Sunday, May 10, 2009
Sermons and Lessons
BROTHER CARPER
What follows is scarcely an outline of his sermon, but rather a sketch of some of its most eloquent passages. He announced for his text these words:
“And a man shall be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; a rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” Isaiah 32:2.
Dare be two kinds ob language, de literal and de figerative. De one expresses de tought plainly, but not passionately de oder passionately, but not always so plainly. De Bible abounds wid bof dese mode ob talk. De text is an ensample of dat lubly stile of speech de figerative. De prophet’s mind was as clear as de sea ob glass in de Rebalations, and mingled wid fire. He seed away down de riber ob ages glorious coming events. He held his ear to de harp ob prophecy, and heard in its fainter cadences, loudening as he listened, de birf-song ob de multitude ob de hebenly host on de meadows ob Bethlehem. He seed de hills ob Judea tipped wid hebenly light; de fust sermum mountain, and de transfigeration mount, and de crucifixion mount, and de mount ob ascension, clapped dare hands in de prophet’s wision ob gladness. Gray-bearded Time stretched his brawny sinews to hasten on de fullness of latter-day glory. Brederen, de text am a full ob latter-day glory as am de sun ob light. It am as full ob Christ as de body ob heben am ob God. De sinner’s danger and his certain destruction; Christ’s sabin lub; his sheltering grace and his feasting goodness am brought to view in de text, and impressed in de language ob comparison.
“And a man shall be as a hiding-place from de wind.” Many parts ob de ancient countries (and it still am de case) was desert; wild wastes ob dreary desolation; regions ob fine blistering sands; just as it was leff when de flood went away, and which has not been suffered to cool since de fust sunshine dat succeed dat event. No grass, no flower, no tree dare be pleasant to de sight. A scene of unrelebed waste; an ocean made of powder, into which de curse ob angered heben had ground a portion ob earth. Now and den, a huge rock, like shattered shafts and fallen monuments in a neglected graveyard, and big enof to be de tombstone ob millions, would liff its mossless sides ‘bove de ‘cumulating sands. No pisnous sarpint or venemous beast here await dare prey, for death here has ended his work and dwells mid silence. But de traveler here, who adventures, or necessity may have made a bold wanderer, finds foes in de elements fatal and resistless. De long heated earth here at places sends up all kinds ob pisnous gases from de many minerals ob its mysterious bosom; dese tings take fire, and den dare be a tempest ob fire, and woe be to de traveler dat be obertaken in dis fire ob de Lord widout a shelter. Again, dem gases be pison, and dare be de pison winds, as well as de fire winds. Dey can be seen a coming, and look green and yeller, and coppery, spotted snake-like, and float and wave in de air, like pison coats on water, and look like dc wing ob de death angel; fly as swift as de cloud shadow ober de cotton field, and when dey obertake de flying traveler dey am sure to prove his winding-sheet; de drifting sands do dare rest, and ‘bliterate de faintest traces ob his footsteps. His be death in de desert, ‘mid de wind’s loud scream in your sand-filling ears for a funeral sermun, and your grave hidden foreber. No sweet spring here to weave her hangings ob green ‘bout your lub-guarded dust. De dews ob night shall shed no tears ‘pon your famined grave. De resurrection angel alone can find ye.
