurch, with the faintest possible hope of securing my expected and paid-for passage. It having been decided that we must walk to Largs Bay, the whole party tramped along the rails, and arrived at the pier-head about ten minutes to noon — hot, dusty, and anxious. But what flickering flame of hope remained was quite extinguished when we discovered that there was not a boat to be had.
“A signal-staff and code were useless for want of a signalman, and the telephone by which we hoped to communicate with the Semaphore was within a barred and bolted door. Looking towards the other pier, we saw a little launch steam off, and out came handkerchiefs and newspaper-signals of real distress; but on she steamed, heedless of our signs and shouts. It was useless to trudge off to the distant jetty; for all the boats were now alongside the big ship, waiting to bring the friends of passengers away. In this dilemma, one of the party — our conductor, indeed — volunteered to hasten to the Semaphore, to signal, if possible, to the departing steamer.
“Anxiously we traced him hurrying along the sandy shore, and saw him stop a horseman, to whom, as we supposed, he confided the story of our distress, that he might hasten it to the signal-station. Meanwhile, we could plainly see that the anchor was being weighed, and soon the white wave at the vessel’s stern showed that she was off and away. Oh the misery of those moments! I had been praying earnestly, but feared at last that my desires were not to be fulfilled. The launches were now returning, one steering for the Semaphore, the other for Largs Bay. On the latter were some of my friends, who had kindly brought all my luggage with them. I was not to be dissuaded, however, from making yet another attempt to reach the ship. The master of the little boat offered to try, though it was not a bit of use, as he imagined; but he did not know that we had sent to the signal-station, and that we had been praying that the mission might succeed. Off we steamed on the apparently hopeless chase.
“Clearing the jetty, I noticed a most remarkable combination of flags fluttering from the Semaphore, which I could read (the code being written in my heart) to mean — ‘ For every sake, stop! A son of the best parents in all the world wants to get home to them, and cannot wait an extra fortnight! ’
“On we steamed! Another puffing launch hurried after us from the other landing-place, and overtook us. Our
messenger was on board, so we transhipped, without stopping, into the swifter boat, and proceeded ‘full speed ahead! ’
“A man in the bows waved a great flag as a signal of distress; but alas! alas! the ‘ Iberia 1 grew small by degrees, and tantalizingly less. The chances (?) were against us, certainly; but we kept bravely on, though the skipper persisted in giving us such cheering intelligence as that, shortly before, an Orient liner refused to wait for fifteen passengers. He reminded us that it was a mail steamer we were chasing, and gave it as his decided opinion that * it wouldn’t stop for the Governor J
“But as God would have it, after about three quarters of an hour’s steaming, I was able to shout out, ‘ She’s heading round! ’ Her stern soon gave place to her bows, and the monster bore down upon us. ‘ You’re saved! you’re saved!’ said one of my ministerial companions, and our grateful hearts were very glad, how glad cannot be told by pen and ink. My friends were pleased enough to get rid of me (under such circumstances), and right heartily did I shake hands with them just before getting alongside.
“Arrived on board, I found myself the hero of the hour. No one grudged the brief delay. Who could help rejoicing that perseverance had been rewarded? But I was a wonder unto many. What on earth (or on ocean) could have induced a vessel of 4,000 tons, carrying Her Majesty’s mails, to put about for an insignificant-looking mortal of only ‘ nine stone weight ’? Nothing, either on land or sea, accounted for the marvel, and only some of us knew that the Lord had put His hand on the steering-gear of the skipper’s heart, and made him give the order ‘ Hard-a-port! ’ Humanly speaking, it was the signal that did the work. The fourth officer happened to notice it, though not supposed to be on the look-out for signals when quitting port He kindly reported the fact to the captain, who, for the reason stated above, broke through rules and regulations to pick up the unpunctual passenger. Having climbed the bridge in spite of the warning to trespassers, and grasped the captain’s hand in gratitude, I could only praise God from whom all blessings flow, and continue the voyage to ‘ Home, sweet Home ’ with a glad heart, assured, by such a Providence at the start, of safe conduct and a happy advent.
“So may it be with my fellow-voyagers on this sea of life. May their extremity prove God’s opportunity; then the recollection of their difficulties will only help them abundantly to utter the memory of His great goodness! May it be ours to anchor at last in the desired haven!
* And when the shore is gained at last,
Who will count the billows past ?*”
* *
What a tender Providence does the above little story proclaim! Yet it is only one link in the chain of wreathenwork of mercies which has bound my darling a happy captive in his Father’s loving care. “The Lord had put His hand on the steering-gear of the skippers heart! There’s the key-note of the song, therein lies the sweet rhythm of the simple melody. Yes! Blessed be His name —
“3Lat to tg ntgfj unto all tl jent tfjat call upon %m.”
“Cfje lath pregerbetfj all tfjem tfjat lobe
I pray that this little record may strengthen our faith in prayer, in Providence, and in perseverance,
There does not seem to be space in this month’s pages for anything but the joy of this merciful home-coming. So much am I in love with “Son Tom,” that, like David Copperfield, to whose enraptured senses “the sun shone Dora, and the birds sang Dora, the south wind blew Dora, and the wild flowers in the hedges were all Dora’s to a bud”; the charm of this long-absent son’s presence sheds a new and special brightness over life and its many blessings.
