Chapter 9

Dr. Wiley's Legacy

H. Orton Wiley led a long and productive life.[0] His work in the Church of the Nazarene produced a legacy for the following generations to interpret the impact he made. Ronald Kirkemo suggested that there were three "Wiley's" over the course of his professional life.[509] There is the "Younger Wiley" who led the way intellectually and professionally for the development of Nazarene colleges beyond ideological bible schools to diversified liberal arts colleges. Wiley was the "first intellectual in the Church of the Nazarene." The "Middle Wiley" emphasized interaction with students. He was more flexible in campus life than the conservative church culture allowed, especially for co-ed excursions to the sunny beaches of southern California. The "Older Wiley" was "wise," but "narrow in his ways." He wrote and preached eloquently, but had solidified in his views about president-faculty relations, as is noted below in the section on "Moderating Influences." According to James McClendon, "to know [a person's biographical] images is.to know a life."[510] The following is a brief overview of two images that are predominant in biographical study of Wiley's life and educational career.

Moving Around

Historians of American education have often neglected the West and the West Coast, especially.[511] Yet, Wiley's life was characterized by movement westward. Born on the prairies of Nebraska, Wiley lived in five cities spanning three states by the time he was 16 years old. Wiley's trajectory into higher education can be tracked by his movement through "decisive moments" in his life.[512]

After graduating from high school in Oregon, he attended a state normal school, two universities (one public, one private) and a theological seminary before his 32nd birthday. All of these schools were in northern California where Wiley ministered as a pastor on two circuits in the United Brethren church. After being introduced to Phineas F. Bresee, Wiley soon was asked to enter higher education at Nazarene University as the Dean and Registrar. Over the next fifty years, Wiley worked as president in two colleges, a denominational executive for education, a magazine editor, and book author. Although Wiley spent thirty-three years at Pasadena Nazarene College, he served there in three separate terms, the longest being 16 years. Wiley held to the charge given him by Bresee, one of his mentors, to "stand by the college."[513]

During these years, Wiley also traveled the country for various speaking engagements. Ross Price compiled a "tabulation of [his] major preaching assignments" from 1921-1961. Wiley spoke mainly at church-related camp meetings, preacher's retreats, and college chapel services. He traveled to 27 states and three Canadian provinces. In one year alone, Wiley spoke at half of those locations. In his busiest year, 1930, Wiley spoke at the following events:

1930 - Convention at Regina, Saskatchewan, Jan. 26 to Feb. 2

Convention at Morse, Saskatchewan, Feb. 3 to 6.

Weekend at Winnipeg, Manitoba, Feb. 7 to 9.

Kansas District Convention, Sylvania, Kansas, Feb. 25 to March 2.

North Dakota Convention, Jamestown, North Dakota, March 19 to 22.

Kentucky District Convention, Mt. Sterling, March 25 to 30.

Indiana Convention, Seymour, April 2 to 5.

Olivet College, April 10 to 13.

Mt. Vernon Convention, April 15 to 18.

Grand Rapids Convention, April 22 to 27.

Cleveland District Assembly, Special Speaker, May 2 and 3; Tour of the district May 4 to 8.

Halltown Camp Meeting, Missouri, July 6 to 15.

Lestio Camp Meeting, Northern Maryland, August 1 to 10.

Des Moines Convention, August 15 to 21.

Plattsburg, New York Convention, September 7 to 10.

Special Meetings, New Haven, Connecticut, September 14-28.

New England Convention, October 27 to 31.

Preached all over Kansas City during November and December, Various churches. [514]

Wiley traveled most often during his time as the editor of Herald to Holiness between 1928 and 1933. When he returned to Pasadena Nazarene College in 1933, he traveled almost exclusively in states west of the Rockies.

From 1939-1960, Wiley spoke at the Beulah Park camp meeting each summer in Santa Cruz, California. During these twenty-two years, Wiley preached many sermons, but one sermon in particular has lingered in memory longest. "We All Do Fade as a Leaf" was first published in 1963. The sermon evokes the nature's imagery of tree leaves to communicate the biblical "symbol of human life" found in Isaiah 64:6 which is also the sermon's title. The outdoor amphitheater created an idyllic setting for this message about the development of a bud into an autumn leaf, and of human life into the twilight years. The metaphor and imagery of Wiley's speaking ability is captured in this brief passage from the sermon text:

A few [leaves] survive their generation, and rustle mournfully in the topmost boughs, and only the violence of the storm or the sprouting of the buds in spring can dislodge them from their places. So also some, exceeding their threescore years and ten, still linger with a generation not theirs. They are more related to the dead than to the living. The grave to them is no longer the residence of strangers, but of kindred and friends gone on before. But we must not mistake, as youth are so apt to do. The world recedes, no doubt, but the sunrise of a glorious morning also begins to dawn. Eternity is no longer a cold, bleak, outlying region of shadows, beyond their sympathy and regard, but a portion of the loved scenery of home. Into it has gone much of what formed a very part of their being, dearer than life itself.[515]

It is ironic that Wiley's life, being noteworthy for his constant movement, has a lasting image of his life and influence bound to an image of a stationary tree and its leaves.

Mentoring Others

This book has been a study in Wiley's development as an educator and how he saw himself in that role. The institution of the Church of the Nazarene as well as the small college campuses on which Wiley served influenced who he was and what he accomplished during his career. The study of H. Orton Wiley's life is an example of how the culture of the Church of the Nazarene, small liberal arts campuses, holiness theology, and Western experiences, have been transmitted through the career of a single person filling the roles of student, professor, theologian, and college president.

Education, as Wiley defined it, was "the results of training or teaching, usually the purposeful efforts of one person to impart information, to shape and interpret the environment, and to exercise helpful influence over another."[516] The "helpful influence over another" is really the shaping of one's own life and another person's life through educational interaction. Being an influence upon another person can be described simply as being a mentor.[517] For Wiley, the idea of education was caught up completely in the idea of mentoring-being influenced as a student by a teacher, then as a teacher to students.

Wiley was mentored throughout his life. His mother was a teacher. So was Wiley. His grandfather Ward was a preacher. Wiley preached too. Phineas Bresee gave him an opportunity to enter higher education. So Wiley stayed committed to Nazarene higher education. John Wright Buckham helped him grow intellectually. So Wiley taught others in the same way. All of these individuals influenced Wiley's choice of vocation. Wiley's life trajectory could be seen as a direct result of their influence. Though this may be difficult to measure, the possibility of seeing a mentor's influence becomes clearer as one looks at the dominant images of his life. In Wiley's case, these images include teacher and preacher. However, Wiley could find no mentor to help him learn how to preside over a small liberal arts college. Wiley had examples for teaching, preaching, and delivering the Christian message, but no clear direction on how to do what he spent the majority of his professional life doing-leading a college. His closest mentor in this case was Bresee, who had experience as a college trustee and Bible college president, but not experience leading a liberal arts college. The only person in his life who surfaced as a possible mentor in college leadership was E. F. Walker, President at Olivet College and General Superintendent, whom Wiley corresponded with during the time prior to his resignation from Nazarene University in late 1915 through early 1916.

Wiley also mentored many students into notable professions. Esther Carson Winans, a student from Nazarene University, became a translator and missionary to Peru. Fred J. Shields, a graduate from Nazarene University, became a professor at Northwest Nazarene College during Wiley's tenure there before becoming a college president at Eastern Nazarene College. W. T. Purkiser, a student at Pasadena Nazarene College, became a professor, college president, and theologian. Louise Robinson Chapman, Prescott Beals, and Fairy Chism were all graduates of Northwest Nazarene College who became missionaries. Ross Price, a student at Northwest Nazarene College, became a lifelong student of Wiley's. Price followed Wiley's footsteps as dean of the graduate school of religion at Pasadena Nazarene College. Price, who was with Wiley at his death in 1961, has also collected and maintained much of Wiley's personal files, books, papers now stored in college archives in Nampa and Point Loma.