But agin dis fire wind and dis tempest oh pison dat widthers wid a bref, and mummifies whole caravans and armies in dare march, dare is one breast work, one “hiding place,” one protecting “shadow” in de dreaded desert. It am “de shadow ob a great rock in dis weary land.” Often has de weary traveler seen death in de distance, pursuing him on de wings of de wind, and felt de certainty ob his fate in de darkness ob de furnace-like air around him. A drowsiness stronger ‘most dan de lub oh life creeps ober him, and de jaded camel reels in de heby sand-road under him. A shout oh danger from de more resolute captin ob de caravan am sent along de ranks, prolonged by a thousand thirst-blistered tongues, commingled in one ceaseless howl ob woe, varied by ebery tone ob distress and despair. To “de great rock,” shouts de leader as ‘pon his Arab hoss he heads dis “flight to de Refuge.” Behind dem at a great distance, but yet fearfully near fur safety, is seed a dark belt bending ober de horizon, and sparkling in its waby windings like a great sarpint, air hung at a little distance from de ground, and advancing wid de swiftness ob an arrow. Before dem, in de distance, a mighty great rock spreads out its broad and all-resisting sides, lifting its narrowing pint ‘bove the clouds, tipped wid de sun’s fiery blaze, which had burnt ‘pon it since infant creation ‘woke from de cradle ob kaos at de call ob its Fader. [Here our sable orator pointed away to some of the spurs of the Ozark Mountains seen off to the northwest through a forest opening, at a distance of from ten to fifteen miles, and whose summits of barren granite blazed in the strength of a clear June sun, like sheeted domes on distant cathedrals.] Dat light be de light ob hope, and dat rock be de rock ob hope to de now flyin’, weepin’, faint’, and famishin’ hundreds. De captin’ has arrived dare. [Here a suppressed cry of “Thank God,” escaped many of the audience.] See, he has disappeared behind it, perhaps to explore its cavern coverts. But see, he has soon reappeared, and wid joy dancing in his eye, he stands shoutin’ and beckonin’, “Onward, onward, ouward, ONWARD,” when he reels from weariness and falls in behind de rock. [“Thank God, he’s saved!” exclaimed a voice.] Onward dey rush, men, women, husbands, wives, parents and children, broders and sisters, like doves to de windows, and disappear behind dis rampart ob salvation. Some faint just as dey ‘rive at de great rock, and dare friends run out and drag dem to de “hidin’ place,” when wakin’ up in safety, like dat sister dare, dat lose her strength in de prayer-meetin’, dey shout ‘loud for joy. [Here many voices at once shouted “Glory.”] De darknin’ sand-plain ober which dese fled for life, now lies strewed wid beast, giben out in the struggle, and all useless burdens was trowed ‘side. De waby sheet ob destruction, skimmin’ the surface wid de swiftness ob shadow, now be near, and yet, a few feeble strag glen and lubbed friends ob dis sheltered multitude are yet a great way off. [Here words were uttered in a choked accent, the speaker seeming unable to resist the thrilling character of the analogy] Yes, a great way off. But see, moders and broders from behind de rock arc shoutin’ to dem to hasten. Dey come, dey come. A few steps more, and dey arc sabed. But 0, de pison wind is just behind dem, and its choke mist already round dem. Dare one falls, and dare is a scream. No, he rises again and am sabed. But one still is exposed. It be de fader oh dat little nest oh sweet-eyed children, for which he had fled to de rear to hurry on. Dey have passed forward and arc safe. He am but a little distance from de rock, and not a head dares to peep to him encouragement from behind it. Already de wings oh de death angel am on de haunches oh his strong dromedary. His beast falls, but ‘pon de moment oh him falling, de rider leaps out oh his saddle into dis “hiding-place from de wind.” His little boy crouched in a hole oh de rock, into which he thrusts his head, entwines his neck with his little arms and says, “Papa, you hab come, and we be all here.” [Here the shouts of “Salvation,” “Salvation,” seemed to shake the place in which we were assembled.]
Now, de burnin’ winds and de pison winds blow and beat ‘pon dat rock, but dose who hab taken refuge behind it, in its overhanging precipices, are safe until de tempest am ober and gone.
And now, brederen, what does all dis represent in a figure? Dat rock am Christ; dem winds be de wrath oh God rabealed against de children oh disobedience. Dem that he sabed be dem dat hab fled to de refuge, to de hope set before dem in Christ Jesus de Lord. De desert am de vast howling wilderness oh dis world, where dare be so little oh lob, and so much oh hate; so little oh sincerity, and so much oh hypocrisy; so little oh good, and so much oh sin; so little oh heben, and so much oh hell. It seem to poor me, dat dis world am de battle ground oh de debil and his angels against Christ and his elect, and if de debil hab not gained de victory, he hold possession because every sinner am a Tory. God oh de Gospel, open the batteries of heben to-day! [Here a vollev of hearty “Amens.”] Sinner, de wrath oh God am gathering against you for de great decisive battle. I already sees in de light oh Zina’s lightnings a long embankment oh dark cloud down on de sky. De tall thunder heads nod wid dare plumes of fire in dare onward march. De day of vengeance am at hand. Mercy, dat has pleaded long for you wid tears of blood, will soon dry her eyes and hush her prayers in your behalf Death and hell hang on your track wid de swiftness ob de tempest. Before you am de “hiding-place.” Fly, fly, I beseeches you, from de wrath to come!
