The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, May 31, 1907, Image 1
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OAPFNEY, B. C, FRIDAY, MAY 31, 1907.
BUBO
A YEAR.
LIMESTONE COLLEGE
CLOSES SESSION
THE EXERCISES ENDED WED-
NESDAY EVENING.
Diplomas Awarded Graduates by
Rresident of the College—Com
mencement Address.
The closing exercises of Limestone
College last night were the most
impressive that the Institution has
ever experienced und o r its preset
management. The large auditorium
was crowded with the beauty and
chivalrv of the piedmont section;
for he it understood that tho influences
of this grand old historical institu
tion are by no means local, hut ex
tend to all parts of the country.
The first number on the program
wag a most excellently rendered in
strumental selection by Prof. Harold
Loring, musical director of the col
lege. Then followed a few words of
■welcome from Dr. Lodge, the presi
dent. The next number was the
beautiful song, “Winter hath not a
blossom.” sting with excellent ex
pression by Misses Wilburne, All and
HnfT.
Then Dr. Lodge in glowing words
introduced the speaber of the eve
ning, Prof. William Allen Wilbur,
dean of Columbian University of
Washington. D. C. Prof. Wilbur
chose ag his theme ‘‘The Forward
Look in Education.” and for an hour
hold his vast audience spellbound
with his eloquent and magic treat
ment of this great subject. The
gems of thought which fell from his
lips were truly sublime: and the
graduating class and Limestone Col
lege were truly fortunate in secur
ing such a brilliant and profound
scholar to address them.
Prof. Wilbur spoke as follows:
Commencement is one of the tryst-
ino places of our civilization.
The family, the school, the vaca
tion, the State and the church—these
are the institutions of society for cul
ture and for self-expression. The
world is a great exercising ground
for the development of personality
and this development is education.
We are led through the years of
childhood and youth within the
family and the school until the per
sonality has attained functional ma
turity,—intellectual, emotional, voli
tional—and here in the full posses
sion of trained intelligence', of culti
vated’ taste, of ethical poise and de
cision of character, the college takes
leave of you on commencement day.
Commencement is an end and a
beginning. Until now the primary
motive has been self-culture, from
this time forth the primary impulse
Is to he self-expression. Two Divine
messeangers meet here today: the
one. the angel of study, has brought
you hitherto: the other, the angel of
service, would go forth with you
from this place. It was the vision
of goodness and mercy like angels
of God that the young ;nau David
had w r hen he was leaving the school
of God’s pasture lands for God’s serv
ice In the citfnp of Saul.
Commencement day is a place of
vision. The teacher sees a stream
line of impressionable life passing
through tho school and he finds an
Incentive in the dignity of fld>Ml$lfon.
The parent sees the rgamHon of
his hopes as his daughter graduates
today and he thinks anew of the
responsibility of education. The
graduate in the enthusiasm of the
day thinks as never * before of the
opportunities of education. It is a
place of quickened vision. And in
the stillness of your thought I set
before you this picture from the poet
Keats—a little allegory that is yours
today—
‘‘Thon felt I like some watcher of
the skies
When a new planet swims into his
ben;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle
eyes
He stared at the Pacific—and alibis
men
Look’d at each other with a wild
surmise—
Silent upon a peak in Darien.”
In a recent address in Washintgofi
before the Federal Schoolmen’s Club
the United States commissioner of
^ucation said. "The forward look in
education should be kept alive in
every school, and any school in which
it is not kept alive is an evil influence
i n education.”
The theme I would bring you is
this: The forward look in education,
its basis in culture, its motive in
ambition, its ideal in imagination.
These thoughts j would bring to
you—a thought of culture, a thought
of ambition, a bought of imagination.
Cultur e as a state is perfection:
as a process it is improvement. A
state of culture is the ideal; the pro
cess of culture is our first practical
concern as student together. Culture
A is the keening of law. We seek to
^ know the law and how to keep it.
