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pubOne.info present you this new edition. "My word shall not return unto me void. "- Isa. iv. , II.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819932642
Langue	English

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THE USE AND NEED OF THE LIFE OF CARRY A.NATION
WRITTEN BY HERSELF
REVISED EDITION 1905
ENCOURAGEMENT FOR CHRISTIAN WORKERS.
“My word shall not return unto me void. ”— Isa. iv., II.
"When saddened by the little fruit thy labors seemto yield,
And when no springing blade appears in all thybarren field;
When those whom thou dost seek to win, seem hard,and cold, and dead—
Then, weary worker, stay thine heart on what theLord hath said;
And let it give new life to hopes which seemwell-nigh destroyed—
This promise, that His word, shall not return untoHim void.
For, if, indeed it be His truth, thy feeble lipsproclaim,
Then, He is pledged to shadow forth, the glory ofHis name.
True this at present may be veiled; still trustinglyabide,
And “cast thy bread, ” with growing faith, uponlife's rolling tide.
It shall, it will, it must be found, this preciousliving seed,
Though thou may'st grieve that thoughtless heartstake no apparent heed.
'Tis thine to sow with earnest prayer, in faith andpatient love,
And thou shalt reap the tear-sown seed, in glorioussheaves above,
Then with what joy ecstatic, thou wilt stand beforeHis throne,
And praise the Lord who used thee thus to gather inHis own!
Adoring love will fill thine heart, and swell thygrateful lays,
That thou, hast brought some souls to Christ, to Hiseternal praise,
That thou hast helped to deck His brow, withblood-bought jewels bright;
Trophies of His wondrous love, and His all-savingmight.
Oh, the grandest privilege to be thus used, to bringthem in!
Oh, grandest joy to see them safe beyond the reachof sin!
Then mourn not, worker; though thy work shall causethee many a tear,
The glorious aim thou hast in view, thy saddenedheart will cheer,
Remember, it is all for Him, who loveth thee sowell;
And let not downcast weary thoughts, one moment inthee dwell,
It is for Him! this is enough to cheer thee all theway;
Until thou hearest the glad “Well done”, and nightis turned to day. "
— Author Unknown
A MOTHER'S CRY,
Yes I represent the mothers. “Rachel wept for herchildren and would not be comforted because they were not. ” So Iam crying for help, asking men to vote for what their forefathersfought for— their firesides. Republican and Democratic votes meansaloons. There is not one effort in these parties to do ought butperpetuate this treason. Yes, it is treason, to make laws toprohibit crime and then license saloons, that prohibit laws fromprohibiting crime. There is not a lawful or legalized saloon. Anything wrong can not be legally right. “Law commands that which isright and prohibits that which is wrong. ” Saloons command thatwhich is wrong and prohibit that which is right. This is anarchy.There is another grievous wrong. The loving moral influence ofmothers must be put in the ballot box. Free men must be the sons offree women. To elevate men you must first elevate women. A nationcan not rise higher than the mothers. Liberty is the largestprivilege to do that which is right, and the smallest to do thatwhich is wrong. Vote for a principle which will make it a crime tomanufacture, barter, sell or give away that which makesthree-fourths of all the crime and murders thousands every year,and the suffering of the women and children that can not be told.Vote for our prohibition president and God will bless you. Pray forme that I may finish my course with joy, the ministry which I havereceived of the Lord Jesus. CARRY A. NATION, Your Loving HomeDefender.
CHAPTER I.
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME AND WHAT I REMEMBER OF MYLIFE UP TO THE TENTH YEAR.
I was born in Garrard County, Kentucky. My father'sfarm was on Dick's River, where the cliffs rose to hundreds offeet, with great ledges of rocks, where under which I used to sit.There were many large rocks scattered around, some as much asfifteen feet across, with holes that held water, where my fathersalted his stock, and I, a little toddler, used to follow him. Onthe side of the house next to the cliffs was what we called the“Long House, ” where the negro women would spin and weave. Therewere wheels, little and big, and a loom or two, and swifts andreels, and winders, and everything for making linen for the summer,and woolen cloth for the winter, both linsey and jeans. The flaxwas raised on the place, and so were the sheep. When a child 5years old, I used to bother the other spinners. I was so anxious tolearn to spin. My father had a small wheel made for me by a wrightin the neighborhood. I was very jealous of my wheel, and would spinon it for hours. The colored women were always indulgent to me, andmade the proper sized rolls, so I could spin them. I would doublethe yarn, and then twist it, and knit it into suspenders, which wasa great source of pride to my father, who would display my work tovisitors on every occasion.
