USA > Maine > Cumberland County > Portland > The semi-centennial anniversary of the Free Street Baptist Church, Portland, Me. September 26-27, 1886 > Part 4
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reach the end of life; they will go with us even down to the last hour.
I believe that in the great moral storms of life no ship ever went down that did not have a leak in it. Only when Christ Himself is held up as being the one at the helm, our guide, our help and support, shall we be able to weather the storm.
I think we need to press the Sunday-school to do still more, because of that never-ending influence that is to go forth from it, because we are working not for time but for eternity, not for fifty nor one hundred years, but for the centuries, aye, the eternities, that are to come. We need not be discouraged in the work which God has given us to do. We never had greater promise of suc- cess, we never had greater incentives to go forward, than we have today. The past is but one great inspiration to you, dear friends, to toil more faithfully and more zealously in the years that are before you; and remember that you toil not alone; that there is one who is toiling with you to give success to the words you utter, and the work you do.
There is a legend that has come to us of an English church. It was at the time when England was under the control of the Roman Catholic faith. The monks were about to build a sanctu- ary; they themselves were the laborers; they toiled on day after day, gathering the timber and stones, and placing one upon the other, until one day an unknown monk came among them, and unasked, began to lend his aid. When they retired for their refreshment he toiled on. When evening came and they retired for rest, he toiled on. By and by they had carefully measured, as they supposed, a timber which was to fill a very important place, and after great exertion they lifted it into its place, and found that they had mistaken the measurement, that it was too short, and would not answer the purpose. The shades of night had fallen upon them, and they went wearily and sadly to their rest. In the morning, when they returned, they found that the beam had been lengthened and put in position, but the monk had disappeared. Then it flashed upon them at once that this monk
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was the Lord Jesus in disguise; that it was He who had length- ened the beam, and lifted it to its place in the structure. The church was called Christ Church. It is only a legend, but the truth is ours. Jesus, our crucified, exalted Christ, is laboring with us, in truth and reality, and when we eat and when we sleep, He toils on. He is never weary, and does not rest. But He, the great Architect and Master Builder, is working with us in all the spiritual work we undertake.
Dear friends, these autumn leaves here tonight, even though they were clothed with a hundred-fold more glory than nature has given them, are not the symbols of your work; they may repre- sent that which is mortal; they may bring before you the vision of glorified ones, and of vanished forms who have gone to their long homes; but after all they are decaying emblems. Your work is represented rather by the evergreen of immortality, for your work can never die. The record of this school, as made under God by the faithfulness of its officers and by the faithful- ness of its teachers, will live and live and live, when we, who are here in this sanctuary, made beautiful on this fiftieth anniver- sary, shall have fallen asleep, and have gone to our rest and to our reward. May God bless this dear old school. May God make it a mightier power for good in the half-century to come than it has been in the half-century that has now closed. And may He whose presence is prosperity and success, ever abide with you in your work.
ORIGINAL CLOSING HYMN.
BY MISS HARRIET LYNCH, Air - BERA. (Baptist Hymnal, No. 368.) Praise, praise to God, our Father and our Lord, Forevermore be his dear name adored. He's kept us by his loving power Through storm and sunshine, till this hour.
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Praises to Christ, who God's great love to show,
From his bright home, came to this world below; Who came to suffer, came to die,
But who now lives and reigns on high.
Then let us all give thanks and sing, Till with our praise heaven's highest arches ring; To God the Father, Christ the Son, The Holy Spirit, three in one.
BENEDICTION by the Pastor.
MONDAY MORNING.
The house of worship was opened for an informal reunion, where warm greetings were exchanged, and many pleasant and sacred memories were revived.
MONDAY AFTERNOON.
At half-past two the congregation reassembled, includ- ing representatives from various churches of the city, and the session was devoted to reminiscences. Under the leadership of Judge Percival Bonney, who occupied the chair, after the organ voluntary the exercises were as follows : -
The choir sung from the Handel and Haydn collection " Praise God from whom all blessings flow."
Prayer of invocation was then offered by the pastor.
