USA > New Jersey > Essex County > Newark > Centennial celebration of the dedication of the First Presbyterian Church, Newark, N.J. : January fourth and fifth, 1891 > Part 3
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But Mr. Baldwin did not "accomplish the business," for on February 10th, 1795, one year after it was left in his hands, the Trustees " resolved that Wednesday in each
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week be appointed for the settlement of the books of the new church," but I am unable to report with what success their efforts were crowned, having vainly searched the Trustee records for any authoritative statement of the exact cost of the new building. Neither can I tell you just when the debt ceased to be burdensome, but today, as we walk about Zion and go round about her, telling the towers thereof, marking well her bulwarks and considering her palaces, we can heartily rejoice that the church was built, that the debts were paid, and we just as heartily pray God that He will long spare the church of the Fathers to be the sanctuary for children and children's children, even unto the latest generation of men.
I have thus endeavored, so far as was practicable to gather up all that is known respecting the erection of this church edifice.
But this recital and the observance of this hour will be futile, if they do not
(I.) Awaken within us a sense of our obligation to work in the interests of those who are to come after us. The service of this hour is a living commentary on the Master's declaration, " I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no labor. Other men labored, and ye have entered into their labors." Rejoicing in the rich heritage we have received, and accepting it, not as a legacy to be squandered, but as a solemn trust to be conserved, how can we better express our lasting appreciation of the great work of the Fathers than by following the Fathers' example ? In their poverty, they built our church. If, in our abundance, we uprear our Tabernacle in the 12th ward, then, long after we shall have been gathered to the Fathers, our work will live and speak forth our appreciation of the inestimable worth of Christ's gospel, even as, for a century now happily past, the old church has spoken for the Fathers.
(II.) So also the services of this hour should beget
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within us devout gratitude to God for all His mercies toward us. It is His providential care over and loving in- terest in this church which has preserved it in the past and becomes the pledge of good in the years to come. As we here rehearse the history of the bye-gone, joy in the expe- riences of the present, and are cheered by the prospects for the future, let us, with a hearty recognition of the divine goodness and a deep sense of our dependence, unite our hearts and voices in crying, "Not unto us, O Lord ; not unto the Fathers, O Lord; but unto Thy name be all the glory."
(III.) I am not unmindful of the fact that, while I have been tracing the history of this material structure, I have left untouched another and a vastly more important history, but I have left it untouched because the records of the spiritual building can be gathered only from that book of remembrance which is before God. No man can grasp much less tell, what has been accomplished for Christ in the century within this house and by the influences which have emanated from it. If a tongue could be put in these massive but mute walls, and they could speak forth the things which they have seen and heard, what glorious tes- timony they would give. They would tell you that by the space of a whole century, alike in the word spoken and in the ordinances administered, Christ crucified has been held up before sinners as the only, the all-sufficient, the all-gra- gious Saviour, and before the children of God as the only Master, Helper and Guide. They would tell you that the anxious inquiry, " What must I do to be saved ?" has often been raised ; that new creatures in Christ Jesus, rejoicing in the ecstacies of the first love, have jubilantly shouted, " Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift." They would tell you how generations of weary and heavy-laden souls here found rest and inspiration. But I have no access to God's book, and these walls have no tongues, hence we
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must await the grand apocalypse, when every secret thing shall be revealed.
But this much I can tell you. Although the material fabric was completed and dedicated one hundred years ago, the spiritual temple is still in course of construction, and in that spiritual house you and I can, each and all, find a place and do a work. No stone, though it be never so deeply imbedded in the quarry of sin, though it be never so un- shapely and unwieldy, but that, under the wonder-working power of the great Master Builder, the spirit of the Living God, can become a living stone in the living temple.
The work of the stone church, aided by the Holy Ghost, is to prepare these living stones for the spiritual temple, and much as we may revere the venerable pile on account of its past history, tenderly as we may regard it by reason of the many hallowed associations which cluster about it, yet it is substantially a failure, unless in the years to come, even as in the years past, " The Lord shall count when He writeth up His people that this man," and that man, and myriads of men, were there born again.