Wiley's constant traveling and heavy responsibilities kept him very busy, but he did not ignore his family. Wiley was preceded in death by his wife, Alice, in 1957 after 55 years of marriage. She raised four children while her husband traveled the Northwest to fund the struggling college in Nampa. She does not appear more than briefly in the historical record of her husband's life. Wiley gave this tribute to her presence and influence in his life:

"I would indeed be ungrateful if in this, the publication of my first work, I did not pay rich tribute to her who for the entire period has had an unflagging interest in the preparation of this work, and has ever been a constant stimulus and blessing, my wife, Alice M. Wiley."[518]

His children also went on to accomplish much within the kingdom of God, though maybe not with the church of their father. Pearl, his oldest daughter, edited Sunday School curriculum for Nazarene Publishing House, before going to Japan as an independent missionary. She ministered at a large church and led a seminary for ministerial students until her death in the 1975. Lester, his oldest son, became an Episcopal priest, ministered in a parish in Kansas, and also served as chaplain to Kansas State University. Ward, the third child, also became an Episcopal priest and served a hospital chaplain in San Jose, California. Ruth, the youngest daughter, served a librarian at Pasadena Nazarene College before marrying a Nazarene minister. She was also the only one of the children to maintain membership in the Church of the Nazarene. All of them are deceased now. Clearly, Wiley's children carried the faith of their father, though in slightly different forms, into the next generation.[519]

Wiley was influenced profoundly by those who had gone before him, and mentored others who came after him. In a noteworthy sermon, Wiley noted that each leaf upon a tree has at its base "a tiny bud, which later will usurp its place." At the same time, "this bud the leaf nourishes with its expiring life."[520] Wiley was an excellent example of a person who received and reciprocated guidance, counsel, and education, being a true mentor.

"Fade as a Leaf"

The sermon, "We All Do Fade as a Leaf" was first preached after his last year as an acting college president, Wiley asked, "What causes the brilliant hues of the autumn leaves?"[521] In this imagery of the fading leaf, Wiley echoes the words of one of his own mentors, Professor John W. Buckham.[522] Wiley describes this parable of the fading leaf. A fading leaf could be used as a dominant image in describing his life as an educator. Wiley spent his life as a mentor in the making, only to give way to the next generation. He formed the minds and guided the lives of those who followed him as an educator in the Church of the Nazarene. Wiley interprets the image of a fading leaf in this way:

Those who in youth take up into their lives the beautiful things of the Spirit will find these things bursting forth in splendor at autumn time; while those who fail here must end their lives in the unsightliness of decay. A person must die as [he or she] lives.

As Wiley's life was coming to a close, perhaps, the lives of his students and colleagues continued to exhibit the "beautiful things of the Spirit" that he sought during his educational work. Theologians, educators, and mentors like Wiley connect previous generations to the next.

"We All Do Fade as a Leaf"

(Preached in "Wiley Temple" on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the founding of Beulah Park, August 7, 1949. Published by Nazarene Publishing House in 1963.)

We all do fade as a leaf (Isa. 64:6).

Isaiah, the prophet, like his younger contemporary Hosea, was a lover of nature. To him everything was instinct with life; "the mountains skipped like rams, and the little hills like lambs." His prophecy is fragrant with the scent of pines and firs, of myrtle and cedar; and the beauty of the changing seasons spoke to him of God, the Author of all. Nothing in nature impressed the prophet more, perhaps, than the beauty of the autumn leaf, which every year she spreads out before her timid and reluctant children like a parable of life. "We all do fade as a leaf"-a trite saying, doubtless, to those who have never beheld the glory of the autumn; but to those who have looked upon the hills when clothed in their gorgeous robes of leafy splendor, it is filled with a wealth of spiritual meaning.

It is to this text, nestled among the many oft-repeated phrases and almost unnoticed, that we turn our attention this afternoon in beautiful Beulah Park. Speaking as I am amidst the tall redwoods and beautiful pines in this splendid outdoor temple, it seems appropriate to me to bring you a message from one of the parables of Isaiah, the nature-loving prophet.

