Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 May 1904 — THE MEASURE OF A MAN. [ARTICLE]

THE MEASURE OF A MAN.

Man and Money are separate thing*; We oan't blend them Into one; But Christian character i* the thing that will count When we «tand at the bar of God’* throne. Though bank* fail, and depositors rail, Tis the money, and not the man, That'* plunged into ruin for selfish aim, ( Think of this and try to be cairn. We need our money for a little while here, As we sail o’er earth's ocean wide; But when we come to the brink, our money will sink. As our souls cross to the other side. My treasures are not of thia earth, dear friends, My treasures are up in heaven; My Lord is my stay, and my Guide by day, Till he takes me home at even. This world and Its baubles cannot entice One step from the course I have taken, For baubles will break, and the world forsake. If I launch my ail on its bosom. But the Friend whom I know no time can o’erthrow. For He's walked through Gethsemane's garden; For you and for me He was nailed to the tree, " And thereby has bought for us pardon. The crown that He wore on his brow so pure Was worn for you and for me, And the nails in His hands brought the blood to His palms, And was shed for sinners like me. Whatever shalL fall of earth's blessings or frowns, I know they are only for time, For eternity's smile I am waiting for a while, And then rest—sweet rest—shall be mine. The sword-pierced side, that bled till He died, As a ransom for sinners made free, And the pierced feet is a safe retreat At the foot of Christ's cross for me. I love His name above every name, For 1 know what He’s done for me; I have found Him a friend—if my will I’d bend. To blend with His will for me. I know that His will is my all in all. I know what He's done for me. Is something supernal and beyond recall. For He bought me and set me free. His Word to me is the most precious thing This world could ever have given. His Son and my saviour the grandest theme That man can place in a sermon. My affections are centered on God’s own Son, And by chords of love to Him drawn As I walk through the valley of this old world, I'll keep my thoughts and eyes toward His home. Whether high or low, or rich or poor. The grave will get its own, And every soul born into this world Will be claimed by it one by one. Whether millionaires or beggar’s share It make no difference then. For six feet of earth is our measure's worth, And a stone at the head sometimes given. Our bodies are clay that must fade away, Whether robed In purple or linen, But the dust of the tomb tell not the doom. Of him who inhabits the prison. But the prisoner inside, is the one to abide, Our souls are the things that grow. Or shrivel or shrink as we cause them to think, While prisoners on earth below. Then let’s give them wings to do grand good things As we tread this valley of sod, And our brother that's down, let’s show him in crown That reflects the sunlight of God. —Alice Parks.