But, brederen, de joy ob de belieber in Jesus am set forth in a figerative manner in de text. It am compared to water to dem what be dying ob thirst. 0, how sweet to de taste ob de desert traveler sweltering under a burning sun, as if creation was a great furnace! Water, sweet, sparldin’, livin’, bubblin’, silvery water, how does his languid eye brighten as he sud¬denly sees it gushing up at his feet like milk from de fountain ob lub, or leaping from de sides ob de mountain rock like a relief angel from heben. He drinks long and gratefully, and feels again de blessed pulsations ob being. And so wid de soul dat experience joy in beliebing; de sweets ob pardon; de raptures ob peace; de witnessin’ Spirit’s communings, and de quiet awe ob adoption. Such a soul be obershadowed wid de Almighty; he linger in de shady retreats ob de garden ob God; he feed in de pastures ob his lub, and am led by still waters, and often visits de land ob Beulah, whare it always am light. But, my brederen, all comparison be too dispassionate, and an angel’s words am too cold to describe de raptures ob salvation! It am unspeakable and full ob glory. Dc life ob innocence and prayer; de sweet, childlike smile and de swim¬mm’ eye; de countenance so glorious in death, dat but for decay, de body ob de gone-home saint might be kept as a breathin’ statue of peace and patience, smiling in victory ober all de sorrows ob life and de terrors ob death, are de natural language ob dis holy passion. 0, glory to God! I feels it today like fire in my bones! Like a chained eagle my soul rises toward her native heben, but she can only fly just so high. But de fetters ob flesh shall fall off soon, and den,
The Shadow of a Great Rock in a Weary Land
as recorded by James V. Watson
What follows is scarcely an outline of his sermon, but rather a sketch of some of its most eloquent passages. He announced for his text these words:
“And a man shall be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; a rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” Isaiah 32:2.
Dare be two kinds ob language, de literal and de figerative. De one expresses de tought plainly, but not passionately de oder passionately, but not always so plainly. De Bible abounds wid bof dese mode ob talk. De text is an ensample of dat lubly stile of speech de figerative. De prophet’s mind was as clear as de sea ob glass in de Rebalations, and mingled wid fire. He seed away down de riber ob ages glorious coming events. He held his ear to de harp ob prophecy, and heard in its fainter cadences, loudening as he listened, de birf-song ob de multitude ob de hebenly host on de meadows ob Bethlehem. He seed de hills ob Judea tipped wid hebenly light; de fust sermum mountain, and de transfigeration mount, and de crucifixion mount, and de mount ob ascension, clapped dare hands in de prophet’s wision ob gladness. Gray-bearded Time stretched his brawny sinews to hasten on de fullness of latter-day glory. Brederen, de text am a full ob latter-day glory as am de sun ob light. It am as full ob Christ as de body ob heben am ob God. De sinner’s danger and his certain destruction; Christ’s sabin lub; his sheltering grace and his feasting goodness am brought to view in de text, and impressed in de language ob comparison.
