OWER Went Forth

'74e *oadt INSTRUCTOR A OWER Went Forth By JANET FOX 1) there went forth to Christian Col- lege at the beginning of the semester many professors of great knowledge and understanding. As they traveled forth by rail and speedway they pondered the seeds of the knowledge of chemistry, English, mathematics, and Bible that they had to sow among the many students who were also journeying forth from surrounding metropolises unto Christian College. When all was in readiness, classes com- menced, and the seeds of honesty, neatness, good sportsmanship, and tactfulness, as well as the seeds of knowledge and of the Word of God, were sown. It came to pass that there was in one class a certain young man called Henry. Although the seed was sown, Henry lis- tened little, so interested was he in the profile of the co-ed to his left and the antics of the class prankster to his right. What did fall upon his ears he repeated unto his friends with great sarcasm, mak- ing exceeding light of it, for he under- stood nought thereof. Though Henry had just been graduated from academy (by the skin of his teeth), he was not prepared for college work, or even prepared to study for college work. Because art and library science had been easier than chemistry or physics, he had sought out these and similar courses for his academy work. Yet it was not perceived that Henry's spelling, grammar, and arith- metic were greatly in need of polishing. Nor did it matter to him that his father had to lay many yards of cement to keep him in college, or that his mother was doing without several necessities in order —Please turn to page 17 A MODERN PARABLE H. A. Roberts And It Came to Pass That There Was at Christian College a Certain Young Man Called Henry. Though He Had Just Finished Academy He Was Not at All Prepared for College VOL. 99, NO. 37 SEPTEMBER 11, 1951 Dear Father The Ways of Peace By MAVIS E. ORR By MARK K. BULLOCK I walked a new, untrodden way Thank you for the morning fresh from Thy hand, Through meadows and by laughing rills, Untouched by man and unstained by sin. And all the while heard music play Song Sparrow Thank you for the silence of the purple dawn, That followed me through fields and Majestic in its serenity. hills. By OLIVE C. LEARY Thank you, God, for the thrill of life That surges and throbs within my veins. Out from the threat of the storm's overture The songbirds' notes were blithely sweet, Thank you, dear Father, for vibrant youth Sounded a clarion, dauntless and clear, And soft winds whispered in low tone. And ambitions that urge the soul upward. Over the wind-surging trees' constant bass, My heart to strains of rapture beat Thank you for the firmness of the trees Melody, brief, but with heart free of fear. That bless but nature's realm alone. As they lift their strong limbs to Thee in praise. There on a clef of wires high in the gray Thank you, kind Father, for the wide ocean These ways of happiness are framed Ever changing, independent of man's control. Sat a mere dot pouring notes into song, To heal the hurt that cares impart, Thank you, God, for the innocency of children, Echoing themes of the centuries' hearts For here is beauty, wild, untamed, Daring to keep the world happy and strong. For the lessons of compassion and faith And melody to soothe the heart. We garner from their little lives. Thank you for the warmth of friends, for the Angels and Mimosas Coolness of the evening hour, Sunrise For the flowers that brighten the pathway of life By FLORENCE LEFFEW And shed their rays of hope upon its road, By MILDRED WOOD HARRIS Fresh and fragrant, ever bearing a resemblance of Standing 'neath a pink mimosa, Thy image upon their frail features. When God arose this morning Hovering low like angel wings, Thank you for the disappointments that prove He made a careful bed; I seem to sense the angels closer, our worth to Thee He smoothed the covers of the sky And my grateful heart just sings. The very completeness of Thy Creation manifests And laid His golden spread— Thine everlasting love to me. The one with fringe of rose and blue Gracious Father, may I never For all things, Father—I give Thee thanks. I like to see the best; Grieve these loving guards away He dusted all the night clouds off, When the cruel, subtle demons And when He was quite dressed Seek to lure my soul astray. He called to me, "I'm coming, child; My Hour of Steal Away Put on the wedgwood cup, How I love to feel them near me, And I will bring the manna, and With their shining wings so bright. By DAVE ANDERSON Together we will sup." Keeping back the hosts of darkness With their heavenly power and light. Beneath the peaceful, starry night I ofttimes steal away, Empty Tombs And to think that I shall see them Away from cares and worldly strife Someday not so far from now, I've gathered through the day. By BETTY COOPER Fly with them throughout the heavens! Father, 'neath their wings I bow. Through pastures full of new-mown hay, There, running fast along the path, go Across a singing brook, Peter and John. My weary heart at last finds rest Mary has just told them of the empty His Promises Are Sure In my own special nook. tomb. Their Lord is—gone! By MARY GUSTAFSON 'Tis here, that I beneath God's heav'n, And John—John races ahead to see the With the cares of the toilsome day riven stone. Feast on beauty by the roadside, Crushing me, bending me toward the Eagerness, and love, and hope Where the fairest flowers appear, earth, O'er all his face is writ Scent the fragrance of the morning Bow reverent knees to pray. As he remembers how the Lord had said, And you feel His presence near. "I will arise.- When I arise my cares have flown; And Peter presses on from close behind. Find the goodness of His promise It's as certain as night and day. He's older now. The race is hard. In the stand of yellow wheat; And so this hour I've called my own, His breath comes quick, and quicker still. Here the bread of life is growing, My Hour of Steal Away. O'er all his face the lines of deep regret Soon the food of which we'll eat. For that denial hour are traced. Yet in his eyes a fierce devotion Taste the fox grape in the pine tree. That is new, and true, Where its tendrils have ingrown, The Ladder Since last they met—the Christ and he. Here is food for all the forest And so they hasten on, to find at last And for man by His hand sown. By JOSEPH TWING An empty sepulcher, an angel. And a living hope. See the silence of the snowfall There is a ladder stretching from As it mantles earth from sight, This earth to heaven above, I too have often faced an empty tomb— Storing deep next-summer moisture And all who wish may climb its height A tomb of disappointment or despair— With its blankets, crystal-white. By trusting in God's love. And wondered if His promises were sure. But oh, the joy that I may find Sip the cool of springing water Each rung is forged of precious truth, As they found in the garden long ago— From the earth, light-clear and pure Wrought by our Father's hand, An angel by each empty sepulcher. All these things will help to show you And if we climb clear to the top— And faith again, That His promises are sure. We'll reach the Promised Land! Because He rose! Vol. 99, No. 37 THE YOUTH'S INSTRUCTOR, September 11, 1951 One Year, $4.75 Published by the Seventh-day Adventists. Printed eery Tuesday by the Review and Herald Publishing Assn., at Takoma Park, Washington 12, D.C., U.S.A. Entered as second-class matter August 19, 1903, at the post office at Washington, D.C., under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1951, Review and Herald Publishing Association, Washington 12, D.C. PAGE 2 THE YOUTH'S INSTRUCTOR • ASTEN your safety belts," said the F pilot as he came down the aisle of the big Army transport plane to give every- thing a final check. Then as he took his place beside the co-pilot, the big motors roared and we began to move out onto the strip and head into the wind. With a greater burst of power we taxied lightly down the runway and took to the air. The day was clear and balmy as we circled out over the calm Coral Sea and then headed back toward the interior of the great tropical island of New Guinea. As our plane gained altitude, the harbor at Lae and the great air base at Nadzab took on Lilliputian dimensions. The lazy brown Markham River, reflecting the blue of the sky, wound in and out among the grassy hills until it was lost from sight in the deeper verdure of the jungle. As the minutes and miles ticked off, the air became more fresh and crisp, and we were glad that we had brought along the woolen blankets as the pilot had advised.

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