Richard Hooker said of law-: "Its
seat is the bosom of God: its voles
is the harmony of the world.” And
ma n created in the image of God and
subject to Jaw is a transgressor
against the laws of his ow-n being
and of bis physical environment;
through ignorance and inertia and
• perversity and depravity man has
lamentably fallen from his high
estate. He trangresses spiritual law
and is a sinner; he transgresses
civil law and becomes a criminal,
social law' and becomes an outcast,
natural law and becomes a sufferer
in body and in mind. There are
laws of thought which he trangresses
and becomes deluded, laws c lan
guage and laws of behavior vhich
he ignores and becomes uncouth.
Natural and inevitable penalties fol
low man—the law-breaker—and en
force the need of culture, physical
and intellectual and spiritual.
Our nature wonderfully associates
immortality and mortality, a soul ex
isting in and for itself and a body
existing as a means of expression
for the soul. Soul and body need
culture. There is a culture tending
to perfection of being^ and a culture
tending to perfection of expression:
the aim of the first is character, and
the aim of the second is power.
Character and pow'er, those tw’o are
the ends sought ia education. That
process of culture which emphasizes
character we call a ‘‘liberal educa
tion;" that process which emphasizes
power we call a technical or profes
sional education. Character is form
ed through discipline, but power is
gained through instruction an d prac
tice. Discipline and instruction are
not mutually exclusive but they are
divergent in purpose. They were
once bept more distinct than they
are today. The undergraduate col
lege course of fifty years ago was a
folir-year’s course of liberal study
which had in view, from beginning
to end, discipline of mind. No elect
ives were permitted; older and pre-
sumablv wiser heads determined the
curriculum which experience had
show’n to have the greatest discipli-
narv value. The classics wor<» read
to improve the taste, and construed
to exercise the judgment, and mem-
n-Gofl | n strengthen the memory.
All of th°se things were regarded
as the aunaratus of mental develop
ment. The undergraduate coTToge
eoursn of todav is a compromise be
tween “liberal” and “professional”
or otbe r utilitarian a'ms in education.
Disciplln,. and Instrnrtion together
give culture; neither of them takes
aecount of the world without, except
as a means of man’s improvement.
Facts in nature make possible the
exerclsf. of the muscles, the senses,
the sensibilities, tbe intellect, and
the will. Culture is not literarv or
mathematical or scientific, hut human.
The world was made for man. not
man for the world; and any view of
education which represents man lik"
a shin in port loading with a general
cargo. Is false and pernicious. Tbe
ship was built to carry cargo, but
man Is more than the’sum of all
things else i n the world.
The world itself is a great gym
nasium for man.^ Through the mas
tery of Its secre'ts and the control of
! ts forces he mav develop and har
monize al] the powers of his own
nature.
Bodily exercise is the first con
cern i n culture because on- physical
environment directly affects our
bodily organism. Bodily health and
strength are the foundations of practi
cal usefulness. The first education
is phyiticnl; this is of prime Import
through the years of childhood, and
neither intellectual nor moral train
ing should so enter Into the child’s
life as to become a conscious burden
and a weariness. The child ideal is
physical; the youth feels the quicken
ing impulses of Intellectual life, but
this does not do away wtih the need
of physical training.
The active Instruments of the
physical organism are the muscles
and they should be trained and
strengthened by practice and con
stant exercise. Their very existence
depends upon their use. Use or lose
is the universal alternative, and use
conditions growth; we may have
about all the strength we are willing
to use and properly maintain. And
nature has no place for the lazy.
The passive instruments of tiie
physical organism are the senses,
and all care should be taken to ren
der them acute and to keep them so.