“And a man shall be as a hiding-place from de wind.” Many parts ob de ancient countries (and it still am de case) was desert; wild wastes ob dreary desolation; regions ob fine blistering sands; just as it was leff when de flood went away, and which has not been suffered to cool since de fust sunshine dat succeed dat event. No grass, no flower, no tree dare be pleasant to de sight. A scene of unrelebed waste; an ocean made of powder, into which de curse ob angered heben had ground a portion ob earth. Now and den, a huge rock, like shattered shafts and fallen monuments in a neglected graveyard, and big enof to be de tombstone ob millions, would liff its mossless sides ‘bove de ‘cumulating sands. No pisnous sarpint or venemous beast here await dare prey, for death here has ended his work and dwells mid silence. But de traveler here, who adventures, or necessity may have made a bold wanderer, finds foes in de elements fatal and resistless. De long heated earth here at places sends up all kinds ob pisnous gases from de many minerals ob its mysterious bosom; dese tings take fire, and den dare be a tempest ob fire, and woe be to de traveler dat be obertaken in dis fire ob de Lord widout a shelter. Again, dem gases be pison, and dare be de pison winds, as well as de fire winds. Dey can be seen a coming, and look green and yeller, and coppery, spotted snake-like, and float and wave in de air, like pison coats on water, and look like dc wing ob de death angel; fly as swift as de cloud shadow ober de cotton field, and when dey obertake de flying traveler dey am sure to prove his winding-sheet; de drifting sands do dare rest, and ‘bliterate de faintest traces ob his footsteps. His be death in de desert, ‘mid de wind’s loud scream in your sand-filling ears for a funeral sermun, and your grave hidden foreber. No sweet spring here to weave her hangings ob green ‘bout your lub-guarded dust. De dews ob night shall shed no tears ‘pon your famined grave. De resurrection angel alone can find ye.
But agin dis fire wind and dis tempest oh pison dat widthers wid a bref, and mummifies whole caravans and armies in dare march, dare is one breast work, one “hiding place,” one protecting “shadow” in de dreaded desert. It am “de shadow ob a great rock in dis weary land.” Often has de weary traveler seen death in de distance, pursuing him on de wings of de wind, and felt de certainty ob his fate in de darkness ob de furnace-like air around him. A drowsiness stronger ‘most dan de lub oh life creeps ober him, and de jaded camel reels in de heby sand-road under him. A shout oh danger from de more resolute captin ob de caravan am sent along de ranks, prolonged by a thousand thirst-blistered tongues, commingled in one ceaseless howl ob woe, varied by ebery tone ob distress and despair. To “de great rock,” shouts de leader as ‘pon his Arab hoss he heads dis “flight to de Refuge.” Behind dem at a great distance, but yet fearfully near fur safety, is seed a dark belt bending ober de horizon, and sparkling in its waby windings like a great sarpint, air hung at a little distance from de ground, and advancing wid de swiftness ob an arrow. Before dem, in de distance, a mighty great rock spreads out its broad and all-resisting sides, lifting its narrowing pint ‘bove the clouds, tipped wid de sun’s fiery blaze, which had burnt ‘pon it since infant creation ‘woke from de cradle ob kaos at de call ob its Fader. [Here our sable orator pointed away to some of the spurs of the Ozark Mountains seen off to the northwest through a forest opening, at a distance of from ten to fifteen miles, and whose summits of barren granite blazed in the strength of a clear June sun, like sheeted domes on distant cathedrals.] Dat light be de light ob hope, and dat rock be de rock ob hope to de now flyin’, weepin’, faint’, and famishin’ hundreds. De captin’ has arrived dare. [Here a suppressed cry of “Thank God,” escaped many of the audience.] See, he has disappeared behind it, perhaps to explore its cavern coverts. But see, he has soon reappeared, and wid joy dancing in his eye, he stands shoutin’ and beckonin’, “Onward, onward, ouward, ONWARD,” when he reels from weariness and falls in behind de rock. [“Thank God, he’s saved!” exclaimed a voice.] Onward dey rush, men, women, husbands, wives, parents and children, broders and sisters, like doves to de windows, and disappear behind dis rampart ob salvation. Some faint just as dey ‘rive at de great rock, and dare friends run out and drag dem to de “hidin’ place,” when wakin’ up in safety, like dat sister dare, dat lose her strength in de prayer-meetin’, dey shout ‘loud for joy. [Here many voices at once shouted “Glory.”] De darknin’ sand-plain ober which dese fled for life, now lies strewed wid beast, giben out in the struggle, and all useless burdens was trowed ‘side. De waby sheet ob destruction, skimmin’ the surface wid de swiftness ob shadow, now be near, and yet, a few feeble strag glen and lubbed friends ob dis sheltered multitude are yet a great way off. [Here words were uttered in a choked accent, the speaker seeming unable to resist the thrilling character of the analogy] Yes, a great way off. But see, moders and broders from behind de rock arc shoutin’ to dem to hasten. Dey come, dey come. A few steps more, and dey arc sabed. But 0, de pison wind is just behind dem, and its choke mist already round dem. Dare one falls, and dare is a scream. No, he rises again and am sabed. But one still is exposed. It be de fader oh dat little nest oh sweet-eyed children, for which he had fled to de rear to hurry on. Dey have passed forward and arc safe. He am but a little distance from de rock, and not a head dares to peep to him encouragement from behind it. Already de wings oh de death angel am on de haunches oh his strong dromedary. His beast falls, but ‘pon de moment oh him falling, de rider leaps out oh his saddle into dis “hiding-place from de wind.” His little boy crouched in a hole oh de rock, into which he thrusts his head, entwines his neck with his little arms and says, “Papa, you hab come, and we be all here.” [Here the shouts of “Salvation,” “Salvation,” seemed to shake the place in which we were assembled.]