The President made a few felicitous remarks, and then presented Geo. F. Emery as the poet for the occasion.
Before reading, Mr. Emery desired it to be remembered that a historic occasion properly confined him to facts, which afford little place for the imagination. It should also be borne in mind,
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especially by strangers, that his effort was designed for scattered members of a family gathered once more around the old hearth- stone, and to them alone he felt amenable to criticism. It may be also parenthetically observed, that its plan did not admit of condensation, and his reluctance to have it published has been overborne with a view to completeness of the record.
REMINISCENCES BY GEO. F. EMERY.
As, basking under some ancestral tree, The filial child in fancy seems to see A manly form with shining spade in hand, On some choice spot of precious fatherland, Adjusting roots down in a genial soil To furnish shade for future sons of toil, We tread again the ground our fathers trod, Led hither gently by the providence of God - We toilers still - they in the distance seen, But parted only by a veil between.
Old father Time has rested on his wing T' observe the tributes which today we bring, Not faded by the suns of fifty years, Nor moistened greatly by the flow of tears, But garlands, rather, for victorious brow, Which in the soil of grateful homage grow. If backward then we turn our willing feet To early scenes around our church Free Street, 'T is well to note, that infant weakness then Inspired the faith and zeal of godly men.
All structures grand and strong, in church or state, All enterprises worthy to be ranked as great, From small beginnings seem to slowly rise, As upward tower they to benignant skies - E'en so the kingdom bound to compass earth Seemed weak and hopeless at its lowly birth -
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Its germ, however, could not be confined, Because conceived by heaven's creative mind; Nor can we doubt that heaven's benignant ray Smiled on the labors of our church birthday.
But, though no feuds today are found extant, Ours, truly, has been a church militant. And since the office of historic pen Embraces largely wars of giant men, T' avoid allusion to those here fought out Would seem like Hamlet with his name left out.
At first here counsels were a trifle rent Upon the question where to pitch the tent. Some could not deem that consecrated ground Whereon a play-house in full blast was found. " But," said the deacons, " we the scheme have scanned, And, after praying, have, we think, well planned T' exchange for house of midnight mirth and play A temple where the saints can praise and pray." The deacons ruled. The players, in a lurch, Soon lost their all, and Free Street gained a church. Nor did the saints think anywise unfit A place for prayer down in the former "pit."
But odd it was, at least it now seems so, To see the women sitting in a row; Ranged by themselves the men were forced to keep, And so exposed no drowser dared to sleep. For many years this custom was maintained, How came a change remains to be explained.
As years rolled on, the thought to some occurred, Whereat the fathers were quite sorely stirred; The time had come to leave the play-house pit, And have a vestry more for comfort fit, One more attractive, pleasant to the eye,
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With power to draw the careless passer-by. In every part the house seemed too antique, And rather shabby, so to gently speak. This call for change found little favor then Among the old, the stalwart, moneyed men, Who early had the burdens mostly borne When parish prospects seemed almost forlorn.
But younger blood they hardly could restrain To let the old, as planned by them, remain. So, leading off, at first, a doubtful case, The young pushed on until they won the race. As fortune had it, ranged upon their side, Was Pastor Bosworth, and our wives beside. When such insist, they're bound to have their say, And when they pushed all obstacles gave way. But, to their praise, when all was neatly done, And young America the race had won, The fathers yielded their well-cherished view,. And opened wide their well-filled purses too.
Then, for some time, the parish had a rest, Until progressives seemed to think it best To send the organ, old and husky quite, Although in form still comely and upright, Where, in the country, it could end its days In helping rural brethren lift to God their praise.
Accordingly, they pushed and strained again, Flanked by our women and the younger men, And bought a new one, which is seen today, And which sounds sweetly as one skilled doth play. But, strange to tell, while hoping soon to hear Harmonious sounds break only on the ear, Discordant strains all were compelled to note Until well silenced by a major vote.
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Where should the new and quite fastidious guest When first appearing, find its place of rest ? This was a problem which, as well it might, Raised quite a storm o'er which side had the right. " Upstairs," said some, " the organ should be placed, Not by the congregation to be faced." But " No," was heard, " our pastor leads this flock, A choir far distant devotees can shock By laughing, sleeping, eating if it please, And worship hinder - patience also tease."