While we here offer to God our hearty thanks for the past, and humbly pray Him to vouchsafe to this Zion peace and prosperity in the future, let us remember that the only normal outcome of our remembrance of the former days is to make the days which are to come worthy of and an ad- vance upon the days that are past, and that the only pros- perity worthy the name is that which comes from the abiding presence, power and blessing of Him who has said to His people, " Lo, I am with you alway."
Within thy walls, O sacred shrine, Gift of the Past to present time. We come, with reverential tread, As in the presence of the dead,
To hear that sweet and tender tone,
Which, bursting now from every stone,
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Speaks forth, with fresh and ardent glow, Work wrought-one hundred years ago.
O, holy house !- Time honored now- A century has marked thy brow, Yet classic fane, though wondrous fair, Cannot, in grace, with thee compare. The Fathers' knell was long since rung, Their solemn dirge was long since sung ; Yet, while they sleep beneath the sod, We worship where they built for God.
To Thee, O Lord, we joyful raise Our glad centennial song of praise, As now, within this holy place, Thy tenderness and love we trace. Help us to guard, with sacred care, The Treasure Thou hast given us here. Long may she stand to speak of Thee Till years and time shall cease to be. Amen.
CENTENNIAL ADDRESS
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE BOARD OF TRUSTEES
WALTER S. NICHOLS
CENTENNIAL TIMES AND MEN.
The charms of romance cluster around the memories of bye-gone days. When the dreams of childhood have given place to the stern realities of riper years, and the vigor of manhood in turn has yielded to the hoary head of age, the scenes of early years come back to us clad in hues of fan- cy's coloring. So is it often when our thoughts revert to a historic past, and we seek to array before us in imagination the generations that preceded us, and the scenes in which they played their part of life's great drama. Though sep- arated by only a single century from the men who reared these walls, no cycle in Cathay has witnessed such stupen- dous changes. What was then the dawn of a new era in the social, industrial and scientific life of man, has given place to the splendor of a midday sun, and we sometimes think of the fathers of the hamlet in the eighteenth century as men who dwelt and labored in an atmosphere to which we are strangers.
It is easy to sketch from documentary records the political life of an age or people. But to transport our- selves in thought to the scenes of which they formed a part, and penetrate their inner daily life, is no easy mat- ter. If we would weigh the character, and judge the life of a bye-gone generation, we must study them in the light of their surroundings. The men of 1791 were the men of the Revolution. When the corner-stone of this building was laid, only six years had passed since the surrender of Corn- wallis at Yorktown. The workmen who manned its trenches when the foundations were dug, had been trained
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to their work in the camp of Washington beyond the Short Hills. The sacrifices made to rear their temple, great as they must have been, were small compared with those al- ready borne while their town lay between opposing armies, and their families and homes were at the mercy of the ma- rauder. Stout-hearted women, too, stood by their side : wives who had bid their husbands God-speed in the bitter fight for freedom ; mothers who had roused their children at midnight to drive their cattle to the swamps, when the warning cry, " The Refugees are coming," broke the silence of the village streets. Though more than a hundred years had passed since the first settlers landed, the work of sub- duing the wildness of their surroundings had made but partial progress. There were young men in the group that gathered to the work who had heard as boys the cry of the panther in the wooded outskirts of the town; and there were old men who might have seen, in their boyhood, the red deer coursing across the meadows on the south.
When this new church was planned, the storm clouds of war had indeed been dissipated, but the political sky was far from clear. There were portents of a danger which, if more subtle in its workings, was none the less to be dreaded in its results. To resist the Parliamentary op- pression of the mother country, and tear down the fabric of her colonial governments, had been largely a work of brute force and dogged resistance. But the problem of re- construction, which now confronted the independent colo- nists, was one which might baffle the skill of the best political architect. How to weld those colonies into one coherent whole, under a form of government which should preserve their autonomy and secure their precious liberties, while possessed of the tenacity to resist dissensions at home and the onslaughts of foreign foes, was a question which in no age or country had yet been solved. The American statesman of 1782 might search all history in
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vain for a precedent for his guidance. It is in the light of facts like these that we must view the generation to which our church builders belonged, and of which they were a representative as well as an integral portion. They pos- sessed a liberal share of that enlightened public sentiment of their day which gave birth to the American Constitu- tion.
