The Penn's Grove record., 1904-04-15
A SERMON FOR SUNDAY
AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE BY THE
REV. DR.. HOWARD DUFFIELD.
Subject " FOotmen and Horses "-Every
Man Hears at Times in His Sou a
Resembling Cry Which BeckOns Him
to His Highest Destiny,

Church, Fifth avenue and Twelfth street,
preached Sunday on "Footmen and
Horses" He took his text from Jeremiah
kits. DR.. Dufield said:
1t is healthful for us to test our hopes
to-day as experience shall test them for us
tomorrow. Squarely. individually and i'm
mediately let us face the challenge of Jer-
envy, the prophet: eff thou FUNNIEST with
the footmen, and they have wearied thee,
then how canst thou contend with horses?"
Let us first study the pursuit of happi-
ness. The pursuit of happiness is intense
and universal and rightful. The pursuit
of happiness has enlisted the unwearied
energy of the most of men throughout all
time. Pleasure surely cannot be a very
hard problem to solve. Certainly it can be
no difficult thing to win happiness. Brave
and bonny is this pleasure house of an
earth IN which we live. Dazzling bright is
this Vanity Fair of a world in which the
lot of mortals is cast. It's booths are most
alluring. It's wares are most seductive:
skillful are its traders, and eager faced IFS
throngs of buyers. Behold the simmer
ing fash of its gems and the rich rustic of
its soft silksl Hearken to the sweet notes
of it's music and the golden chink of its
coin! Lend your ear to the rhythmic beat
of its dance and the gladstone rapture OF
its revel. Mark the gleam of its flashing
eyes! Heed the spell of its silvery laugh
ter! The idea that this world is not a
minister of happiness is hermit logic; is
the grabbed fruit Of clustered seclusion; is
the harsh inference of Puritanic prejudice.
The siren voices of the world are ever
summoning men to a wealth of pleasures
pleasures of the palate, pleasures of the
passions, pleasures of the intellect. The
blaring trumpets of the world are ever
heralding the triumph of its v~otaries as
crowned with laurels and clasping the
trimming cup of its satisfaction. one and
another ascends the throne of its dominion.
Very well, point me out the happy ones.
Those smile-wreathed lips repress a rising
sigh. Those laughter-lighted eyes but mask
a wearied heart. The glitter is tinsel. The
trappings are fustian. The ornament is
stucco. The mirth is hollow hearted. Do
YOU not know that those men who have
filled all of fortunes Golfers are the most
brain wearied and heart burdened of the
children of the earth, in their effort to fiji
one more! Have you never learned that
the man who has climbed the throne is
smitten with heart sickness because there
is some Naboth's vineyard unpossessed?
Has it never been told you that a man may
wear the jeweled tokens of a kings favor
and yet writhe under the pang of disap-
pointment because some beggar Mordecai
stands in the palace gate? If not, let me
RoS "a IN NS9NAAAOhN Va
witnesses. Listen to that pampered pet of
fortune, bedecked with the insignia of
English nobility, and standing upon the
pinnacle of e~arth-given happiness. In the
swiftest swing of pleasures whirlpool, in
the very heyday Of life, upon his thirty
sixth birthday. Lord Byron wrote:
my days are in the Yellow leaf,
The flowers and fruits of love are gone,
The worm, the canker and the grief
Are mine alone"
Recall the words of Chesterfield, who
reduced the pursuit of happiness to a fine
art, and had taken every degree in the
freemasonry OF human pleasure: Il have
been behind the scenes, | have seen all the
coarse pulleys and the dirty ropes which
move the gaudy machinery, and l nave
smelled the tallow candles which illumin-
ate the hollow decorations to the astonish-
ment of an ignorant audience" Listen to
the peevish wall Of Heine, that richly
gifted poet, critic and master thinker who
wrote in his diary: What lists it 20 me
that at ~banquets my health is drunk out of
golden goblets and in the best of wine, if
/, myself, separated from all the joy of tie
world, can only mOisten my lips with the
physicians potion? What lists it to me
hat enthusiastic youths and damsels
crown my marble bust with ~laurels. when
on my real head a blister is being clapped
by my old sick nurse? What lists it to me
that the roses of Shiraz glow and smell
never so sweetly? Alas, Shiraz is 600 miles
from Rue PAmsterdam, where | get moth
ing to smell in the melancholy solitude of
my sick room but the aroma of warm poul-
tees" Behold the trophies of the world
are wetted with a rain Of tears! The re-
verberating plaudits which greet the
worlds successes only serve to waken the
wailing echo, Vanity of vanity, it ali is
vanity"
The works of earth are frail. It's jewels
lose their fire. The luster of its gold win
tarnish. Its garlands will wither and their
bloom and fragrance viii vanish away.
What shall that man do who cannot taste
delight in the midst of his pleasures, when
the lights of the revel begin to grow dim,
and sorrow as with a harpy's hand, sweeps
bare the banquet board, and amid the
gathering shadows the fingers of destiny
begin to write doom sentences upon the
wall? What is that man to do who cannot
pack a single hour with unalloyed pleasure,
when he crosses the threshold of a long,
long eternity? Do not blink the question.
Meet its thrust fairly. IF you cannot run
with footmen how will you contend with
horses?"
Apply another test. There is a deeper
longing in many minds than the thirst for
pleasure. 1t is the craving for truth.
There is genuine grandeur in the achieve
ments Of the intellect. The coronet of eul-
ture is brighter far than a kings diadem.
The robes of mental royalty are more inn
perial than the mantle of Caesar.
1t would seem as though the mind mon
archs of the present age had realized that
dream of the Hebrew boy in the olden
time, when sun and moon and stars bowed
down to do obesiance. 1t would seem as
though the princely thinkers of the pres
ent day wore the signet ring of Solomon,
in obedience to which all elemental powers
genii of the electric fluid, go" and they
render a ready service. They beckon to
the coal and to the iron, to the silver and
to the gold, and from the secret caverns of
the earth they hasten to do their bidding.
They say to the veriest vapors, do this,"
and they do it.
But, after all, what is the sum total of
human knowledge? Behold we know not
~anything?" We have mapped a few square
miles of space, and immensities lie around.
We have numbered a few odd centuries of
time, and eternities lie beyond. We have
garnered a stray stalk or two from the
mighty harvest fields of fact, and illimit-
able sheaves are nodding in the breeze IN
sickled. Within the horizon of observed
fact we only know how things appear to
be, not what things are. We know not
where the light dwelleth, but only how
certain light rays affect us. We cannot
tell what atmosphere is, we have only dis
covered some of the offices which atmos-
phere renders us. Our vaunted knowledge
largely consists of shrewd guesses concern
ing surface appearances. The last result
OF culture is the coronation of nescience.
Its proudest achievement is fixing the linn
its of thought. The most sinewy brain
cannot scale those adamantine barriers
that convert reasons highway into a mo
thoroughfare." There are nuts of fact
which the stoutest blows of the hammer
head of human knowledge fail to crack.
There are Gordian knots of thought which
turn the edge of the most finely tempered
blade of human research.
Nineteenth century intellect, the human
mint, IN that age when mind touches the
meridian is not able to tell the story of the
little hchen that clings to the stone in the
wall, root and all and all in ALL" How.
then, shall human wisdom answer for me
those awful questionings concerning origin
and duty and destiny which 7, reasoning
and feeling, SHINING and suffering, mortal
and immortal, must know? What lore of
man win unveil to me the face Of the great
God, my maker, and ron lack the cloud
that enwraps His throne?
What mnahania skill will e.Gc,o -. -