But Book Fund service is not neglected — is not even slackened. Poor Pastors shall not go sorrowing and bookless because a great gladness has come to our home and hearts. All the work goes on as usual; the routine of receiving and answering letters, the consideration of applications, the selection of books, the entries in ledgers and
day-books. The only thing that can suffer loss is this Report; it may be that the record of my work will flag a little during the next few months; I may be brief in my notings through the very pressure of happiness; I may be so busy with my darling as to leave scant time for my “Diary”; and if this should happen, I must pray my friends to pardon me, and of their clemency so read “between the lines” as to make them fuller and more complete.
% * * *
August — The dear friends in different parts of England, whose hearts have been stirred by the Book Fund Reports, to help the families of poor ministers, by personal or combined effort, are all finding that the work grows in their affections, and that difficulties and discouragements melt quickly away beneath the warmth of their tender and loving interest They like to report progress to me, and I am charmed to hear of their industry and enthusiasm, blessing God that by their efforts many more of His needy ones than my hands can reach are helped, and comforted, and strengthened. “We sent off yesterday,” writes a lady, “over one hundred articles of clothing to different families of poor ministers; and as we definitely prayed for guidance as to where they should be sent, we know they have gone to the right people, and will be a relief to the poor overburdened mothers. It is indeed sweet work, and brings its own reward. Thank you very much for all your loving sympathy with us. I do not think we should have ventured on the undertaking had you not so lovingly encouraged us to make a beginning.”
The need of this kindness, on the part of Christian ladies, towards our poor country Pastors, is by no means lessened since I wrote last year; cases of extreme poverty are continually coming before me, and the Pastors’ Aid Fund claims all the supplementary assistance that warm hearts and skilful fingers can devise.
* *
It has been one of my long-cherished desires, that those poor ministers who are judged needy enough to receive loving help, either from individuals or a society, should have that aid, not once merely, but periodically, as long as any deep poverty existed. Spasmodic effort on their behalf is better than total inaction, but it is not satisfactory or dependable, and is unworthy of those who really long to help the servant for the Master’s sake. I would fain persuade a church, or a friend, or a family, to undertake one or two cases entirely, making themselves responsible for the poor pastor’s comfort and well-being, constituting themselves his special benefactors and guardians, receiving the sacred charge from the Lord Himself and expecting as reward to hear from His own gracious lips that sweetest sentence of approval, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.” What a lifted burden it would be, were a score or so of the very neediest Pastors thus placed beyond the reach of Poverty’s painful grip! A letter now lies before me, which, in a very few words, tells a tale of hardship and heroism not at all uncommon among our Pastors. The writer says: “I am not in a position to purchase books; my salary reaches almost to a third of ^150, but our Master is good, and always makes things go right We are out of debt, only we are mighty debtors to God, and ever shall be.” To help this good man and his family once would be a kindness, certainly; but to keep on helping him, so as to assure him of something supplementary to that pitiful per annum, would be more like the lovingkindness of our Great Exemplar. My Pastors’ Aid Fund gives money in dire necessity and trying times of pressing want; but it is for the common wear and tear of everyday life in the poor minister’s family that I beseech consideration and helpful sympathy. Sometimes a nice parcel of clothing is sent by kind-hearted folks to a poor pastor’s house; there are suitable garments for father and mother, shoes and socks, and all sorts of indispensables for the children, and the reception of such a blessing marks a red-letter day in the household, and sets free a long pent-up flood of grateful thanksgiving: but the good donors are too apt to forget that all these things have an ugly habit of wearing out, especially under the pressure of the incessant service which is demanded of them by their needy possessors. The Lord
does not in these days see fit to repeat the miracle of wilderness-life, when His people’s clothes “waxed not old upon them, neither did their shoes wax old upon their feet.” It is our business now to be miracle-workers for Him; to replenish the scanty store, and supply the modest requirements of His servants, with a loving and considerate hand, until they reach the rest which remaineth.
“But to have only ^50 a year must be exceptional poverty, even for a poor minister,” says a reader. Well, I admit that the salaries of my poor friends generally reach to about ^70 or Jffio per annum; but I know a good many who receive only the smaller amount, and my wonder is how they live, and preach, and work upon such inadequate provision. My heart often aches for them when I hear of their patience, endurance of hardship, and privation; yet I notice that they are happy in their poverty, and content to be only “rich towards God” if He will have it so. “My stipend is ^50, with use of house,” writes one of these followers of Him, “who, though he was rich, yet for our sake became poor,” “and I am married; but neither my dear wife nor I complain — far from it: to His praise be it spoken, that more happiness and blessing have been ours since we gave up all for Christ, than ever before. We are where the Master would have us be, and both of us are rejoicing in the work. God is blessing His cause here; so we find His smile and low fare agree admirably.”