The German poet Goethe, during one of his meditations, conceived the idea that the flower of a plant was but a transformation of its leaves. Later the great naturalist Linnaeus presented the idea in a more scientific form, and the investigations of the botanists later confirmed the suggestion of the poet. It was Thoreau, one of the literary lights of New England, who, after watching the leafy expansions of frost on the windowpanes, declared that the Creator in the formation of the earth had but followed the pattern of a leaf. He traced this pattern in the brilliant feathers of birds, in the glowing wings of insects, in the pearly scales of fish, and in the blue veins of the palm of the human hand. To him the earth itself was a vast leaf, veined with silver rivers and streams, and covered with varied tints in forest and field, in lake and sea.

If you will observe the trees and shrubs about you, it will be clear that the form of the leaf is a prophecy of the character of the tree. Those tall redwoods and pines have long, slender, needlelike leaves; those low, spreading trees and shrubs have broad leaves. These leaves have been called the "tongues of nature," and every leaf is eloquent with the teachings of God. Let them speak to you this afternoon of His wonderful works.

I. THE LEAF IS A SYMBOL OF HUMAN LIFE

The leaf is used by the prophet as a symbol of human life. Each leaf symbolizes an individual person, and the tree with all its yearly foliage is the symbol of a single generation. The leaf is the annual; the trunk and branches of the tree are perennial. The tree sheds its leaves one by one, until at last it stands barren and alone through the wintry blast. One by one the individuals die and pass on, until the entire generation is gone. "Joseph died . . . and all that generation," is a significant expression of scripture. The leaves fall but the tree remains; yet all the wood of the trunk and branches was built up by those frail and transient leaves. Year after year, generation after generation, those leaves slowly and silently built up those massive structures which have stood through the centuries. If this be true in the physical realm, how much more so in the realm of human society! Man as an individual, together with his generation, either makes a contribution to the world's betterment or to its social degeneration. No nation ever became righteous except the individuals of that nation made it righteous; and no church ever became holy and remained so except the individuals of its membership made and kept it so. As individuals we may appear frail and insignificant; but under the leadership of the great Captain of our salvation, we are building a Kingdom which shall never be moved.

But there is another and perhaps more obvious sense in which the leaf is the emblem of human life; that is, the stages of its growth beautifully illustrate the stages of human life and development. The tenderness of the leaves in springtime well represents the beauty and innocence of youth, "where every sunrise brings fresh, glad hopes, and every evening, a holy and trustful calm." The dark greenness and lush of summer portrays the strength and reliance of mature manhood and womanhood. The autumn leaf is the symbol of age. It is indeed gorgeous in color, but lacks the dewy freshness and buoyancy of youth. Nature thus traces for us the path of human life.

II. LEAVES FADE SINGLY AND SILENTLY

A keen observer of nature such as Isaiah, the prophet, or David, the Psalmist, could but notice that the foliage of a tree fades gradually over a longer or shorter period of time. Some leaves wither even in the springtime, when the rest of the foliage is in its brightest and most luxuriant beauty. Doubtless it was this fact that gave rise to the words, "In the midst of life we are in death." There is no tree, however hardy, that does not have somewhere a discolored leaf ready to fall at the slightest breeze.

Some leaves are torn away when at their best by sudden and violent storms, and some are plucked off by the human hand. When Noah sent out the dove from the ark, it returned because it found no place to light. Sent out again, it returned with an olive leaf "plucked off." The third time it was sent out it never returned. This is a parable of the Spirit. Among sinners He has no place to light. In the Old Testament, He found only temporary lighting places but no place of permanent abode. When at the baptism of Jesus the Spirit came as a dove, the Synoptics say that it "lighted upon him," but John says, "It abode upon him." In Christ Jesus, our Lord, the Spirit found an abiding place; and to Him, God gave the Spirit without measure. Now the term "plucked off," as used concerning the olive leaf, is the term used to express the violent nature of Christ's death. This Isaiah saw when he said, "He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation? for he was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken" (Isaiah 53:8).