Bv the muscles man Imposes himself
on the world without; through the
senses the world without appeals
to the man himself. The five senses
are avenues of Information. Their
function is to perceive; we se o , smell,
hear, taste, and touch f>y means of
them, and we train them in order
that they may report things as they
are. It is our concern to secure a
true eye, a keen scent, a sensitive
ear. a discriminating taste, and a deli
cate touch. Whv do we go to th'
animal and the savage for ideals of
sense perception? We speak of an
eagle eye. of the keen scent, of the
hound, of the ouick ear of the sav-
are. Cannot culture d anything for
the senses? there is something wrong
wh^n the powef of sense perception
in men and women is in inverse ratio
to their learning.
At th’s ooint 1 lie physical ami in
tellectual merge. The sf>nse« are
dull because they ar^ not used. The
savage looks outward: he is a sun
worshipper, a love r 0 f nature, a child
of the senses. It is a defect in our
sv‘-t“rn of eduction that as the in
tellept flx°K habits of Introspection It
forsakes habits of perception, end a«
a result nerves lose tbeir sensitive
ness. and sight grows dim and hear
ing dull, and man sinks into self-
inflicted solitude.
Her? is on'* of t v >e dangers o'
study It is unnatural for nti|n. like
tb'> night-blooming cereus. to reach
hie full activity only under tbe lamp
light; such study is a weariness to
thp flesh and of little wo-th to the
world. Archimedes on the sands of
Syracuse complaining of his circles
is not an ideal of culture, for ab
stract thought is nothing so long as
it is abstract. Archimedes’ circles
should have saved Syracuse. Ab
straction and narrowness and apathy
are foes to culture.
Education should bring to man that
renaissance which discovers to him
the world and himself and the world’s
relation to himself.
Mr. Kipling has written an alle
gory of awakening. It is “The Ship
that Found Herself.” She was a lit
tie cargo steamer of two thousand
five bunded tones, and she was new.
and her skipper said of her.—“She’s
all here, but the parts of her have
not learned to work together yet,
They’ve had no chance."
And the little steamer put out to
sea, and a short while after she had
cleared the Irish coast a sullen, gray-
headed old wave of the Atlantic
climbed leisurely over the hows and
sat down on the steam capstan, and
the capstan sputtered through the
teeth of his cogs, and then the deck
beams complained of the capstan
and the stringers felt the strain and
complained to the deck beams, and
then an echoing rumble came from
the frames, and a thousand little
rivets whispered together. And this
was the first of many waves, and all
the voices of the little ship rose in
complaining—each at variance with
his neighbor.
Your instructors have heard such
voices.
Mr. Kipling says. “If you put your
ear to the side of the cabin the next
time you are in a steamer, you will
hear hundreds of little voices in
every direction, thrilling and buz
zing, and whispering and popping,
and gurgling and sobbing and squeak
ing exactly like a telephone in a
thunder storm.”
Then the little wave-swept steamer
pitched and rolled and had a hard
time of it. “You don’t mean to say
there’s any one except us on the sea
in such weather?” said the funnel,
in a husky snuffle.
‘‘ ‘Scores of 'em,' said the steam,
clearing its throat.
And then an unexpected thing
happened.
“ ‘We have made a most amazing
discovery,’ said the stringers, one
after another; ‘a discovery that en
tirely changes the situation. We
have found for the first time in the
history of shipbuilding, that the in
ward pull of he deck beams and the
outward thrust of the frames locks
ns, as it were, more closely In our
places, and enables us to endure a
strain which is entirely without
parallel in the records of marine
architecture.’ ”
“The steam turned a laugh quicbly
into a roar up the fog-horn. ‘What
massive intellects you great stringers
have!” he said, softly, when he had
finished.
And so the story tells how the
complainings ceased, and how at
last, all the talking melted Into one
dee*' voice, which w r as the soul of
the ship.
Now I would tell you plainly and
without a figure what culture should
do for thought. It makes thought,
first, concentrated; second, clear;
third, free; fourth, patinet.