I have so often and so urgently pleaded the cause of poor ministers, that I am perplexed as to what fresh arguments should be brought forward, what new and potent advocacy should be used on their behalf. All the old pleas still hold good: their position as servants of the King of kings; their calling, as shepherds of His flock; their special need in such special work; their entire and scriptural dependence on the ministry; and the unmistakable will of God concerning their abundant maintenance while engaged in His service. All these substantial reasons for tender regard to their welfare are in as full force as ever, and their own brave endurance of privation and pain for Christ’s sake, and His church’s sake, should surely be an additional impulse to our kindly sympathy.
Somebody said to me once in a letter — “Three empty things often keep company: an empty bookshelf, an empty head, and an empty chapel; while as a consequence there follow — empty pockets, and empty cupboards, of poof ministers, who lack and suffer need” Now this is very true, but the statement is upside down, it wants reversing; for I could tell of scores of instances in which the empty pocket and the empty cupboard were actually responsible for the three former “empties,” the cause, as well as the consequence, of inefficiency and feebleness. It is usually a lack of liberal ministration from the people to the pastor which results in the famishing of the whole community. “Put the whip in the manger,” says John Ploughman. The homely proverb covers a wholesome truth. Keep your minister’s table well provided, and you shall be fed with the finest of the wheat; see that his earthly cares do not press on him painfully, and your own hearts’ burdens will be lifted by his heavenly teachings; supply him with this world’s needful comforts, and he will not fail to bring you solace and consolation in the time of your extremity. If ’ he has sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if he shall reap your carnal things?
Sometimes, however, the churches are so poor that the members are absolutely unable to give more than the scantiest pittance to him who is over them in the Lord. How can they spare money for his maintenance when every penny they can earn is needed for the common necessities of their own households? A church composed mainly of farm-labourers, miners, colliers, fishermen, or mill-hands — and God be thanked that such churches do exist — cannot, even by united effort, so care for their minister as to place him in a position of ease and comfort They need help from outside, and this might be forthcoming if each large church would undertake the care of, at least, one small one; or if more of those who possess abundantly this world’s goods would take to heart the poverty of these poor servants of the Lord, and by judicious aid relieve them of some of these crushing burdens; or if you, dear reader, whoever you may Ten Years of my Life
be, whose eyes now read these words, and whose heart, perchance, is touched by the sorrows of these men of God, if you will do all you can to help one such poor minister before the close of another year.
Here are some sentences, from the pen of an aged pastor, which bear a sadly seasonable testimony to the truth of the painful facts I have tried to bring before my dear friends. He says (the words read as if they had been wrung from a very sore heart): “I have served three churches, one of which I was instrumental in raising from the verge of extinction to strength and influence; the second was brought into existence by my own efforts; the third was certainly strengthened in every way. I have had much affliction and many trials during the forty years of my ministerial life; have brought up six children; and my salary never reached £100 per annum; indeed, has often been very much less. Mine is no solitary case; hundreds of Baptist ministers, of unblemished reputation and devoted zeal, could tell a similar tale.”
What think you, my readers? Can the Lord feel anything but displeasure at such a state of things?
These men are His ambassadors, and He looks that they shall be treated with the respect and honour due to their position and credentials. When they send back reports to their King (and they cry day and night to Him in their grief and pain), when they tell Him of the manner of the country, and the ungenerous policy of its inhabitants, do you not think His righteous anger must be stirred against such a people? Should you wonder if He avenged His own elect, and that speedily?
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October 2. — In my contribution-list for September there stands the simple announcement, ‘‘Sale of coins, £ 1 2s. 6 d.” The few words and figures are commonplace enough, but they conceal a depth of loving meaning beneath their homely phraseology. This year, as at other seasons, I have been privileged to receive many love-tokens for the Master from tender souls, whose pity for His servants’ needs, and whole-hearted consecration of themselves to Him, constrained them to lay their “hidden treasure” at His dear feet.
In the hope that others may be induced to follow so good an example, under the influence of a like spirit of unselfish love to Christ and His cause, I transcribe the inscriptions which accompanied the gifts: —
Coins given to me by my dear parents. I have had and treasured them as long as I can remember; now I give them to the good work, praying that they may take the Word of life to some hungry soul.
Coins found in a dear one’s pocket after death. May the Lord bless the mite, and cause it to do some good to a living, longing heart! Sweet memories are awakened by these silver pieces, but they will be sweeter still when given to Jesus.
In remembrance of a dear child now at rest.
The enclosed coin has long been treasured in memory of an aged friend, but is now gladly offered up for use in the Master’s service. Will Mrs. Spurgeon accept it as a tiny offering to her Book Fund, with the best wishes of the sender, and the prayer that it may carry a blessing to some waiting one? The idea of sending this was suggested by reading page 19 of “The Book Fund Diary for 1883,” and the writer adds her testimony to those there recorded, that it is far better thus to consecrate our treasures, than to hide them selfishly away.
I have enclosed a few treasured trifles, and have been weak enough to shed tears over them in memory of past days. They have been very dear to me, so I trust they may do some good in the Lord’s work. If I only gave Him what I did not want or care for, I could not ask Him to bless and accept the gift; but these have all been tokens of love to me, and so I give them back to Him with a loving, thankful heart
Those who can u read between the lines” will find something worthy of perusal in the above paragraphs. I think it is beautiful to see these small alabaster boxes broken at the feet of Jesus, and I have no manner of doubt but that the sweet odour of such loving deeds still “fills the house v where He is, and comes up before Him with acceptance. But how little, after all — even when we have brought a choice thing — have we done for Him who died for us! Oh for more love and less selfishness! Shall we not think now what we can give Him, what we can do for Him, what we can consecrate to Him?