A few survive their generation, and rustle mournfully in the topmost boughs, and only the violence of the storm or the sprouting of the buds in the spring can dislodge them from their places. So also some, exceeding their threescore years and ten, still linger with a generation not theirs. They are more related to the dead than to the living. The grave to them is no longer the residence of strangers, but of kindred and friends gone on before. But we must not mistake, as youth are so apt to do. The world recedes, no doubt, but the sunrise of a glorious morning also begins to dawn. Eternity is no longer a cold, bleak, outlying region of shadows, beyond their sympathy and regard, but a portion of the loved scenery of home. Into it has gone much of what formed a very part of their being, dearer than life itself.

Some of the older people here will remember me old McGuffey Readers and the old Blueback Spelling Book. Some of the stories in those earlier readers held lessons which, perhaps little understood then, have persisted with increased meaning through the years. Do you recall the poem by Hester Lynch Thrale (1739-1821) entitled "The Three Warnings"?

When sports went round, and all were gay,

On Neighbor Dodson's wedding-day

Death called aside the jocund groom

With him into another room;

And looking grave, "You must" says he,

"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.

"With you! and quit my Susan's side?

With you!" the hapless bridegroom cried.

"Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard!

Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared."

Then follows the promise of three warnings before Death should again appear. At the age of eighty, Death again appeared to "old Dodson, half-killed with wonder and surprise," for he had failed to recognize the three promised warnings. Said Death:

"I little thought that you'd be able

To stump about your farm and stable;

Your years have run to a great length,

Yet still you seem to have your strength."

"Hold!" says the farmer, "not so -fast!

I have been lame these jour years past."

"And no great wonder" Death replies.

"However, you still keep your eyes;

And surely, sir, to see one's friends

For legs and arms would make amends."

"Perhaps" says Dodson, "so it might,

But latterly I've lost my sight."

"This is a shocking story, faith;

But there's some comfort still," says Death.

"Each strives your sadness to amuse;

I warrant you hear all the news."

"There's none," cries he, "and if there were,

I've grown so deaf I could not hear."

"Nay, then," the specter stern rejoined,

"These are unpardonable yearnings;

If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings."

But I like Dr. Chapman's interpretation far better. He says they tell us our eyes are growing dim. No, they are not. God is merely darkening our sight to the things of this world that it may become better accustomed to the brighter world above. Our eyes must be perfected here, for there we shall behold the King in His beauty and the land of long-distances. They say that our hearing is failing, that we are growing deaf. No, we are not. God is merely stopping our ears to the noises of this world that they may be better tuned to the music of heaven. Then too, our voices must be always clear, for we shall not only listen to seraphic choirs with harps of gold-perhaps a thousand strings-but we are also ourselves to join in the grand chorus of the skies: "Unto him that hath loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood ... to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever." They say that we are stooped with the burdens and cares of life that have pressed down so heavily upon us. No, we are not. We are simply practicing for the time when we shall bend low in reverence before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords and, casting our crowns before Him, shall crown Him Lord of all.

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,

Lets in new light through chinks which time has

made;

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home.

Leaving the old, both, worlds at once they view,

That stand upon the threshold of the new.

(Edmund Waller, 1605-87)

III. LEAVES FADE ONLY WHEN THEY HAVE MADE PREPARATION FOR THE FUTURE

No leaf falls naturally from a tree until it has made preparation for its departure. At the base of each leaf is a tiny bud which later will usurp its place. This bud the leaf nourishes with its expiring life, and during the cold winter season wraps in swaddling bands of leaf tissue. The buds which appear in the springtime and burst forth into beauty and fruitfulness are, in reality, the children of the previous season. This is a fundamental law in the vegetable realm. How different the conduct of the world! The worldling makes no preparation for the future, and must appear before God empty and alone. The Christian makes preparation to meet God, and cultivates purity of heart and holiness of life, for which God has promised rich reward.