The mind is a tireless energy, an
ebb and flotf of endless motion as
restless as the sea. This energy the
will must master and control, must
concentrate uoon any desir’d object
of thought until such subordination
to the will becomes habit and the
mind obeys and follows as the sea
follows the moon. Concentration of
mind is not easy. The thousand di
verting influences are always pre
sent. Ideal conditions for thinking
are never found: it is our task to
make the best of the real conditions
—to study anywhere, at any time,
under any circumstances; to concen
trate thought w'hen and where it Is
needed most, whether it be in the
office or in the recitation room or in
danger, anywhere that the exigencies
of life may nlace us. The man who
can centre all his mental energy up
on a single point finds few obstacles
to his progress, and realizes in such
concentration of thought one of the
purposes of culture.
Thought should be clear also.
Feeble brain energy in contact with
the atmosphere of things without
nroduceg a sort of mental fog that
is sometimes mistaken for thought.
And there are many who live and
die enveloped in such fog and never
know what it is to cast a shadow:
We want, no men without a shadow.
Wfe want, rather, to live, all of us,
in a clear intellectual light. We
want to see things clearly, to look
uu into such a sky as he astronomers
love when the stars set in the deep
blue shine undimmed like living fire.
Analyze all subjects of study and
persist in such analysis. Analyze for
your own sake that you may have
clear 4 Ideas, and analyze for the sake
of others that you may impart ideas
clearly, it is as pernicious and un
mannerly to leave an idea half ap-
nrehened and vaguely understood as
it is to leave any other piece of worb
half done; to talk obscurely is only
one degree more mannerly than to
break off in the midst of a sentence
9nd turn abruptly away. A few
rlear ideas are better than any fog
of thought even though it were vast
pnongh to cover the Grand Banks.
Thought should be free. Free
‘bought is bold; the discoverers in
‘ iou«rht are brave men. Fear of un-
conventionality, fear of nop-cqnfor-)
mity, fear of Innovation enslave
thought whe n it ought to he free to
go if it can into the primal solitudes
and blaze a new way through the
untrodden wilderness. Such thought
Is independent in its essential pro
cesses and conclusion- its guiding
principle is truth. This is of the
greatest practical importance. Why
do studnets travel like the lame and
the halt and the blind, limping and
groping along, availing themselves
of all manner of make-shifts when it
is their privilege to walk upright
like men? Cyclopaedias and thans-
lations and commentaries and keys
are misused to save the indolent and
the foolish from that very exercise
of free thought which it is the object
of his training to encourage. There
was a time when free thought had
many foes from without. It was not
always safe to speak the truth. But
w> have free speech in America.
Yet there are foes to free thought
quite as insidious and threatening as
any evil statute could he. There is
a legion of prejudices still to be
cast out. He who seeks culture will
not abide prejudice or indolence or
fear.
Finally, thought should be patient.
Patience endures to the end; having
entered upon a course of study it
never gives up: having undertaken
to solve a problem it never fails.
And patience through years of study
is not easy. There comes a time in
the course when It seems as though
energy were almost exhausted. Cc’-
lege work is preparation and youth
is not patie 1 in preparation; youth
hungers and thirsts for achievement
and is impatient of delay. But it is
a parto of culture to wait.
So far we have considered the
aims of physical and intellectual
education. They are summarized in
the saying—“Mans sana in sano
corpore.” But this is not all that
culture can do. It is the soul's har
mony at last.
Education is the development of
harmony in human life. It is like
the tuning of an orchestra; there is
here and there the touch of a bow
on a violin, and a throb or two of
the petulant drums: and now the
complaining of a discordant string,
and the deep breahing of he viols
and the bird notes of the clarionet.
By and i»y upon the dissonance there
falls a hush. And presently there
is a breath of awakening music and
in the midst, of it a few clear notes
of glad acceleration. Then it rises
and like a wind that gathers
strenghth, it passes on in a full
sweeping harmony.