This month I have somewhat more to say concerning the distribution of single “Sermons,” which has become part and parcel of Book Fund work. So mighty a power for good is found in this simple and unobtrusive agency, that applications for grants are constantly on the increase. Pastors ask for two or three hundred copies of the weekly penny “Sermon,” that they may give or loan them in the villages, country towns, and cities; for they find that a well-organized scheme of house-to-house distribution of these discourses proves a great blessing to a church and people, in bringing forth the hidden ones, and in reviving spiritual life in all. The Lord gives them entrance into the hearts, as well as into the hands of the people; they are read with eagerness by persons who would not look at a “tract”; they find their way into places where a so-called “pious book” would not be tolerated.
“Spurgeon’s ‘ Sermon,’” say the rough men, “ay, let’s see what he has got to say; we’ve heard tell of him these many years”; “Spurgeon’s * Sermon,’” answer the poor weary women, “yes, you may leave that, may be I’ll look at it when I’ve time”; and when the “Floral Leaflets”* are in the distributor’s hands, the little children crowd around and beg for the pretty bright pictures of birds, and leaves, and flowers, which cover the wonderful words of life within. Like the dear Master, whose messengers they are, it may be said of them that the common people hear them gladly, and many a hard and unassailable heart has received its first blessed wounding from the silent speech of the printed word, which the Holy Spirit makes quick, and powerful, and sharper than a two-edged sword
All over England, Pastors write to me for more help in this direction, and speak most encouragingly of the results which have followed previous gifts; and I have had the joy of sending many hundreds of these soul-winners into the north and west of benighted Ireland. From Connaught there came a fervent appeal for a gift, and with many prayers I consigned a large package to the care of a
“Welcome to Jesus,” 32 Floral Tracts, by C. H. Spurgeon. Price 6d. Drummond’s Tract DepOt, Stirling, N.B. missionary who constantly travels into remote parishes where ignorance, superstition, and consequent darkness reign supreme. The “Sermons” are an immense boon,” he writes; “there is so much food and real nourishment in them that none can read without being profited; I shall gladly make the use of them which you suggest, viz., to read them first, and then lend or give them. Such literature is much needed, for a great many neglected Protestants in these districts never see anything of the kind and appear to be destitute of all religious and spiritual life.”
Think, dear reader, of the possibilities of blessing which these “Sermons” have carried into such a region, and let a cry go up from your heart to God, — “Lord turn many souls from darkness to light by the reading of the precious words which we have helped to send to poor Ireland.”
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A country pastor writes: —
I am very, very grateful to you for the parcel of Mr. Spurgeon’s
Sermons, which has reached me safely. The grant will help me in carrying on my work of tract-distribution; and nothing could be more suitable for this purpose than your husband’s “Sermons;” for we pray that they may counteract the ceremonialism which is being taught and preached in the parish-church here. I can promise you they shall be well applied.
Never, till we enter the home above, shall we know all that God hath wrought by these circulated “Sermons but almost daily so much blessed testimony to their value is received, that we are stimulated and encouraged to extend the work as far as possible. It is a “sowing beside all waters” which the Lord is sure to bless; the seed is precious, it is scattered broadcast in His name, and He will most certainly give the longed-for increase.
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There has been a sad falling off, during the last few months, of special gifts for “Sermon Distribution in Foreign Lands.” This has greatly surprised and disappointed me, for I thought and hoped that the work would take fast hold of the affections of God’s people, seeing that it promised to carry light, and life, and love to those
who are labouring in dark lands, among dead souls, with very little communion to cheer and comfort them. I expected that this new phase of my work would have had for all my friends the charm and beauty which one dear lady finds in it: “You and your Book Fund,” she says, “are on my heart day and night, especially the new branch for the dear foreign missionaries. I pray over the precious seed to. be thus sown in all lands! What sweet and blessed surprises you will have by-and-by; and not you only, but also the good friends who send means to carry on the wondrous work!”
I should have rejoiced heartily in a generous and continued appreciation of this delightful scheme; but happily the failure of special donations does not affect its prosperity; for when I undertook the service, I fully incorporated it with the Book Fund, and till death do them part they are one and indivisible. The foreign “Sermons” go out regularly every month, and the parcels of the Book Fund are despatched every fortnight; not once during the past year has this arrangement been disturbed. It may be quite possible that dear friends have intended a portion of their gifts to be devoted to this purpose without saying so; for I have had most liberal help from them, and have been constantly supplied with abundant funds for all my little plans; and if this be so, I can only very gratefully thank them, and confess that “actions speak louder than words.”