(Doth any critic breathe a gentle sigh O'er such attempt at classic poetry ? The point's well taken, but withal forsooth Historic pens are bound to tell the truth), To make the change required a new recess, And, consequently, to at once assess Unwilling pockets to defray the bill - A thing not easy when against the will. The contest waged quite warmly for a time, But how it closed need not be told in rhyme. The organ came; it you can hear and see In the right place, as all today agree.
Rest came once more, but who of us can tell The time for meeting without parish bell ? ' In olden time men came by call of drum, But that was when e'en deacons drank their rum; So in the line of progress o'er the past 'T was thought a bell for Free Street should be cast. But this last move was free from storm and strife Which even here have sometimes been quite rife. And well it might be, for on one glad day Came to the front our Shurtleff Ambrose K., Though back of him was woman seen again - Say what we may, our women rule the men.
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Much strife o'er pastors we have never had, A cause for thanks, and full of mem'ries glad. If differed have we as to who was best, The major rule has been our only test; And when a case has ever come about Involving choice, that settled every doubt.
We think the record of our pastors too Brings out quite clearly to the common view Their recognition of a favored lot For those who 've led our worship on this spot. Some who have left us (welcome such today), With pleasure home have traced their willing way To join with us in heart and song again, And for success of Free Street shout " Amen."
In discipline we 've had but little strife, Though now and then bad rumors have been rife Concerning some who 've wandered from the way, And who from duty were perhaps astray - It may be, we, in this, have been relax. But " Elder Hooper " said, " Beware of your attacks," When once a brother to him made complaint Against one ranked, but not in fact a saint, " For," said the Elder, " if you once begin To unchurch members for a trifling sin, And thorough work make of it, as must be, None will be left within my fold, you see." Perhaps from him our pastors took their cue, And happily for me, perhaps for you - However that - this source of frequent strife Has ne'er disturbed the peace of our church life.
In point of doctrine we have liberal been, Although some think but bigots here are seen. The world has yet to learn, at least to see,
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Here is a field of largest liberty; The right for each to think and judge forsooth Is freely left to settle what is truth. Of course the Bible is our only guide, Though truth from science we all hail beside. Rules apostolic we observe with care, By Baptists all deemed not a light affair, But, strange to say, in one we are remiss, " Greet all the brethren with an holy kiss." Whose fault it is, will some D. D. explain ? The rule itself appears to be quite plain.
In all church work, with pleasure we confess, To woman largely do we owe success. In days of weakness, as has e'er been wont, Her care and skill were promptly at the front. From clothing sold, but by her hand well made, Was Pastor Lincoln's service in part paid. Lamps for the church, and carpets for its floor, She well provided, and with liberal store. Her nimble fingers sewing then were seen (This ante-dated hum of the machine), Nor mission field did she at all o'erlook - Her cue was taken from the Holy Book. At first the " Circle " was, of course, a sphere, And this its records also make quite clear. From house to house the women went to sew, That's what they did, perhaps some need to know. But after tea the men were asked to come To mainly see the workers safely home. In course of time a change was brought about; The " Circle " moved and largely widened out. The little vestry, when well fitted up, Invited all to freely come and sup.
'T was seen important on the social side
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To form new friendships that would long abide. This well enlisted both the old and young For pleasant chat, and songs were sweetly sung.
When war came on all eyes were promptly turned To wants of soldiers who had glory earned. For weeks and months with quick and willing feet, The noble women of our loved Free Street Were hastening forward, almost past belief, All sorts of stores, for prompt and glad relief. Still later on young people were inclined To have amusements, though, of course, refined, To give a zest and spur to social life - And now and then a shy one found a wife.
Today, perhaps, the most important phase For which our women merit special praise, And " willing workers " of a tender age, Devote their powers, in active work engage, Is that of missions in far distant lands, Enlisting zeal, and many nimble hands, Yet not forgetting wants wide-felt at home, As south or west the eye may chance to roam. But time moves on, we must not linger here; Turn now a moment to another sphere.