Governments may be forcibly established by revolu- tions, but forms of government that are lasting must grow out of the exigencies of a people. The fathers had been trained for self-government by the teachings of their Cal- vinistic theology. They had been schooled in self-govern- ment by their conditions and necessities as English colo- nists. The constitution of their mother country might be their model. But that unwritten compact between kings, nobles and people, built up of centuries of customs, prece- dents and common law, was a thing which no man, not reared in an English atmosphere, could clearly compre- hend. Constitutions are not exotics that will flourish in foreign soils. The skill with which its skeleton was recast, and its substance was modified and condensed into a writ- ten instrument, has been the admiration of the world. France, with all her culture, tried to follow in our footsteps, and brought up in the horrors of the French Revolution.
We may praise the genius of Alexander Hamilton, and the far-sighted shrewdness of Thomas Jefferson, but we must remember that it was the character of the men of 1787, whom they represented, that rendered possible the form of government which they helped to inaugurate.
That compact was not yet formed when the contribu- tors subscribed to the building of this church. It had barely come into full operation when this building was dedi- cated. Church and nation were coeval in their building.
Nor was it alone their political future that was clouded. The financial outlook at the start was darker still. Free
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capital has been aptly termed the sinews of war. With equal propriety may it be termed the sinews of peaceful in- dustry. The Revolution had been fought by an impover- ished people, with a currency exhausted at the start. It closed with bankrupt treasuries, ruined credit, and millions of virtually repudiated paper obligations. Not a mint ex- isted in all the broad land, not an institution of finance outside of three seaport towns. The banking capital of the entire country was less than that of our single city to- day. To add to the distress, the few industries sustained by the war had been crushed out by foreign imports on the return of peace, and to crown all, the machinery of the courts had been put in motion to force the payment of debts suspended during hostilities.
But the greatest of all seeming obstacles at the start was one that is least thought of, the corrupting influences of the war. Newark was a part of the battle ground, and her able-bodied sons, as a mass, had shared in the struggle. At this late day it is hard to appreciate the concurrent tes- timony of contemporary writers; how the bars were let down, and the moral and religious tone of the whole people was lowered, when that large citizen soldiery returned to their homes. Newark shared with the rest in the demoral- ization. However we may admire their patriotism, we must admit that camp life is not a natural training school for church erection, and we may well marvel at the power of those home influences which, within four years of their return, inspired them with enthusiasm for the work.
When we consider the exhausted condition of the country at the close of hostilities, and then turn to such a structure as this, we instinctively ask, how did the impov- erished people dare to undertake it. Their cloud had a sil- ver lining. For four years they had waited, while a work of recuperation was going on. As year followed year, the life blood bounded through the veins of the young States
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with increasing vigor. Their infant commerce spread. Step by step their exports overcame the balance of trade against them, and when, in 1786, a great revival had swept through their community and prepared the way, Newark and her sister settlements between the Raritan and the Pas- saic were among the chief supporters of the foreign com- merce of New York. They were on the great highway to the South. Soon the stage coach would be rumbling through their streets, new comers were flocking in, new in- dustries were starting up, and Newark, after more than a century of quiet life as a hamlet, was beginning that trium- phant industrial march which has since made her the Bir- mingham of America.
We talk of Newark as a town. If we would under- stand its early character, we must think of it as a church. Treat and his associates never left their Milford and Bran- ford homes to found a mere town. They came to plant this First Presbyterian Church of Newark in the wilds of New Jersey, and when they had planted it they hedged it round with restrictions to keep out unworthy members. For nearly fifty years their descendants knew no town apart from their ecclesiastical organization.
To borrow the imagery of another, the ship in which they started anew on their life's voyage was from stem to stern of New England build, with timbers hewn from her noble hills, seasoned in her wholesome discipline, and bolted through and through with her Puritan principles. The story of Newark was the story of old Milford repeat- ed. There, too, a Christian band from New Haven had gone out into the wilderness to plant their church, and it is a matter of historic record that when those colonists as- sembled to frame their organic law, they resolved with one accord that until they could draft their code they would be governed by the laws as written in the word of God.
The leaven of those early settlers leavened their de-
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scendants, and though town and State had been divorced for half a century, and their rigid Puritanism had been supplanted by a more catholic spirit, the influence of the original founders permeated their latest successors. .