The Lord has given proof upon proof that the work is a comfort and refreshment to His exiled servants. If my readers could see the quantities of letters which have come from all parts of the world since I reported progress in February, and could read all the glad and grateful words therein contained, they would have no doubt about the importance and blessedness of this labour of love. Here is the witness of a worker for Christ far away in China. Can any one read it without rejoicing that he, and such as he, should have this crumb of comfort as regularly as the months come round. He says: —
I wish I could tell you how our souls are refreshed, as, wearied in body and mind, my wife and I sit down at the close of the day, and I read one of the “Sermons” you send us. It seems to cheer us so I We have no opportunity of hearing the Word preached in our own tongue; but the perusal of one of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” more than makes up for the loss of other privileges. Of late there has been, to my mind, a greater richness and fulness in them than ever before; in former years I have been much helped and refreshed by them; but lately I find considerably increased power and blessing. When I am enjoying them, I long to reproduce them verbatim to the Chinese Christians here, with the same power with which they speak to my own soul, and very often I read them several times that I may catch their spirit, and copy their fervour. In this heathen land we sorely need something to strengthen and stimulate our weary souls; and next to God’s own Word, Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” are the most helpful and precious.
There! if I had only received that single letter from abroad, and heard that one song of joy from a gladdened soul, I should feel inclined to believe that the Lord had given me sufficient warrant for continuing the work; but since He adds testimony to testimony, and sets so many seals to this loving little ministry, my hands and heart are strengthened in it, and I shall joyfully carry it on to the praise of His dear name, and the comfort of His banished ones.
November. — The dear invalid friend, whose quiet service of love in the distribution of “Sermons” to lighthouse-keepers was mentioned in last year’s “Diary,” still labours on with increasing delight and success. Referring to my comparatively new work in sending the “Sermons” abroad, he says: — “I feel sure that your last c Branch Business ’ has before it a fine field of great usefulness. To many a lonely and dispirited toiler in foreign lands the ‘Sermons’ will be as refreshing as was the angel’s visit to Elijah in the desert. A writer in the February number of The Congregational Magazine refers to * a man with a face as full of Christ as Spurgeon’s * Sermons ’! Surely sermons with such a character deserve to be scattered the wide world over”!
I think so too, and it has given me great joy to make another grant of a thousand copies to this good brother, who is “the Lord’s prisoner,” and cherishes and rejoices over his little service as fondly and faithfully as the Count in the dear old story tended the pretty flower “Picciola,” which sprang up between the stones in the court-yard of his prison-house,
and brought innumerable blessings to the captive. “May I tell you,” writes my friend, “what first led me to think of the lighthouse-keepers? It really originated in the Tabernacle, the birth-place of so many good works. Rallying from a dangerous illness, but with the prospect of being an invalid for life, I was reading the account of the dear President’s pastoral silver-wedding, when a remark of Dr. Stanford’s on the immense circulation of the ‘ Sermons,’ suggested to me that I, too, could do something by distributing them through the post. Having a number of unbound copies, I began to send them to invalids, and to persons prevented by duty from attending God’s house; but addresses soon failed me, and then, the case of the lighthouse-keepers, like a gleam from one of their own towers, flashed across my mind! Here lay my work; this to me was very clear, and soon all information about them, with a list of six hundred ‘Coast Lights,’ came to hand from ‘ Lighthouses and Lightships.’ Thus I was able to reach the English keepers. After a while I obtained American and Canadian lists; and last summer, through your muchappreciated kindness, all other English-speaking countries were in the same way placed within my reach.”
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How easily and happily could scores of people commence and carry on a similar work, even though it might be on a much smaller scale! Earnestly do I wish that some would be persuaded to try it! Blessing to themselves and others would most certainly be the “peaceable fruit” of such a loving and unobtrusive service. I know of one dear lady who has taken all the Fire Brigade Stations in London as her special sphere of usefulness, and to them she despatches the weekly “Sermons” as soon as published, breathing, I doubt not, earnest prayers over their pages as she folds and wraps them up, that their words may be the power of God unto salvation to those who read them. She is perfectly certain that the precious truths these “Sermons” contain will reach and change some hearts, though she may never know on earth how many souls God will give as a reward to her gentle ministry. Will there not be some more volunteers for this peaceful service?
The good friend in Russia, who first suggested to me the scheme of sending the “Sermons” to missionaries, and who, in fact, inaugurated the work by giving the first £$, has now doubled his liberal gift, and writes earnestly requesting that I will extend and increase this most useful and important agency. “Can you not prevail on the Mrs. and
Miss, of whom you speak in your Report,” he says,
“to undertake the work with you, and thus enlarge it? I long to see it increase tenfold, and do not think I am wrong in believing that no greater blessing could come to our lonely brethren in their far-off homes than a monthly packet of your husband’s ‘Sermons.’ Nay, I believe that, could they be sent to every mission-station, they would change, to a great extent, the result of missionary work.” He thinks it should be only the beginning of good things to send out six hundred and ninety-two “Sermons” every’ month, as I now do — he wants to see the number of recipients doubled, or even trebled! I fear it is not possible for me to do more than I am doing at present; but I should indeed rejoice if there could be found some whose hearts the Lord will incline to undertake a work which promises such abundant fruitfulness.