It is interesting to know that, under the veil of His flesh, Christ's deity was hidden from the world, but to His disciples that were with Him in the mount it was revealed; for the inner glory burst through the thin veil of flesh and "his face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light." Within our own bodies, also, there is a principle of identity which shall forever persist. This present body, though sown in corruption, will be raised in incorruption; though sown in weakness, it will be raised in power. "It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." When therefore we "shuffle off this mortal coil" we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. What is true of our natural bodies is true likewise of the world in which we live. St. Peter tells us that the day of the Lord comes in "which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing then that all these things shall be dissolved, what manner of persons ought you to be in all holy conversation and godliness?" The word "dissolved," as used here, means "to loose," or "unbind," and so the apostle continues: "Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." Underneath this old earth, and being nourished by its decay, like the buds in their swaddling bands, are a new earth and new heavens. What a glorious transformation that will be, when the bands shall be broken and the curse removed! Beyond the beauties of the Yellowstone, or the Yosemite, or the Grand Canyon, will be the "new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness"; and beyond the beauty of the stars, the suns and their planets, will be the new heavens, wherein God dwells in ineffable splendor and the light that no man can approach unto.

IV. LEAVES FADE ACCORDING TO THEIR NATURAL CHARACTERISTICS

"In the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be"; as a man lives, so shall he die. He that is filthy will be filthy still; and he that is holy will be holy still. The autumn leaves in all their gorgeous beauty are but putting on display what they have taken from the soil during the winter, spring, and summer months. It is this that gives variety and charm to the calm and still landscapes of October, and makes them like the stately march of an Oriental army, with the splendor of blazing banners, and the wealth and pageantry of old-time stories.

In one of our editorial journeys to the East Coast, we crossed "Jacob's Ladder" in western Massachusetts and returned through southern New York and northern Pennsylvania, at the time when the autumn foliage was at its best. We had heard from Martha Curry of the beauty of the autumn hills, but even then were unprepared for the entrancing beauty which filled our vision from every direction. It is impossible to describe the scene. The best writers of English literature have made it their theme, but no pen, however facile, can do justice to the glory of the autumn hills.

"Oh, to have seen the sun set on the hills, in the still green and lingering summer," writes N. P. Willis, "and to awake in the morning to a scene like this! It is as if a myriad of rainbows were laced through the tree-tops-as if the sunsets of a summer's gold, purple and crimson had been fused into the Alembic of the West, and poured back in a new deluge of light and color over the wilderness. It is as if every leaf on these countless trees had been painted to outflush the tulip,

as if by some electric miracle the dyes of the earth's heart had been struck upward, and her crystal ores, her sapphires, hyacinths and rubies had let forth their imprisoned colors, to mount through the roots of the forest, re-animating the perishing leaves, and reveling an hour in their bravery."

Ruskin, the word-painter, attempted a description of the beauty of the fading leaf. "I cannot call it color," he said, "it was a conflagration. Purple and crimson and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the rejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every separate leaf quivering with buoyant and burning life; each as it turned to reflect or transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then an emerald. Far up into the recesses of the valley, the green vistas, arched like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea, with the arbutus flowers dashed along their flanks of foam, and silver flanks of orange spray tossed into the air around them, breaking over the gray hills of rock into a thousand separate stars, fading and kindling alternately as the weak wind lifted and let them fall. Every blade of grass burned like the golden floor of heaven, opening in sudden gleams as the foliage broke and closed above it, as sheet lighting opens in a cloud at sunset the motionless masses of dark rock-though flushed with scarlet lichen, casting their quiet shadows across its restless radiance, the fountain underneath them filling its marble hollow with blue mist and fitful sound, and over all the multitudinous bars of amber and rose, the sacred clouds that have no darkness and exist only to illumine, were seen in the intervals between the solemn and orbed repose of the stone pines, passing to lose themselves in the last white, blinding lustre of the measureless line where Campagna melted into the blaze of the sea."