Six original townships constituted the settled portion of East Jersey under the proprietary government of Car- teret. Others quickly followed. But of all the settle- ments, either then or at a later date, Newark was, I believe, the only one that was undertaken for a nobler purpose than the worldly gain of the settlers. It was the only col- ony in East Jersey whose origin was inspired by the same motives which impelled the Pilgrim Fathers to land on Plymouth Rock, and drove Roger Williams to seek a new home on the shores of the Narragansett. For years it was the only town that could boast a settled minister. Its character was in strong contrast with many portions of the State. The population of New Jersey was far from homo- geneous. On the contrary, its heterogeneous classes and races obstructed both social and business intercourse. But the New England element led in influence. Newark had been the centre of New Englandism, and this church was the heart of Newark. The great body of the people either belonged within her pale, or were allied to her by ties of ancestry. As a class, they were men of strong and inde- pendent character, fitted for the stormy scenes in which they lived and the part they had to play.
The strength of a nation is not so much in her mate- rial resources, nor in the advanced culture of her nobles, but in the character and condition of her independent yeomanry. The proper distribution of wealth may be of more consequence than its mere aggregation. The lusty manhood of that intelligent community of farmers and mechanics was of more value to the State than hoards of gold and silver, pampering with luxuries the few, while the masses are sunk in poverty and degradation. Better the
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bald hills of Scotland and the rugged crags of Switzerland, with the freemen whom they nourished, than the decaying empire of Philip the Second, with its mines of Peruvian gold.
Many a patriot soul throughout the land is watching now, with ill-concealed alarm, the gigantic concentration of capital, and the massing of industrial enterprises in the hands of the few, and is asking whether the threatened substitution of industrial slavery for industrial freedom, and the broadening of the gulf between the rich and the poor, may not sap the strength of the republic.
The Fathers of 1791 were of the intelligent yeoman- ry of whom strong nations are built. I know not better how to characterize them. They were a race of farmers and mechanics, living under conditions where hard manual labor was the lot of nearly all, and involved no social humiliation. You will find their essential characteristics reflected in many a quiet village community today.
If a time shall ever come when the citizens of their class are crushed out between the upper and nether mill- stones of great wealth and dependent poverty, our national fabric will fall as surely as did the temple of Gaza when stripped of its pillars.
The men of that day had neither the schooling of our times, nor the opportunity to acquire it. But there were scholars among them. To call them unlettered would be a libel. Their schooling was like that of many a plain country district, picked up in the few hours that could be spared from work, and embracing the fundamentals most needed for their daily requirements. Books were few. The press as an educator had scarcely appeared. Their church was their great schoolhouse, and its ministers were their chief instructors. In the cardinal doctrines of their faith and its polemic issues, they were probably better versed than their descendants.
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Their old men in their youth had sat under the teach- ing of the scholarly Burr, and had seen the inauguration in their midst of that collegiate enterprise whose outgrowth was Nassau Hall. They had heard the burning words of Whitfield, and could recall the scene in their younger days when the windows of their old church had been taken out that his shafts, delivered from its pulpit, might penetrate the throng which blocked up all its approaches.
The thunders of Jonathan Edwards, the keenest met- aphysician and the ablest divine whom the colonies had produced, had echoed through all the Puritan settlements. The scene at Enfield as he sketched his fearful picture of " Sinners in the hands of an angry God," was a household tradition. The writings of their eminent theologians were their standard literature.
We may call our builders narrow-minded, and talk of their blue laws. But they were descended from men whom the profligate house of Stuart had forced into exile. They knew how the foreign flag of England had trailed, and how their colonies had suffered, under the reign of the gay cavalier, and how that flag had gone up and those colonies had prospered when the cavaliers went down be- fore the mailed hand of Oliver Cromwell, with his psalm- singing Ironsides.
The atheistic sneers of Voltaire and Paine, and the more scholarly assaults upon their faith of Hume and Bo- lingbroke, left little room for compromise in those times of religious contentions. It is well for us, their descendants, that it was so. Their laws, which public opinion has been strong enough to retain, could not well be replaced on our statute books. But it would not be just to paint them as if they were all made up of a moral and God-fearing com- munity. Crime and irreligion were rampant then as now. The world has not gone backward in the last hundred years. The moral tone of the community has been raised,
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its code of ethics has been improved, and its spirit of char- ity and humanitarianism has been broadened with the growth of wealth and culture. But the strong religious convictions of men like Witherspoon and Edwards and Burr are no longer the guiding stars of the masses.