Spiritual quality is the touchstone
of all excellence whatsoever. If a
man glories in his intellect let him
reflect that Satan himself is his
superior. Intellectual power is not
inconsistent with great wickedness,
and so a man may be learned and
be very miserable; he may be the
world’s authority in many things and,
nevertheless, envy the meanest laborer
who lives in contentment.
The most important factor in man
is not his physical being, not his in
tellect, not his sensibilities, but
himself. Culture which strengthens
the body and disciplines the mind
and refines the taste and neglects
the man is not worthy to be called
culture. How can that be wholesome
which ignores the very essence of
th e whole? Man lives to regain the
lost image of god. To this end he
must live in the contemplation of
Him whom he seeks to be like. The
obligation to godliness is not arbit
rary or unnatural. In just propor
tion as we live in harmony with the
laws of our own structure, and so
without friction and without sin we
approach God’s likeness as in the
beginning.
How is this highest culture gained?
Life is eminently practical and ser
ious, and it is best to iiee wll things
from empty theorizing on the one
hand and from cant on the other:
Personality is quickened by personal
ity and not otherwise. Therefore It
Is that the personal influence of our
teachers is of greater Import than
their knowledge. We accepted our
teachers before we accepted their
teaching and we shall remember them
long after their teaching Is forgotten.
'Methods in education vary with the
nature of the subject taught «Phy»i-
cal culture is imparted and gained
by physical exercise; intellectual
culture by an act of reasoning, and
spiritual culture by spiritual sugges
tion and discernment. The means of
the physical is an apparatus, of the
intellectual a word, of the spiritual
atmosphere. The old writers told a
story and then told the moral, but
You know that morals explicity stated
find little favor with the people and
the people are right. The real moral
needs no such statement; it is always
the essential atmosphere, everywhere
imminent, nowhere obtruded.
Spiritual truth is |he ^llfe^Ivinj
truth: H is an ail science, in all lan
guage. in all philosophy. All sub
jects are dull to superficial students;
to the profound all subjects are won
derful with the power of an endless
life. Seek the ultimate in all kinds
of learning and it is self-asserting,
self-justifying. Tills is the uniform
spirit which gives relation and mean-
inn to all things and constitutes the
universe. Happy is he who sees the
great Order,—the Macrocosm. For
the vision of It comes only as the
crown of that culture which is a per
vasive harmony, a counterpart and
<opy of the greater Cosmos. Thus
man becomes the Microcosm.—the
Order, which is yet the sufficient and
enduring end of all that has be-,, in
this world and of all that is to be.
The diploma that you hold to-day
is a recognition of culture—your own
possession. Yet in this hour of al
ia nment you will still remember that
al’ this is preparation. Being finds
Hs function in living. Culture finds
its uso in many forms of self-expres
sion.. From study you go forth to
service and even on commencement
day I would think relatively less of
attainment and more of enduement
for service.
Two influences there are insepar-
able from our humanity, both of them
a Divine heritage—ambition and
imagination.
Ambition is the reponsiveness of
the soul to the Divine gift of author
ity and dominion. To subdue the
earth and possess it is instructive.
Hence comes the spirit of wandering,
hence tho loneliness and restless
ness of the soul. This is the thought
that swept over the writer of the
Epistle to the Hebrews when he des-
scribed the patriarchs as pilgrims and
strangers in the earth. ‘‘For they
that say such things declare plainly
that they seek a country.” The spir
it of wandering is obedience to a
heavily vision.
You should know Kiplingfs “Ex
plorer;’’
“There’s no sense in going further—
it’s the edge of cultivation,”
So they said, and I believe it—broke
my land and sowed my crop—
Built my barns and strung my fences
in the little border station
Tucked away below he foothills where
the trails run out and stop.
Till a voice, as bad as conscience,
rang int Q rminable changes
On one everlasting whisper day and
night repeated—so;
“Something hidden. Go and find it.
Go and look behind the ranges—
“Something lost behind the ranges.
Lost and waiting for you. Go!”