This is God's great nature parable. The life of the righteous is not to go out in blackness and darkness, but to fade through the splendor of autumnal beauty. There is a glory that belongs to age alone, unlike that of youth or maturity-a preparation for another world distinctly its own. What causes the brilliant hues of the autumn leaves? Perhaps the chemical elements drawn from the earth, which as the leaves fade gives them their rich coloring. But whatever the cause, it is a significant fact that they always fade according to their natural characteristics. The sullen ash is the last to unfold its bud in the spring and the first to shed its leaves in the fall; and its somber color becomes blackened and disfigured in the process of decay. The leaf of the linden, on the contrary, soft and green in its unfolding, is as gorgeous as a sunset in its autumn dress. We have seen the maples so transparent in their golden yellow as to appear almost ethereal, something partaking more of the spiritual than of the material. And here is the meaning of this parable-those who in youth take up into their lives the beautiful things of the Spirit will find these things bursting forth in splendor at autumn time; while those who fail here must end their lives in the unsightliness of decay. Man must die as he lives. A career of worldliness and sin must ever end in despair and woe; but the saint possessed of the beauty of inward holiness shall find, at the sunset of life, those golden hues in new and entrancing splendor. Beyond the sunset sea is a more beauteous day, for the sunset of earth is the sunrise of heaven.

What a glorious triumph the saints of God shall have; what an abundant entrance, through Christ, into the City of God! When Bishop Simpson was asked how he accounted for the fact that departing saints sometimes seemed to see their loved ones beckoning them home, or to speak of the presence of angels, his laconic reply was, "I think they see them." Mr. Wesley said, "Our people die well," and so we say of our people. When Margaret Prior came down to death she exclaimed, "Eternity rolls up before me like a sea of glory!" Jordan Antle said, "The chariot has come, and I am ready to step in"; while Philip Heck cried out, "Oh, how beautiful! The opening heavens around me shine!" Little Shoeblack Jim said, "The next time I sing will be when Jesus folds me in His arms"; and Martha McCraken in wonder exclaimed, "How bright the room! How filled with angels!" Dr. Mullen, a physician, said, "I wish I had the power of writing; I would describe how pleasant it is to die"; and S. B. Bangs, an early Methodist minister, calmly said, "The sun is setting; mine is rising; I go from this bed to a crown. Farewell." John Arthur Lyth, startled by approaching death, exclaimed, "Can this be death? Why, it is better than living! Tell them I die happy in Jesus"; and Mary Francis, filled with ecstasy, cried out, "Oh, that I could tell you the joy I possess! I am full of rapture. The Lord doth shine with such power upon my soul. He is come! He is come!"

Perhaps there is no name with which there have been associated more thoughts of holiness, triumph, and heaven than that of Alfred Cookman, who died crying, "I am sweeping through the gates, washed in the blood of the Lamb!" This glorious testimony as he "swept through the gates" has thrilled thousands of God's struggling saints, and inspired within them the hope that they too, "washed in the blood of the Lamb," may triumphantly leave this world for the "better country." William McDonald once said that the dying triumph of Alfred Cookman accomplished far more than his labors while living. In the latter he reached comparatively few; but in the former the whole Church felt the holy, heavenly impulse. Such a triumph, however, could come only to a holy life-such a life as was pre-eminently his. To die as he died is far better than to live, as is the case of many, long after their usefulness is ended.

How true, then, are the words of Jesus, "If a man keep my saying, he shall never see death" (John 8:51)! His saints depart like the glory of the fading leaf; and those who tarry until He comes shall be transformed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, and so shall forever be with the Lord. Nothing inspires greater confidence than the words of Jesus: "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also" (John 14:1-3).

There, every house is a mansion. There, every step is a triumph, every hour a rapture, and every day a jubilee. The waves of sorrow shall never again dash over us, for their spray shall break in rainbows about our heads. There are no good-bys there. Here childhood lisps the word and old age answers; but there the only word that echoes through the celestial city is the word, "Welcome!" Our friends are constantly joining the hosts of the redeemed; already the saints, Blood-washed and clothed in white, are pouring through the gates into the city from every quarter. Songs of victory and shouts of holy triumph abound. Joyous welcomes are heard in rapturous tones as everywhere friend greets friend in the glorious new and eternal order. We cannot hear their voices. We call to them but we get no answer, for Jordan's waves roar so hoarsely that their voices cannot reach us from the other side. Unbelief says they are dead. The Bible says, "Not so; they dwell forever with the saints in light." And when our course is finished, when the leaves have faded and the sun swings low in the autumn skies like a sea of glory, our faith looks beyond the sunset sea to the wide-flung gates of the city whose Builder and Maker is God. "For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens" (2 Corinthians 5:1).

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