Such, as I conceive it, was the framework of the pic- ture, such the lights and shadows in which our quiet town should be studied as it lay nestling below the hills along the bank of the Passaic a hundred years ago. The de-
tails of the scene, of course, I cannot sketch. Two hun- dred humble dwellings, with their attendant shops and barns, distributed along its four principal village roads, formed its nucleus. But here stood their new church on that opening day of 1791, looking across to its predeces- sor, with its ancient burial ground behind. Let us watch a few of the veterans as they assemble. On yonder cor- ner of Broad and Market streets, sitting in his home, blind and feeble under the weight of more than ninety years, is their senior deacon Alling, proud of his commission as a magistrate from King George, thorough patriot as he was. From his mansion facing their training ground comes their leading citizen, Judge Elisha Boudinot, worthy represen- tative of his Huguenot ancestry, the chief legal adviser of town and church, and the President of their trustees for more than thirty years. From his mansion on Market street, to the east, comes Captain-Deacon Wheeler, the pastor's right-hand man, among the first to strike for free- dom, and first of the people to strike his spade into the ground when the church foundations were dug. From his ancestral home to the south, shaded by huge button ball trees, comes Captain-Elder Nathaniel Camp, who could boast of Washington as his guest, with his near neighbor, Dr .- Elder Burnet, the surgeon-general of the army. From his new house on the back road comes Benjamin Coe the second, with his near neighbor, Captain Nichols, and from
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distant Bloomfield, Joseph Davis and the Farrands, while the venerable form of the army chaplain, Dr. MacWhor- ter, approaches with his son, the lawyer from the South. Thus they gathered.
Pastor, deacons, elders, trustees and laymen, they were all a fighting as well as praying band. How, by can- dle light, they must have rehearsed at times the stories of their trials. How they must have recalled the desponden- cy when Washington's disheartened troops entered their town from Acquackanock and pitched their tents, and the terror when Cornwallis followed and took possession. How their wives and children must have rehearsed the experiences of that wintry night when they awoke to find British bayonets at their doors, and the sky lit up by the flames of their burning academy, answered back by the glare from Elizabeth's burning church. How they must have fought over the battle of Springfield, and recalled the incidents of Knyphausen's advance, stained as it was with the tragic death of Hannah Caldwell, the fair daugh- ter of their Justice Ogden.
We can fancy them, too, assembled in town meeting, discussing their plans for the future, and anticipating the time when the new highway to the metropolis should ease the burden of a two days' travel.
The scene on which this church building first looked down has strangely changed. More modern appliances have supplanted the well sweeps, the tinder boxes, the fire- places with their cranes and andirons, the foot-stoves and the fire-buckets. Mills and factories have driven out the looms and clock reels and spinning wheels with which the family garments were made. Modern libraries have taken the place of Bunyan and Edwards and Watts and the old family Bible, and too often the dime novel the place of their New England primers and Daboll's arithmetics. The gain is unquestioned, but we must discount the loss.
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Just ninety years ago, Dr. MacWhorter stood where I now stand, and preached his century sermon. His lis- teners were the men of whom I speak. The following sentences from his opening remarks seem peculiarly ap- propriate tonight :
It is a melancholy thought, yet of solemn certainty, that none of us now before God shall ever live to behold such another day. We never saw such a one before, and nothing is more sure than that our eyes shall never behold another. What incalculable numbers of men are swept from the earth in the short space of a hundred years. And not only shall we and the whole world go off the stage in this century, but more than ten times the number of all who are now alive on the earth. Multitudes will come into existence and die before the commencement of such another era.
We must soon follow our fathers into the eternal world, and leave our town and church to others.
We are the realization of the old preacher's dream. Ours is the generation which, ten years hence, will see his century completed. Already these older faces on the wall are unfamiliar, and the petty cares and trials which vexed them have been forgotten. Another century will soon be rolling on. As I now talk of them, some future memorialist may speak of us. The lesson is obvious. Men die, but influences will live. Phidias and his Atheni- an co-laborers may be forgotten, but the Parthenon, with its sculptured frieze, will remain for all time a divine model of classic art.