Now, de burnin’ winds and de pison winds blow and beat ‘pon dat rock, but dose who hab taken refuge behind it, in its overhanging precipices, are safe until de tempest am ober and gone.
And now, brederen, what does all dis represent in a figure? Dat rock am Christ; dem winds be de wrath oh God rabealed against de children oh disobedience. Dem that he sabed be dem dat hab fled to de refuge, to de hope set before dem in Christ Jesus de Lord. De desert am de vast howling wilderness oh dis world, where dare be so little oh lob, and so much oh hate; so little oh sincerity, and so much oh hypocrisy; so little oh good, and so much oh sin; so little oh heben, and so much oh hell. It seem to poor me, dat dis world am de battle ground oh de debil and his angels against Christ and his elect, and if de debil hab not gained de victory, he hold possession because every sinner am a Tory. God oh de Gospel, open the batteries of heben to-day! [Here a vollev of hearty “Amens.”] Sinner, de wrath oh God am gathering against you for de great decisive battle. I already sees in de light oh Zina’s lightnings a long embankment oh dark cloud down on de sky. De tall thunder heads nod wid dare plumes of fire in dare onward march. De day of vengeance am at hand. Mercy, dat has pleaded long for you wid tears of blood, will soon dry her eyes and hush her prayers in your behalf Death and hell hang on your track wid de swiftness ob de tempest. Before you am de “hiding-place.” Fly, fly, I beseeches you, from de wrath to come!
But, brederen, de joy ob de belieber in Jesus am set forth in a figerative manner in de text. It am compared to water to dem what be dying ob thirst. 0, how sweet to de taste ob de desert traveler sweltering under a burning sun, as if creation was a great furnace! Water, sweet, sparldin’, livin’, bubblin’, silvery water, how does his languid eye brighten as he sud¬denly sees it gushing up at his feet like milk from de fountain ob lub, or leaping from de sides ob de mountain rock like a relief angel from heben. He drinks long and gratefully, and feels again de blessed pulsations ob being. And so wid de soul dat experience joy in beliebing; de sweets ob pardon; de raptures ob peace; de witnessin’ Spirit’s communings, and de quiet awe ob adoption. Such a soul be obershadowed wid de Almighty; he linger in de shady retreats ob de garden ob God; he feed in de pastures ob his lub, and am led by still waters, and often visits de land ob Beulah, whare it always am light. But, my brederen, all comparison be too dispassionate, and an angel’s words am too cold to describe de raptures ob salvation! It am unspeakable and full ob glory. Dc life ob innocence and prayer; de sweet, childlike smile and de swim¬mm’ eye; de countenance so glorious in death, dat but for decay, de body ob de gone-home saint might be kept as a breathin’ statue of peace and patience, smiling in victory ober all de sorrows ob life and de terrors ob death, are de natural language ob dis holy passion. 0, glory to God! I feels it today like fire in my bones! Like a chained eagle my soul rises toward her native heben, but she can only fly just so high. But de fetters ob flesh shall fall off soon, and den,
‘I shall bathe my weary soul
In seas ob hebenly rest,
And not a wabe ob trouble roll
Across my peaceful breast.’
In seas ob hebenly rest,
And not a wabe ob trouble roll
Across my peaceful breast.’
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