Last Wednesday night it was “tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching.” Last night it was “swish, swish, swish, the girls are marching.” All kinds of girls, some as old as 82 and some as young as 7, fat girls slim girls, pretty girls, homely girls, mothers, wives, sweethearts, engaged girls, unengaged girls, talking girls, silent girls, tall girls short girls; well, about every kind of girl in the world, 875 of them by actual count, kept step, at least some of them did, to the band, as they marched from the court house to the tent for the glory of God, and to hold before the people the flaming cross of Christ Jesus.
Just at twilight the women gathered along the streets about the court house to take part in the parage. Mr. Ramsay called them together and started the favorite song of the revival, “Oh What Ill It Be To Be There” with Miss Fannie Edwards singing the obligate part. The song rose clear and sweet above the noise of the passing automobiles, and as it was finished the parade began to form.
14 Cars Full, Too
Fourteen cars loaded to the gunwale with old ladies, and some young ones, headed the parade. Just as the red haired girl led the followers of Ham into Fremont amid the cloud of dust, the same red-haired girl (she says she is browned-haired), led the women from the court house to the test amid uch changing of gears.
The 14 cars crept along through the main streets of town and the band followed blazing away on march tunes. Just behind the band came the little girls. A whole bevy of them dressed in all kinds of dresses and making the greatest medley of color and chatter that has been heard in months.
Then came the women marching four abreast. Two young sprouts stood up in front of a drug store and watched for several minutes and finally gave it up and resuming his seat in the window, one of them sighed “I didn’t know that there were that many women in Goldsboro.” And no doubt he was right about it.
Preacher, Reporter and Cop Count
Preacher Butler counted 875 in the parade. The newspaper reporter counted 803, and the policeman counted 843. The women claimed over a thousand. They marched steadily, the line stretching over four blocks, until they reached the entrance to the tent and then came the surprise of the parade. The men, members of the Laymen’s Federation and others, were lined up from the gates clear to the tent and the women passed between the two lines of men, which were standing silently with head uncovered. Finally a woman came along and, woman like, had to twit the men about having so many more than they did. She remarked something about it to her husband, who replied in like manner. The women undoubtedly had more in line than the men did. They had just about twice as many, but the men put one over when they stood in line to receive them at the tent. There are more women in the world than there are men anyway. Mr. Ramsay, when he saw the men’s parade was such a success, suggested a parade for the women, and the women saw the wisdom of the words “Go and do thou likewise,” only they did it a little more so, which is a characteristic of women, and the great demonstration last night was the result.
The women marched into the tent, some scattering to the choir and the rest taking their seats in the main body of the tabernacle, and thus ended the parade, except for the compliments of the singer and the preacher, and the general feeling of satisfaction on the part of the women of something well done. “what odes it all mean,” Mr. Ham exclaimed. “Nothing in this world but Jesus Christ. Only the love for Christ could move women to parage in such a militant display and demonstration.”
There is no poetry in the Bible that is any better than that written by Isaiah. And there is no part of Isaiah that is more beautiful and more comforting than the exquisite line “Like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” That line, written these thousands of years ago by hat Hebrew poet and prophet, formed the foundation for the most tender and most appealing sermon Mr. Ham has preached so far.
“I remember crossing the late from one small town to Pentwater on a small steamer owned by a furniture company. It was on an afternoon when the storm signals had been displayed and the water was rough. The little boat was tossed and thrown from side to side until the passengers thought the end had come. Finally, we made Penwater Harbor. What a sweet refuge were the waters of the little harbor that night when we rounded the point of land and struck the quiet water and saw the land we had never expected to see again.
Christ the Harbor
Just as that body of water was a sure and needed harbor for that storm-tossed little ship, so Jesus Christ has been the harbor for countless souls that are storm-tossed and hard driven on the sea of life. He is the great harbor we seek when the storms of trouble beat down upon us and he is the harbor of refuge when the winds of tribulation and sorrow blow hard and hot upon our souls.
There will come a day when you will need a refuge. The storms of sorrow, of grief, of disgrace are likely to sweep down upon you at most any time. When a loved one dies the only consolation we can find in the world is in Jesus Christ and the promise He holds out for us and the hope we have of heaven through him. I know a man who had lost all he had in the financial world, and going into his room he blew out his brains. Had he known Jesus and taken refuge in the sweet and cool waters of the hope Christ holds out, the tragedy would have been averted. You never know when the test is coming. It may come into your home tonight. The storms of disgrace and sorrow sweep into your life at some time or the other and the only refuge you have from them is in Jesus.
. . . .
From the front page of the Goldsboro News, July 6, 1922
No comments:
Post a Comment