The dwelling house had ten rooms, all on the groundfloor, except one. I have heard my father say that it was ahewed-log house, weather-boarded and plastered as I remember it.The room that possessed the most attraction for me was the parlor,because I was very seldom allowed to go in it. I remember the largegold-leaf paper on the walls, its bright brass dogirons, as tall asmyself, and the furniture of red plush, some of which is in a goodstate of preservation, and the property of my half-brother, TomMoore, who lives on “Camp Dick Robinson” in Garrard County, thisDick Robinson was a cousin of my father's. There were two sets ofnegro cabins; one in which Betsey and Henry lived, who were man andwife, Betsey being the nurse of all the children. Then there wasaunt Mary and her large family, aunt Judy and her family and auntEliza and her's. There was a water mill behind and almost a quarterof a mile from the house, where the corn was ground, and near thatwas the overseer's house.
Standing on the front porch, we looked through a rowof althea bushes, white and purple, and there were on each sidecedar trees that were quite large in my day. There was anold-fashioned stile, instead of a gate, and a long avenue, as wideas Kansas Avenue, in Topeka, with forest trees on either side, thatled down to the big road, across which uncle Isaac Dunn lived, whowas a widower with two children, Dave and Sallie, and I rememberthat Sallie had all kinds of dolls; it was a great delight of mineto play with these.
To the left of our house was the garden. I have readof the old- fashioned garden; the gardens written about and thegardens sung about, but I have never seen a garden that couldsurpass the garden of my old home. Just inside the pickets werebunches of bear grass. Then, there was the purple flag, thatbordered the walks; the thyme, coriander, calamus and sweet Mary;the jasmine climbing over the picket fence; the syringa and bridalwreath; roses black, red, yellow and pink; and many other kinds ofroses and shrubs. There, too, were strawberries, raspberries,gooseberries and currants; damson and greengages, and apricots,that grew on vines. I could take some time in describing thisbeautiful spot.
At the side of the garden was the family buryingground, where the gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringingthem about three feet from the ground. These stones were large,flat slabs of marble, and I used to climb up on top and sit or liedown, and trace the letters or figures with my fingers. I visitedthis graveyard in 1903. The eight graves were there in a good stateof preservation, with not a slab broken, although my grandfatherwas buried there, ninety years ago. My father had a stone wallbuilt around these graves for protection, when he left Kentucky. Iam glad that family graveyards have given place to publiccemeteries, for this place has changed hands many times and thisgraveyard is not pleasant for the strangers who live there. We whoare interested in these sacred mounds, feel like we intrude, tohave the homes of our dead with strangers.
The memories of this Kentucky home date from thetime I was three years old. This seems remarkable, but my mothersaid this incident occurred when I was three years old, and Iremember it distinctly. I was standing in the back yard, near theporch. Mr. Brown, the overseer, was in the door of my half-brotherRichard's room, with my brother's gun in his hands. At the end ofthe porch was a small room, called the “saddle room. ” A pane ofglass was out of the window and a hen flew out, cackling. AuntJudy, the colored woman, went in to get the egg, and walked infront of Mr. Brown, who raised the gun and said: “Judy, I am goingto shoot you, ” not thinking the gun was loaded. It went off, andaunt Judy fell. Mr. Brown began to wring his hands and cry in greatagony. I screamed and kept running around a small tree near by.This was Sunday morning. Runners were sent for the doctor, and formy parents, who were at church. Aunt Judy got well, but had one eyeout; we could always feel the shot in her forehead. She was one ofthe best servants, and a dear good friend to me. She used to bringtwo of her children and come up to my room on Sundays and sit withme, saying, she did not want to be in the cabin when “strangeniggers were there. ” This misfortune had disfigured her face andshe always avoided meeting people. I can see her now, with onechild at the breast, and another at her knee, with her hand on itshead, feeling for “buggars. ” I was very much attached to thiswoman and wanted to take care of her in her old age. I went toSouthern Texas to get her in 1873. I found some of her children inSherman, Texas, but aunt Judy had been dead six months. She alwayssaid she wanted to live with me.
My mother always left her small children in the careof the servants. I was quite a little girl before I was allowed toeat at “white folk's table. ” Once my mother had been away severaldays and came home bringing a lot of company with her. I ran outwhen I saw the carriages driving up, and cried: “Oh, ma, I am soglad to see you. I don't mind sleeping with aunt Eliza, but I dohate to sleep with