But time presses. Let us ring down the curtain, and shift the scene. Sixty years have passed. Our builders are gone. A few gray-haired patriarchs are all that are left of their sons. Their church is remodeled. Their town of twelve hundred inhabitants has become a busy city of 30,000. The daily stage to Philadelphia no longer rumbles through their streets. Sloops and periaugers have ceased to be their vehicles of travel. Machinery is re- placing their simple tools, and with them the handicraft of the workmen.
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Again the old church bell is ringing, but those who respond to its summons are the intermediate link between the builders' generation and our own. I refer to the early pastorate of Dr. Stearns. The faces will come back to some as I mention, from my own boyish recollection, the names of Tolles, their sexton, Illsley, their chorister, and Hornblower, Tuttle, Taylor, Woodruff, Colton, Porter, Ja- cobus and Nichols on their bench of elders. Of them, too, nearly all are gone. Their sole representative among the officers today is the revered senior member of the Session.
But again the curtain must fall, as I hasten on to speak briefly of the religious guides and teachers of this church. The exalted character and classic scholarship of Jonathan F. Stearns are fresh in your own recollection. Of Ansel D. Eddy, who preceded him, there are doubtless many here who can give a better portraiture than I. But it is of MacWhorter and Griffin and Richards that I would speak, the men whose inspiration moulded the lives and shaped the thoughts of the builders and their sons. They were
scholarly as well as godly men. It is fashionable in these times of material progress to speak slightingly of the learning of their theologic day. But it was the practical wisdom and far-sighted shrewdness of the men who were educated in the learning of MacWhorter and Griffin and Richards that shaped the political developments of our recent civilization.
We cannot measure their scholarship by their mere knowledge of facts. The schoolboy today is familiar with facts of which Newton and even La Place never dreamed. But where is the schoolboy who can follow the demon- strations of the Principia or Mécanique Céleste ? Behind all material science, and including it all, lies that broad domain of philosophic truth in which these men were the peers of their successors, a realm which Tyndal sought to
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explore and landed in the conclusions of the old Greek philosopher two thousand years before, in which Huxley followed out his mechanical basis of life to its logical con- clusions and brought up in the fore-ordination of Calvin.
The studies of those religious teachers all crystallized around that of man in his spiritual origin and destiny. That was the one great practical question with which they had to deal. All others were incidental. New light has since modified their conceptions of subsidiary facts, but the great underlying doctrines, proclaimed from this plat- form by MacWhorter and Griffin, are taught by the finest scholars in Christendom today.
The rock-ribbed hills around them were scarred with the tracks of ancient glaciers, whose boulders were scat- tered over the fields of Newark. But the teachers of that generation knew nothing of the story told by those stones. The geologic epochs consumed in world-building were a matter of which they were ignorant. They could not fill up the long chronology of the past. But they knew as much of its beginning and its later developments as we. Before their minds passed, in panoramic review, the crea- tive fiat, the Spirit brooding on the waters, the birth and apostasy of man, the rise and fall of empires. They con- trasted Babylon in her pride, with the desolation brooding over the plains of Shinar; the mighty monuments of the Pharaohs and the mystic learning of Egypt, with the squalor that reigned in the valley of the Nile; the pomp of imperial Rome, with the ruined palaces of the Cæsars. These were the class of material facts from which the for- mer teachers of this church took the lessons that they in- culcated.
Nor could they fill up the horoscope of the future. Correlation of forces, conservation of energy, elongation of planetary orbits, precession of equinoxes, those natural laws from which savants now predicate the world's doom,
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were little understood; but of the final outcome, they knew as much as we. As they thought of the future, their faith was undimmed by scientific doubts. As the curtains closed around their life on earth, Dies Iræ was to them an impending reality ; and as earth's familiar land- scape faded from their sight, their thoughts leaped the chasm of scientific epochs, while clear and strong before their unclouded vision rose the battlements of a celestial world.
In those early days the life of pastor and people alike was given to sacrifice and toil, but the rude tombstones that once stood in yonder burial yard bore witness to the fact that it closed in the full assurance of immortality. Their teachings, their life, their faith, their hope, are all summed up in those words of great Martin Luther's noble hymn :
" Ein feste Berg ist unser Gott."
F
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