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119,045 voters
“Here lies one who feared God so much that he never feared the face of any man.”
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“At night as he lay in bed with his eyes closed listening to the song of the turtledove in the trees, behind his closed eyelids he would pass through every scene in the life of Christ. From childhood the face of Christ had been for him the fulfillment of his every dream and ideal. The face of Christ as he preached to the crowd the Sermon on the Mount. The face of Christ as he passed over the Lake of Galilee at dusk. Even in its moments of terrble torture this face had never lost its beauty. Those soft, clear eyes which pierced to the very core of a man's being were now fixed upon him. The face that could do no wrong, utter no word of insult. When the vision of this face came before him, fear and trembling seemed to vanquish like the tiny ripples that are quietly sucked up by the sand of the seashore.”
― Silence
― Silence
“I’m aware, you know, that I and the people I love may perish in the morning. I know that. But there’s light on our faces now.”
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―
“Come, lay his books and papers by,
He shall not need them more,
The ink shall dry upon his pen,
So softly close the door.
His tired head, with locks of white,
And like the winter’s sun;
Hath lain to peaceful rest tonight,
The teacher’s work is done.
His work is done; no care tonight
His tranquil rest shall break,
Sweet dreams, and with the morning light,
On other shores he’ll wake.
His noble thoughts; his wise appeal,
His works that battles won;—
But God doth know the loss we feel,—
The teacher’s work is done.
We feel it, while we miss the hand
That made us brave to bear,
Perchance in that near-touching land
His work did wait him there.
Perchance, when death its change hath wrought,
And this brief race is run,
His voice again shall teach, who thought
The teacher’s work was done.”
―
He shall not need them more,
The ink shall dry upon his pen,
So softly close the door.
His tired head, with locks of white,
And like the winter’s sun;
Hath lain to peaceful rest tonight,
The teacher’s work is done.
His work is done; no care tonight
His tranquil rest shall break,
Sweet dreams, and with the morning light,
On other shores he’ll wake.
His noble thoughts; his wise appeal,
His works that battles won;—
But God doth know the loss we feel,—
The teacher’s work is done.
We feel it, while we miss the hand
That made us brave to bear,
Perchance in that near-touching land
His work did wait him there.
Perchance, when death its change hath wrought,
And this brief race is run,
His voice again shall teach, who thought
The teacher’s work was done.”
―
“But science, dominated by the spirit of religion is the key to progress and the hope of the future. For example, evolution's beautiful theory of the creation of the world offers many perplexing problems to the inquiring mind. Inevitably, a teacher who denies divine agency in creation, who insists there is no intelligent purpose in it, will infest the student with the thought that all may be chance. I say, that no youth should be so led without a counter balancing though. Even the skeptic teacher should be fair enough to see that even Charles Darwin, when he faced this great question of annihilation, that the creation is dominated only by chance wrote: "It is an intolerable thought than man and all other sentient beings are doomed to complete annihilation after such long, continued slow progress." And another good authority, Raymond West, said, "Why this vast [expenditure] of time and pain and blood?" Why should man come so far if he's destined to go no farther? A creature that travels such distances and fought such battles and won such victories deserves what we are compelled to say, "To conquer death and rob the grave of its victory.”
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Stephen’s 2024 Year in Books
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