It is a great joy to know that in sending forth these “Sermons” we give the people real soul-food, — the true bread of life; no husks, no adulteration, no secret empoisonment, but the pure, simple corn of the Kingdom; words whereby they may be saved, which shall afterwards strengthen them as they grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
Here is a testimony concerning them from one who has learned their value during many years of a somewhat stormy life, and as it seems just to fit into this place I am glad to transcribe it.
Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” have been, and still are, an unspeakable blessing to me. In sorrow, in trial, in difficulty, they have given me no small comfort and strength. They have brought a heavenly
atmosphere around me, and have been to my poor dusty heart as the refreshing dew. They have laid hold of me as with hooks of steel, and have kept me from falling, and fastened me permanently to the grand old doctrines of the Puritans. They have made me gentle, hopeful, forgiving, patient. They have stirred me like a clarion-call, and rallied all my powers, and made me, like the war-horse, ready for the fight. They have opened up before me new beauty in the Word, made Christ more real and precious, filled my heart with an intense love to Him, and made me more anxious to do good to men, and glorify His holy name. When my home has been shadowed by sickness, and darkness, and death, I have taken down the volumes, and read until my heart has grown calm, and I could say, “Father, not my will, but Thine, be done.” When troubles have sprung up in the church, and my mind has been worried and baffled, I have gone to the same volumes, and have found words of wisdom, guidance, and counsel. When my soul has been cast down, when gloomy fears and dismal doubts have whirled within me, I have found in the “Sermons” some experience very like my own, and been led therefrom to the only source of solace and succour. Truly, they are to my soul “green pastures” and “still waters,” where I can always find food, comfort, quietness, and rest.
Dear friends, the Lord does constantly, and not in rare instances merely, graciously cause His Spirit’s power to rest on the printed discourses of His servant. Are you not therefore glad and thankful that you, by your kind help to the Book Fund, have enabled me this year to send out nearly twelve thousand copies of these messengers of mercy?
There has been this year a curious indication of the nonsectarian character of Book Fund work. I have received and granted applications from a Quaker, a Waldensian, an Irvingite, three Moravians, and a Unitarian! This latter says, “Shall I be taking the bread from the children if I ask for a grant?” I thought not; indeed I felt drawn to give him a good portion of savoury meat, fearing that his soul must be well-nigh famished upon “strange doctrine,” and praying that beyond his own desire and intent the living water might filter into his soul. He sends me a declaration of the principles of Unitarians, a document which causes me much distress, because it shows that some people manage to leave out of religion that which seems to me to be the very life and joy of it; but as he is also so candid as to say that he reads Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” with pleasure, I cannot but hope that my husband’s declaration may help to amend the present sentiments of this friendly correspondent God grant it may be so 1
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December v — “My Sea-bird” has flown. My son’s bright visit is ended. Laden with loving gifts, satisfied with favour, crowned with success in his enterprise, and followed by the fervent prayers of all who know and love him, he has gone to the land of his adoption, and if the Lord will spare his life, we look forward to a grand future of usefulness for him in Auckland. I am “sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing.” He is so precious that to lose him must needs be a bitterness, yet because he is so precious, the sorrow is almost turned into joy. “Therefore also I have lent him to the Lord; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord.”
Happy mother! whose two beloved sons count it their highest honour to “spend and be spent” in the service of their father’s God!
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This last month’s record ought to be nothing less than a jubilant psalm of thanksgiving right through all its days. There is so much to be grateful for; so much more blessing than I can ever remember or recall, so much mercy past, present, and to come; such tender guidance, such plentiful provision, such daily loadings with benefits, such manifold lovingkindnesses, such gracious dealings of my God; that it would need a seraph’s tongue to tell out the blessed story in all its charming detail. Would that I could write in these pages some golden words of grateful love, which should shine forth to the praise of Him who hath done marvellous things for me, whereof I am glad!
“Ah! that’s very fine,” says one, “it’s easy enough to sing when all goes well with you; would you have been as ready to shout for joy if the Book Fund had been a failure?”
Dear friends, I do not know what I should have done if God had not blessed my work, or, after having blessed it, had withdrawn his favour from it. But such a calamity has not befallen me, and it surely is not worth while to contemplate
troubles which the Lord never sent, or to speculate upon our behaviour under trials which He has not allowed to come near to us! Blessed be His name! I have to sing, not of “mercy and judgment,” but of mercy absolute and regnant, of grace the sweetest and tenderest, of care and love the most faithful and Divine. And though the song be sung by feeble lips, it is a glad and willing service. Did you ever think how the instruments of music have to suffer violence while the harmony is forced out of them? See how that man’s brawny arm belabours the big drum, while its notes roll like thunder through the air! Look, with what a strong, nervous hand the strings of that harp are crashed and twanged, before the liquid music is set free from its reluctant veins 1 Note how, even on the delicate viol, the bow seems sometimes to inflict a long-drawn agony, while it fetches forth a “concord of sweet sounds”! They have all more or less to be struck, and beaten, and buffeted, before they can yield up the imprisoned minstrelsy.