So it is that the soul is stirred by
voices of the fields and the sky and
the sea and the forces that range
to and fro between them. And all
the winds of circumstance stir
humanity to new endeavor.
Ambition in the wide scope of it is
a theme of universal interest to
humanity, it is a central theme in
our books, i would not here speak
of perverted ambition, but of the
wholesome aspirations of the cultur
ed man or woman for self-expression.
Do you remember Stevenson’s
"Will o’ the Mill?” It is an allegory
on the consequences of suppressing
ambition—neglecting the spirit of
wandering. In the midst of the
story Stevenson turns aside to think
of this spirit possessing the souls
and bodies of men leading them in
great migrations.
“The fame of other lands had
reached them; the name of the eter
nal city rang in their ears; they were
not colonists, but pilgrims; they
traveled toward wine and gold and
sunshine, but their hearts were set
on something higher. That divine
unrest, that old stinging trouble Of
humanity that makes all high achieve
ments and all miserable failure, the
sam e that spread wings with Icarus,
the same that sent Columbus Into
the desolate Atlantic, inspired and
supported these barbarians on their
perilous march. There la one legend
which profoundly represents their
spirit, of how a flyiiig party of these
wanderers encountered a very old
man shod with Iron. The old' man
asked them whether they were go
ing; and they answered with one
voice; ‘To the Eternal City!’ He
looked upon them gravely. ‘I have
sought it.’ he said, ‘over the most
part of the world. Three such pairs
as i now earn' on my feet have I
worn out upon thi" pilgrimage, and
now the fourth is growing slender
underneath my steps. And all this
while i have not found the city.’ And
he turned and went his own way
alone, leaving them astonished.
“Will o’ the Mill” is the wanderer’s
parable of the stayer-at-home. This
is the burden of it;
Once there was a man who feeling
the universal Impulse of wandering
became resentful at the material
limitations of humanity, and resign
ing hhnseif to apathy lived in a
state of passive protest against the
order of God’s world. And he sat
down while the world and happiness,
also, wandered on. And in course of
time he was left alone.
And when he had become an old
ma n he dreamed of happiness—of
boyhood, of Marjorie and the sweet-
nesg of heliotropes, and of starlight
But it was only a dream.
And death came at last and was
welcome. And the old man said,—
“I have been waiting for you these
many years. You were the only
friend I had to look- for.”
Out of the deepest convictions of
mind and heart Stevenson forged
this maxim—“Acts may be forgiven;
not even God can forgive the hanger-
back.”
If you would know the universal
import of ambition study the poets.
In his college note-boob Sidney la-
nler wrote, “A poet Is the mocking
bird of the spiritual universe. In
him are collected all the individual
songs of all Individual natures.”
To live Is to wander and every
lyric Is a wander-song, it Is God’s
will that you be ambitious, that you
cast the best gifts, that you seek to
“xcel, that you go into all the world.
This is the meaning of the song
of the Chattahoochee:
“But oh, not the hills of Habersham,
And. not the valleys of Hall
Avail; I am fain for to water tbf*
plain. ^ .
Downward the voices of duty call—
Downward, to toil and be mixed with
U^.g^ain,
The dry fields burn, and the mills
are to turn,
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn.
And the lordly main from beyond
the plain
Calls o’er the hills of Habersham.
Calls through the valleys of Hall.”
1 have seen the smooth sea on a
summer morning white and still, and
then the breath of a rising wind has
stirred it into curves tremulous as
birds’ wings. Long ago the poetry
of the East called this the wings of
the morning. We speak of the
“wings of fancy’’ and “the realm of
fancy.” There is a reverent thought
that this realm of wandering is also
God’s world. You will remember
the words of the Psalmist, “If I take
the wings of the morning and dwell
in the uttermost parts of the sea
eve n then shall thy hand lead me
and thy right hand shall hold me.”
