Part 17 (1/2)
”I would like to preach there, by that lonely grave in the wilderness.”
”The Tunker will preach at Nancy's grave,” said Thomas Lincoln in a loud voice. He led the way to the great cathedral of giant trees, which were clouded with swelling buds and old moss, and a long procession of people followed him there.
Among them was Aunt Olive, with a corn-field bonnet of immense proportions, and her hymn-book. She was a lively wors.h.i.+per. At all the meetings she sang, and at the Methodist meetings she shouted; and after all religious occasions she ”tarried behind,” to discuss the sermon with the minister. She usually led the singing. Her favorite hymns were, ”Am I a soldier of the Cross,” ”Come, thou Fount of every blessing,” and ”My Bible leads to glory.” The last hymn and tune suited her emotional nature, and she would pitch it upon a high key, and make the woods ring with the curious musical exhortation of the chorus:
”Sing on, pray on, Ye followers of Emmanuel.”
At the early candle-meetings at Thomas Lincoln's cabin and other cabins, she sang hymns of a more persuasive character. These were oddly appropriate to the hard-working, weary, yet hopeful community. One of these began thus:
”Come, my brethren, let us try, For a little season, Every burden to lay by-- Come, and let us reason.
What is this that casts you down?
What is this that grieves you?
Speak, and let the worst be known-- Speaking may _relieve_ you.”
The music was weird and in a minor key. It was sung often with a peculiar motion of the body, a forward-and-backward movement, with clasped hands and closed eyes. Another of the pioneer hymns began:
”Brethren, we have met for wors.h.i.+p, And to adore the Lord our G.o.d: Will you pray with all your power, While we wait upon the Lord?
All is vain unless the Spirit Of the Holy One comes down; Brethren, pray, and heavenly manna Will be showered all around.
”Sisters, will you join and help us?
Moses' sister help-ed him,” etc.
The full glory of a spring day in Indiana shone over the vast forests, as the Tunker rose to speak under the great trees. It was like an Easter, and, indeed, the hymn sung at the opening of the service was much like an Easter hymn. It related how--
”On this lovely morning my Saviour was rising, The chains of mortality fully despising; His sufferings are over, he's done agonizing-- This morning my Saviour will think upon _me_.”
The individuality of the last line seemed especially comforting to many of the toiling people, and caused Aunt Olive to uplift her voice in a great shout.
”Come with me,” said Jasper; ”come with me this morning, and we will walk beside the Sea of Galilee together. Galilee! I love to think of Galilee--far, far away. The words spoken on the sh.o.r.es of Galilee, and on the mountains over-looking Galilee, are the hope of the world. They are the final words of our all-loving Father to his children. Times may change, but these words will never be exceeded or superseded; nothing can ever go beyond these teachings of the brotherhood of man, and the way that the heart may find G.o.d, and become conscious of the presence of G.o.d, and know its immortality, and the everlasting truth. What did the great Teacher say on Galilee?”
The Parable began to repeat from memory the Sermon on the Mount and the Galilean teachings. The birds came and sang in the trees during the long recitations, and the people sank down on the gra.s.s. Once or twice Aunt Olive's corn-field bonnet rose up, and out of it came a shout of ”Glory!” One enthusiastic brother shouted, at one point of the quotations: ”That's right, elder; pitch into 'em, and give it 'em--they need it. We're all sinners here; a good field to improve upon! Go on!”
It was past high noon when Jasper finished his quotations from the Gospels. He then paused, and said:
”Do you want to know who I am, and why I am here, and what has sent me forth among the speckled birds of the forest? I will tell you. A true life has no secrets--it needs none; it is open to all like the revelations of the skies, and the sea, and the heart of Nature--what is concealed in the heart is what should not be.
”I had a teacher. He is living now--an old, broken man--a name that will sound strange to your ears. He gave up his life to teach the orphans made by the war. He studied with them, learned with them, ate with them; he saw with their eyes and felt with their hearts. He taught after the school of Nature; as Nature teaches the child within, so he taught, using outward objects.
”He once said to me:
”'For thirty years my life has been a struggle against poverty. For thirty years I have had to forego many of the barest necessities of life, and have had to shun the society of my fellow-men for want of decent clothes. Many and many times I have gone without a dinner, and eaten in bitterness a dry crust of bread on the road, at a time when even the poorest were seated around a table. All this I have suffered, and am suffering still to-day, and with no other object than to realize my plan for helping the poor.'
”When I heard him say that, I loved him. It made me ashamed of my selfish life. Then I heard the Dunkards preach, and tell of America over the sea. I began to study the words of the Teacher of Galilee. I, too, longed to teach. My wife died, and my two children. Then I said: 'I will live for the soul. That is all that has any lasting worth. I will give up everything for the good of others, and go over the sea, and teach the children of the forest.' I am now on my way to see Black Hawk, who has promised to send out with me an interpreter and guide. I have given up my will, my property, and my name, and I am happy. Good-by, my friends. I have nothing, and am happy.”
At this point Aunt Olive's corn-field bonnet rose up, and her voice rang out on the air: