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Updated: May 13, 2025
Over the vague quarrels which drench the strands with blood, over the plunderers of shipwrecks, over the jetsam and the reefs, and the palaces and monuments built upon the sand, I see the high tide coming. Truth is only revolutionary by reason of error's disorder. Revolution is Order. Through the panes I see the town I often take refuge at the windows.
"She's full of things in her favor," returned Jewel warmly. "Error's using you, grandpa, not to love her. If we don't love people we can't be sure anything we do to them is right." Mr. Evringham raised one hand and scratched his head slowly, regarding Jewel with what she felt was intended to be a humorous air. "Couldn't you give me an easier one?" he asked.
Marshall, do not in the least resemble the heathen made familiar to us by the hymns and tracts of our infancy. So far from calling on us to deliver their land "from error's chain," they mete out prompt and cruel death to their deliverers. So far from thirsting for Gospel truths, they thirst for the blood of the intruders.
"From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand. From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain." Those are beautiful verses, and they have remained in my memory all my life.
When from dark error's subjugation My words of passionate exhortation Had wrenched thy fainting spirit free; And writhing prone in thine affliction Thou didst recall with malediction The vice that had encompassed thee: And when thy slumbering conscience, fretting By recollection's torturing flame, Thou didst reveal the hideous setting Of thy life's current ere I came: When suddenly I saw thee sicken, And weeping, hide thine anguished face, Revolted, maddened, horror-stricken, At memories of foul disgrace.
It is ignorance and foolishness that we have to contend with as much as anything else, for it is one of the thickest clouds that hide knowledge. Until we have learned to turn to the hidden fountain of wisdom, we are helplessly bound to error's ways.
The congregation sang according to the tune of "Wie schoen leuchtet der Morgenstern": "One hundred years, thrice told this day, By heavenly grace truth's radiant ray Beamed through the Reformation; Yea, glorious as Aurora's light Dispels the gloomy mists of night, Dawn'd on the world salvation. Luther! Zwingli! Joined with Calvin! From error's sin The church to free Restored religious liberty."
He will not blame me, He who sends not peace, But sends a sword, and bids us strike amain At Error's gilded crest, where in the van Of earth's great army, mingling with the best And bravest of its leaders, shouting loud The battle-cries that yesterday have led The host of Truth to victory, but to-day Are watchwords of the laggard and the slave, He leads his dazzled cohorts.
The young nobleman of the millions was watched; the town spyglass had him in its orbit. Tales of the ancestral Fleetwoods ran beside rumours of a Papist priest at the bedside of the Foredoomed to Error's dying mother. His wealth was counted, multiplied by the ready naughts of those who know little and dread much.
At the left-hand corner of the first page of this note is written: 'The parcel a "Pauline" parcel is come. I send one as a witness. On the inner page is written: 'Impromptu on hearing a sermon by the Rev. T. R. pronounced "heavy" 'A heavy sermon! sure the error's great, For not a word Tom uttered had its weight.
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