One of the most familiar religious
ideas is that God created man In his
own Image. To guard and develop
the moral nature of man—a nature
susceptible of change through in
flu nee—man was endued with imagi
nation, a n image-making power with
in him whose function was to keep*
before his mind images of Divine
beauty.
We shall do well to observe care
fully the pictures in the long corri
dors of the mind. The imagination
is continuously active; and though
the image of God be lost some image
will be pictured there and the Imagi
nation will still be fulfilling its funct
ion of influencing the mind through
idealization.
I will tell you an allegory of your
own life it may be. It Is a true story
of Tennyson.
A poet lived In his palace of art
surrounded with the pictures of hte
imagination. Day by day he
them In contemplation in the mere
joy of sensuous beauty, and ell his
days were spent In the careless Joy
ousness of expressing images In
words. And it pleased his sensitive
soul to say that this was “Art for
art’s sa’ e.” Through the long sound
ing corridors he wandered, thrpugh
the great rooms and small—“Some
were hung with arras green and
blue.” “One seem’d all dark and
red—a tract of sand.” “One show’d
an iron coast and angry waves. You
seem’d to h|4 r them climb and fall.”
And all w'asSrery beautiful.
And while the man lingered there
his soul wandered on. and came into
an open place. And the sould knew
that this was his native air strange
ly awakening and fraught with the
meaning of things. And he sawthit
his palace of art was merely the en
trance pavilion, that the pictures
there were forms of a beauty super
nal that should be revealed. And
the soul called the man out from the
shadows of beauty and they two went
on together seeking beauty.
I would that I could bring you on
commenct-ment day the gift of a
word fitly spoken said 0 f old to be
like apples of gold in pictures of
silver. Wonderful is the imagination
of youth. Pictures appear and fade
in bright succession on the enduring
fabric of your life. And you are
changing, subtly changing as the
pictures come and go.
At the «md of his literary life,
reviewing the splendid pictures of
the imagination, Shabespeare wrote:
“The cloud-capp’d towers, the gor
geous palaces.
The solemn temples, the great glob*
itself,
Yea, all which It Inherit, shall dis
solve.
And, like this Insubstantial pageant
faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are
such stuff
As dreams are made on; and onr
llttlQ 11^0
Is rounded with a sleep.”
And God wills It that strong
imagination shall picture forms of
Divine beauty to the end that there
shall be developed again the image
of God that was lost.
Scriptures interpret the
of the imagination.
unveiled face beholding as In a mir
ror the glory of the Lord, a*» trans
formed into the same lm^» MM
fflory to glory.
“Such stuff an dreams are wiaSe
on” This is your life and the world
has no thought long enough to
measure it and nothing high enough
to value it.
Among my early recollection of
school is a Latin motto, “Non scholae
sed vitae discimus”—we learn not
for school but for life. A modern
philosopher has wished to shift the
emphasis and has said “School Is
life.” I should prefer to say every
life is a school and education is like
the ladder Jacob saw raised in the
dust reaching to the throne of God
And this is the scope 0 f It—
The child lives in the presen^Tfe
has no past, he knows no future.
Soon this Eden brightness is cloud
ed over; shades 0 f t]j e prison house
of Time closes about him—the im
pending future and the lingering
past. Simple enjoyment of the pre
vent is characteristic of the child
and awakening voices—incentives
and memories—call him away from
his childish content. And so we for
sake our Eden or are driven from it
The present is left a vacant house
and life becomes an abstraction, a
thing of visions and dreams. We are
I’ngt-ring in the past or prying into
the future ©n the confines of time.
And under the Influence of this pil-
grimag e the fine long days of child
hood are becoming shorter. The last
veer of my life is th<- snortest I have
known and y^t the years to come
will seem shorter. As a chib] I
knew only the present, as a man I
know chiefly the past and the future.
My own problem in education is to
centre my life in the present, redeem
ing the tim e by the experience of the'
last and by tbe faith in tbe future.
(Continued on page 4.)
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