isa-normaladvance-1914-00081

Description:	THE NORMAL ADVANCE81Cxcijange ColumnThe M. H. Aerolith of Mission House Col¬ lege, Wisconsin, is one of our promptest and most regular exchanges. It is to be compli¬ mented on the value of its editorials, both as to the thought expressed and as to the literary style. We take the liberty of quoting from one or two of the best.It is no rare occurrence for a person to sit spell-bound in a vast auditorium where thou¬ sands have gathered to listen to the voice of only one, or to hear the strains of music, either vocal or instrumental by one or many, or to wit¬ ness the reproduction of some great drama. Most of us are also spell-bound in an ordinary circus. But have you ever been spell-bound when alone in the autumn woods ? He who has never taken a solitary stroll through the autumn woods has not yet fully found his soul. Or do you merely struggle on through the woods with¬ out seeing, listening or thinking? The holy stillness that enshrouds you, telling of blithe spirits departed to another world, is broken now and then only by the sad notes of some lone feathered chorister, or by the rustling of withered leaves, and you feel again that the groves were Gods first temples. In vain you search for the flowers which but yesterday smiled heavenward with hopeful gaze, for, in the twinkling of an eye the brightness of their smile is gone from upland, glade and glen. There you stand spell-bound! You ask what does all this mean? What is it to me? A poet says, Our life is but the falling of a leaf, a dropping tear, and the Bible says, All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. What? Shall I perish as the flowers and be no more? What with my soul? Is there no hope?Thus your thoughts may run and if you have a soul, you will become better acquainted with it by worshipping in Gods first temples.Nowadays we hear so much of famous and great. Famous books, famous men, great newspapers, a great time, yea even great suffra¬ gettes. And after all we are led to inquire much as little Peterkin did in Southeys poem, The Battle of Blenheim. Old grandfather Kaspar had told the little fellow the story of the famous battle between the French and the English, had pictured the awful slaughter of thousands and then closed by saying: And everybody praised the Duke, Who such a fight did win.Little Peterkin, prompted by his simple child¬ like logic, asks, But what good came of it at last? This was a nut old grandfather couldnt crack.Why, that I cannot tell, said he, But twas a famous victory.When we hear of all that is called great in our day we, too, would ask, What good conies of it at last? Too often only old Kaspars words must be our only comfort, Cannot tell— but—famous—great!Really, mens ideal of greatness is of times only that of a refined sort of notoriety. Men make their mark, but, What good comes of it at last? There is a nobler greatness that tells not only for time, but for eternity a greatness not in the sight of man, but in the sight of God. Wo are thinking of a humble and though ob¬ scure, yet truly great divine in Scotland. Al¬ though he died when only twenty-nine he gave his all to be spent in the winning of souls he became great in truth, because he never sought to be.Out of his great, generous soul-loving heart he issued forth this crisp advice, in writing to a student: Do get on with your studies. Re¬ member you are now forming the character of your future ministry, if God spare you. If you acquire slovenly or sleepy habits of study
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/32525
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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