The Sunday-school demands a special place In recollection, as the past we trace. From first to last its power for vital good Has never failed to be well understood. By natural order young and tender mind Toward Christ and heaven is easier inclined Than adult age, or those of hoary head, Who hardly feel that they need to be led. So, even skeptics have not failed to see 4
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For church the school is now the nursery. Ours, while so planned, and from its birth so found, Has always held somewhat a loftier ground. The new-born soul, of course, must needs be fed, But this is true of every white-haired head.
In beauteous garden, clad in living green, Beside the flowers, is often to be seen A tall, majestic, widely-branching tree, Inviting bird, perchance the honey bee, Which draws its life from soil and sun and light, As does the floweret which confers delight.
If from the acorn in a course of years The oak majestic in due time appears, There needs must be kind nature's liberal hand To nourish each, and inner life expand. So, in our garden, graced with beauteous flowers, Are found all sorts, of divers age and powers, Each taking root beneath the self-same sod, All looking upward toward their Father, God. Our fond affections largely center there Where faithful ones exert their constant care To make it what it was designed to be For heaven itself a fruitful nursery.
Our stated meetings held for praise and prayer Have, as a rule, received quite general care. An apostolic body this has been, As, by reflection, easily is seen. For " divers gifts " have here been oft employed, And thus variety have we all enjoyed. If differed have we on affairs of state, We've not allowed our love to here abate For Christian brethren of a common fold, Nor faults of each in public to be told. When we 've approached the " throne of heavenly grace "
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To seek new strength to run the Christian race, Affairs of state we've left at home, outside, However fixed our principles abide.
How can true saints, who oft delight to sing " We are the subjects of a heavenly king," Allow their feelings to reach fever heat, As to which party shall the other beat ? In this one thing we cordially agree,
For each and all here dwells soul liberty. We count these meetings of superior mold For growth and training of both young and old. This, too, has been the consecrated ground Where many first their loving Saviour found. Notes of rejoicing oft we've loved to raise; What more inspiring than our songs of praise ? Here, too, the tender, sympathizing tear Has oft been shed, as unrelenting bier Has borne some loved one to his place of rest, Although assured, our Father knows what 's best. " A fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind," Where that abounds strife will be left behind.
Thus round our Zion have we walked about, Her towers told, her bulwarks pointed out.
But " Where your garlands," do I hear it said. "To adorn the graves of all our sainted dead ? " Where should they be but treasured in our hearts, Whose mementos outlive the plastic arts.
As decades five church labors here now crown. But pastors two their armor have laid down, A fact, for us to gratefully express To Him from whom proceeds all blessedness.
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Some here recall our pastor pioneer, Whom while he served, the church held very dear, The gifted Lincoln, eloquent of tongue, And who with them sweet hymnals often sung. A smile of cheer beamed radiant o'er his face, As he set forth the doctrine of free grace. His memory still is sacred, constant, sweet, To those who with him worshiped in Free Street.
Devoted Eaton, long this precious fold Led by example, and with spirit bold Proclaimed the truth with zeal and special force, Until disease cut short his useful course. Fond memories cluster round his name - all say " He faithful was, and nobly served his day."
But garlands green there are for other brows, For pastors living, as the record shows; The stirring Colby, armed for manly fight, Exhorted all to keep their armor bright; As on he led 't was safe to follow him, Nor of his virtues is our memory dim. In point of order he took Lincoln's place, And though quite brief his was an active race.
With viands rich soon Bosworth spread our feast, Though he, at first, deemed Free Street far " down East." But led at last, as wise men were of old By eastern star, he ministered to this fold. The work he did for ten long pleasant years, Might, were he absent, well call forth our cheers.
Next in our pulpit Stockbridge soon was seen, Whose ornate sermons, and whose graceful mien Impressed us all, especially the young.
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He lifted thought to heaven when we sung, And to the souls bowed down with anxious grief Brought words of comfort charged with quick relief.