Not thus would I desire to utter the praises of my heart, though it is better that we should be made to sing by suffering than be left for ever silent. I would pray that my gratitude might be like the music of an Eolian harp among the trees of the garden in the soft summer-time, when every passing breeze kisses its tuneful strings into entrancing melody; and the softest sighing of the zephyr awakens answering echoes from within. I would have my waiting, thankful soul respond to every breath of God’s daily favour with a tender song, and throb with instant recognition of all His gracious influences and dealings.
Thus would I have it, I have said; but alas! how often “to will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I find not”; my insensible heart has sometimes to be struck by the rare magnitude of a mercy before it gives forth the sweet peal of soul-music which should be for ever ringing through my life. My thankfulness should flow out like the first red juice which quits the grape as soon as the clusters are touched by the foot of the treader; yet, I sometimes fear my praises are like the thick, clogged liquid which is tardily extracted with long and weary labour from the dregs of the wine-press.
But take courage, my heart! this time there may be some precious drops of choicest vintage to offer thy gracious Lord, some low soft notes of grateful love which shall reach His listening ear. “Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.”
“Not for the lip of praise alone,
Nor even the praising heart,
I ask, but for a life made up
Of praise in every part.”
If I did not try to bless the name of the Lord for all the goodness and mercy which have followed me throughout another year, I think the very ledgers, and day-books, and cash-books, which are in constant use in my work, would rise up from their places, and bear swift witness against me. What a tale they tell! What lists of love, what manifold mercies are here inscribed! Take up the day-book in which the names of the Pastors are entered as soon as their applications have been accepted. See how column follows column as regularly as the weeks come round, and bless God on my behalf, as you note that I have been enabled to carry on the work without a miss or a break. Reflect for a moment on the labour involved in the constant correspondence, the selection of books, the management of the work in detail, and the sending out of some thousands of books during the year. Shall I not praise my God for strength given in weakness, and for the grace which has kept me steadfast in purpose and practice? It is all of Him, from first to last, and I have been but the willing channel through which His benefits have flowed down to His servants.
Now look into the cash-books, and see in their well-filled pages another definite and delightful proof of the Lord’s tender love and provident care. Has he not satisfied me with good things? Has he not fulfilled all my desire? Not once have I had an anxious thought concerning money, so abundantly has he supplied all my needs. My books praise Him on every page, they are written evidences of His faithfulness and grace, and methinks they would indeed cry
out against me if I failed to confirm them with the better testimony of a living, loving heart and voice. Even so, I do, most kind and gracious Lord: “While I live will I praise the Lord: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.”
The poor Pastors, who have been helped during the year, rejoice to join me in blessing God and thanking the dear friends for all the solace, comfort, and mental refreshment which the Book Fund brings to their hearts and homes. Their grateful letters are a constant joy to me, believing, as I do, that their abundant thanksgiving will redound to the glory of God.
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THE PASTORS’ AID FUND
has shared in the general prosperity of the whole work, and its loving gifts have carried life and light into many dark places. Should I reveal the secrets of this part of my service, my readers would both weep and smile; for I could tell them of sorrows which would make rivers of water run down their eyes, and then I should quickly wipe them all away by recounting the happy sequel of wants relieved, and burdens removed, and heavy hearts made glad again, by the timely help this Fund has rendered.
May the Lord remember with His choicest mercy the dear friends who, year after year, give me this precious privilege of ministering to the necessities of the saints, and brightening the lives ot hard-working Pastors, by a judicious gift in a time of need! Unfortunately, such times are the rule, and not the exception, in the history of too many of our village ministers; and to help these weary ones, and bring a song to lips that are accustomed to sighing, is a service in which an angel might ask to be employed.
I have this year distributed £ 330 17s. 6d. among poor Pastors, and I believe no money was ever more urgently needed, or more worthily bestowed.
* * * A great many parcels of clothing have also gone out from “Westwood” to needy households; for some friends prefer to send these gifts to me, though our noble society at the Tabernacle, with dear Mrs. Evans as its manager, can really attend to this matter far better than I can. Yet to those who will choose me as their almoner, I give hearty thanks for their kindness, and promise to distribute any future gifts with pleasure, provided only that the clothing sent be in good condition, and suitable for the persons for whom it is intended. 1 have very thankfully received several parcels of gentlemens clothing this year; these are specially prized, as a suit for a poor pastor is a very heavy item of expense to him. If friends would remember this need when looking over drawers and wardrobes, and would send the spoils thereof to Mrs. Evans, Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington, S.E., they would be bestowing a very great boon on my poor Pastors, and greatly increase my debt of gratitude.