Then came our Small, misnamed as seemed the case, To lead the stalwart in successful race, Who, warm with zeal, in gospel armor clad, Fought for the truth, and saintly hearts made glad. For many years he fully filled his place, Until Fall River had for him a race. He ran it well; but Portland said, " Come home." Near home he is, no more, we trust, to roam.
Mc Whinnie next with promptness came to front, As when in battle he was always wont. Here he remained till spirited away By desperate people needing him to pray! While serving us, as pastor, preacher, friend, Were friendships form'd which time can never end. He made a record for himself and all, They can't withdraw who gave him his last call.
Months then fled by, indeed a year or more, To give full scope the wide, wide world to explore, To find a pastor worthy of his place, With mind well cultured, heart refined by grace, And well adapted to guard well the fold, And who, soon gained, its confidence could liold. Eye scanned all fields beneath a smiling sun, And when it rested, then, of course, came Dunn.
The sermon last was always called the best By one of Free Street's saints now gone to rest; So as to pastors we the last prefer, Nor can this envy, nor the blood much stir, Since former pastors cannot jealous be, For so it was just so with them, they see.
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Did time permit, with roll of church in hand, To mention missed ones from this Christian band Would be an office gratefully pursued,
Whose names for tributes I might well include.
If e'er the sainted do return again To observe the scenes transpiring among men, What an array of worthies hither come To pay a visit to their old church home! In fancy we can almost see them here To greet us warmly, and to bring good cheer, And whispering, " Brother, sister, still push on, Victorious crowns await a race well run." " Push on, push on," - we echo the refrain. God help us do it while we here remain.
The tender memories here awakened, Mr. Emery then re- marked, had suggested, as a suitable finale to his effort, the follow- ing tribute, sung by the choir, to the tune of " Harbor," in the Hymnal.
. DEPARTED WORTHIES. I Our fathers - where are they ? Alas! no longer here. In heaven's unclouded day, They 've nothing now to fear. As hurries on the summer's sun, Their race was swiftly, nobly run.
II
Our mothers, blissful name, No longer bless our sight, Like angels to earth came, With angels took their flight. But long as pleasant memories live, So, fresh their virtues will survive.
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III
Our brothers, it may be, Who started by our side On life's uncertain sea, No longer here abide; But brothers true in life and heart, Can from our presence ne'er depart.
IV
Though sisters smile no more Around the old hearth-stone, Nor meet us at the door When daily tasks are done, Their memory still inspires each heart To act through life a noble part.
V
Departed worthies all! To us in youth so dear, Your memories we recall, And yet without a tear. Soon we shall reach that blissful shore Where friend meets friend to part no more.
Remarks from all surviving ex-pastors, except Mr. Colby, were then listened to with interest, brief abstracts of which are as follows : -
REV. GEORGE W. BOSWORTH D.D.
One of the pleasant memories of my pastorate over the Free Street Church is the royal manner in which I was received and sustained by my immediate predecessor, Rev. J. S. Eaton. He was my senior and superior in the Theological Institution and the ministry. He was an invalid, and the victim of a fatal disease.
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But he welcomed me, commended me, assisted me, co-operating and rejoicing with me in those enterprises which greatly increased the prosperity of the church. His spirit and bearing were mag- nanimous, and exceedingly helpful.
A new epoch was opening when I entered this pastorate. A generation of young men was crowding to the front. New move- ments were demanded. A committee of the church visited me in Boston, and tendered me its call to become their pastor. I . returned their call, and looked the ground over. Meeting them with others in familiar conference, I suggested that, were I to become their pastor, I should, very likely, move for improvements on their house of worship. To this one of them, formerly my professor in college, soberly replied, " You have given us due notice, that is fair." And I had not been long here before that matter was agitated, and a movement was organized. It was a great movement, and carried through by many struggles and sac- rifices. There were diversities of views and strong differences of opinion, for the men were strong in their individuality, and inde- pendent in their opinions, and firm in their convictions. And therein was found one element of the strength of the church. Had all thought alike we should have been equal to but one man. But with all their differences the consummation was accepted with joy and gladness.
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