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The supply of writing-paper and envelopes for poor ministers, so constantly furnished for many years by a dear and faithful friend, has been as abundant and liberal as heretofore. This means that not only have I had enough for the needs of my poor friends, but that I have been obliged sometimes to stay my benefactor’s hand, having no more room in which to store his overflowing munificence. a Must I pull down my bams, and build greater?” is my cry when the huge cases of stationery come in, and one wonders how to dispose of the riches of liberality which seem ever on the increase. Still, vast as are the supplies, we manage happily to distribute them, and the gifts are always a great boon to the poorly-paid minister, who is compelled to use much writing material in his work, yet knows not how to spare the money to purchase it Whenever I receive an application for books, written on paper that looks as if it had been made of water-gruel, I at once make the mystic endorsement in the comer of the sheet which instructs my “packer” to “put in this parcel a plentiful supply of stationery.” Sometimes the surprise is great to a poor pastor when he finds himself thus unexpectedly
stocked with supplies so useful and desirable, and it is with much astonishment that he lifts out the neatly-wrapped parcels of paper and envelopes which rest so snugly among the precious books. But lately there has been, I think, almost as much anticipation as amazement in the matter, for my friend’s kindness is of so many years’ continuance that the Pastors now often ask that a gift of writing-paper may accompany another grant of books, reporting so much comfort and help from the last bestowment that they feel emboldened to seek a repetition of the favour. My dear friend will, I hope, take this fact as a grateful acknowledgment of his liberality and a graceful compliment to his generosity, from those who thus joyfully accept it, while I can do no less than thank my God upon every remembrance* of him.
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The monthly gift of The Sword and the Trowel magazine to some of the very poorest of the Lord’s servants is still continued, and it never fails to meet with a cordial reception. “It is a monthly treasure,” says one; “its variety and vitality increase with its years, and we all look forward to its coming, sure of some cheering news, or inspiring theme, or richly-suggestive article.” “I need hardly say how warmly we welcome it,” writes another country Pastor. “My dear wife and family rejoice in it as much as I do myself; and for the comfort and refreshment it has brought us for so long a time I desire most sincerely to thank you.”
“I am very grateful to you for sending me the magazine for so many years,” says one who has little earthly help and comfort; “I do hope you will try and send it again next year, for I need it quite as badly as ever I did, and I prize it very much.” These poor ministers could ill afford even the very small amount this periodical costs, and therefore I am glad to give them the pleasure of receiving it freely; but I do not supply it gratis to others, who should, I think, be able to spare threepence a month to secure so helpful a paper.
CONCLUSION.
I have been urged by some friends to gather into one volume all the records of Book Fund work, beginning with the “Letters to my friends” which appeared in The Sword and the Trowel as early as 1876. A warm-hearted friend writes, “Your Reports are my yearly feasts. Do reprint them from the commencement. They ought to be brought out in one volume; for the account of the beginning of such a work is always very helpful and stimulating, and later readers lose that sweet early story. It ought to go over the world in a form that can be kept, and again I beg for a reprint”
There are also frequent applications for the earlier “Diaries” from persons who are able only to secure the latest published copy, yet long to see how the work gathered and grew in the days gone by; and one of these friends, kindly wishful to encourage me in my labour, tells how she sent a copy to a lady accustomed to read little else but novels, and how her heart rejoiced when she received the following message: — “When I took up the little book you gave me, I thought it would be as dry as Reports generally are; but I could not put it down until I had read it right through, I was so thoroughly interested, aroused, and surprised!”
I can truly say that I, too, am surprised; but it is with a great joy, when the Lord gives any power and blessing to this simple tale; and if it be His pleasure that I should publish the story of His great goodness during ten years of my life and the Book Fund’s, I am delightedly willing to obey. I desire that this intimation of my friend’s proposal should call forth an expression of opinion from all my dear readers on the subject; and this will, in great measure, help me to decide the question. “Vox populi vox Dei,” is not always true; but in this case I think I may take the judgment of very many friends as an indication of what the will of the Lord is.
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Now go, little book, and do thy best to tell how good my gracious God has been to me during the past twelve months. Thou mayest freely make thy boast in the Lord; for thou Tin Years of my Life.
hast nought to do but to praise and exalt and glorify His dear name. Yet thy sweetest words must fail to show forth His tenderness; thy loudest praises will but whisper of His grace; thy most glowing gratitude will never reach beyond a feeble recognition of His faithfulness; — but go, and God be with thee; for I send thee forth with earnest prayer that in some way or other, as aforetime, thou mayest be so blessed of Him as to refresh His saints, and strengthen the faith of His servants, and find grace in the eyes of His people, and then humbly lay thy loving tribute of praise and adoration at His feet
Yet once again let the heavenly wind sweep across the harp-strings, and stir the solemn music of my soul. “Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.”
* * * *
u 8Hje iLorli fe mg atongftj a nfc mg afjulfc; mg jjeart truateto in flftm, anti I am ijelprtj: therefore mg ijeart greatlgtejotcet|j; anti fcritfj mg wmg fotll I pratae Jfrim.”
* * * *
What aileth thee, O my soul? The notes of thy thanksgiving are trembling on thy lips; thy psalm of praise is dying away in faintest cadences! Hath the Lord laid His hand upon thy heart-strings, and hushed their music by an overwhelming sense of His goodness? Doth the weight of His mercy so oppress thee that the sound of thy song is stilled to mortal ears, and is audible only to Him?
SUMMARY OF WORK.
Books Distributed during the Year 1884 9,149 Volumes.
Also 11,981 single Sermons for giving away. The recipients comprised 243 Baptists, 158 Independents, 318 Methodists, 172 Church of England clergymen, 16 Presbyterians, 24 Missionaries, 73 Evangelists, I Quaker, 1 Unitarian, 1 Waldensian, 3 Moravians, and 1 Irvingite. — Total, 1,01 1.