flax and the cotton; His, too, the cattle upon a thousand hills. Out of the parched heavens He makes the manna to drop, and out of the dry rocks He causes the living water to gush. His is the all sufficient power. He, who spake a universe into existence, could build this church alone. But He takes us into partnership; and, bending low in condescension, he says to the humblest member: "You can help me, if you will."

Who amongst us will refuse such an offer, or forfeit such an honor?

Let us begin to enthuse upon this subject. Let us get it into the air. Let us make it the staple of our conversation. Let us make it a part of our thinking, at home, on the streets, in our places of business. Let it be to us a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. There is not one of us who cannot give something. The committee will call upon you within a few days. Be thinking it over before we come. Let us give liberally. Let us give promptly. Let us give methodically. Let us give to the point of sacrifice. Let us give as an act of worship, not as if tossing a coin to a mendicant, but as if bearing a tribute to a king. For every one who thus gives there will come a golden recompense of reward. God will bestow upon him a benediction and a blessing. Christ, in a sweeter sense than ever, will become the companion of his fireside, the friend of his bosom, and the partner of his business. Let us not be afraid to give because our means are limited. Carlyle has said: "It is only the littleness of man that sees no greatness in a trifle." How true it is, even a child can understand. Mountains are built out of molecules. Oceans are only drops of water many times multiplied. The widow's mite has been a theme of praise through all the centuries, while every other gift cast into the treasury has been forgotten. It caught the Master's eye, and His tribute to the giver has made the gift immortal.

To our contributions in raising this fund, let us add our prayers. We cannot fail to win if we battle upon our knees. Victory is ours, if Jehovah is with us-if His smile is upon our banners. God will do His part, if we will do ours.

Under the divine blessing let us go forward. Awed by no difficulties, let us build for the kingdom. Let us give as did these Israelites in the wilderness, and if any cloud rests upon our tabernacle it will be the cloud of the Divine Presence to guide us on to Canaan.

OGLETHORPE'S RESURRECTION.

[Extract from an address delivered in the North Avenue Presbyterian Church, Atlanta, Ga., January 21, 1915, where exercises were held preliminary to the laying of the corner stone of Oglethorpe University, an institution revived from the dead, after the lapse of half a century. Its revival was largely the work of Dr. Thornwell Jacobs, now its distinguished President.]

We have met today to call from the ashes of war a long departed but once glorious school of the prophets. As a Presbyterian, as a citizen of Georgia, as a friend to education, and as a lover of my kind, I hail with glad acclaim this golden hour. It redeems in splendid promise a long uncanceled obligation. It wipes from the escutcheon of our grand old church a stigma which has rested on it for nearly half a century, but which is now happily erased forever. It breathes upon the dry bones of a dead institution of learning, and, lo, its skeleton is clothed in the quivering flesh of a new and radiant vision of beauty. Today, while the world beyond our borders is at strife-while Europe groans and reels and staggers under the weight of the mightiest war of all history-while Mexico is rent in twain by internal dissensions and while every breeze from the fields of carnage where the nations are trampling each other down tells of death's bloody toll, we have here met in the peace of God, on this auspicious day and in this favored land, to reverse the pathetic order of fate-to pluck from the tomb a coveted prize to welcome Oglethorpe University back into life and to bid it God-speed in its benign mission of enlightenment, of healing, and of hope to all mankind!

The defeat of Lee's army on the slopes of Gettysburg sealed the fate of the Confederacy, and with the drooping flag of our "storm-cradled nation" fell the Princeton of

the South. For nearly half a century it lay entombed among the ashes; for nearly half a century it slept the deep sleep of a Conquered Banner. But the phoenix has risen from the fires; and today, in this great metropolis, Oglethorpe University takes its place once more among the living institutions of America. This time above its doorposts is emblazoned, "Esto Perpetua." Its reincarnation marks an epoch in the history of our church and furnishes a climax to the silent forces which have made Atlanta the metropolis of Dixie, aye, Atlanta, "that splendid sequel which the New South has written to the Appomattox of the Old."

Two years ago, when Dr. Jacobs hailed me on the street, and with something of the glow of the wise Greek who discovered Specific Gravity said to me, "Eureka! Eureka!—I have found a way for reviving old Oglethorpe," I wondered what could have unbalanced the noble mind of my sweet Lord Hamlet. But the scales are turned. Tonight I am ready to award him the honors of a seer and to vote him a Roman triumph. To be perfectly frank and candid, let us all now admit that he has passed from a suspected Ananias into a reedemed and vindicated George Washington. He has rolled away the stone from the door of this sepulchre; and with the zeal of a Peter the Hermit he has preached Oglethorpe in every hamlet of the mountains until our whole Southern church is now enlisted beneath the banners of his Crusade.

I am glad to see this institution revived because it cancels a debt of honor. I am glad to see it revived because during its former brief career of only three short decades it equalled if it did not surpass any similar institution of learning on this continent. Scan its alumni rolls. Congressmen, judges, doctors, educators, divines! Even Woodrow Wilson was a child of its campus. A late beloved Governor of this State was proud to call it his cherished alma mater; and last but not least, wherever the English language is today spoken by scholars or read by lovers of verse in either hemisphere of the globe, there is linked

with Tennyson's the name of our sceptered singer: Sidney Lanier.

I am glad to see this institution revived because it honors with its name the knighliest Englishman of his day and time. It was Oglethorpe, the great humanitarian, who purged debtor prisons of England; who relinquishing a seat in parliament and a life of ease at Cranham Hall planted a colony for the unfortunate in the wilds of America, a colony to which he gave the guidance of his brain and the protection of his sword for ten long years; who not only served without fee or emolument but sacrificed a fortune upon the altar of humanity; and who gave to his beloved province for its coat-of-arms that inspiring legend: "Not for ourselves but for others."

I am glad to see it revived because of the high standard of enlightenment and culture for which the Presbyterian Church has always stood. It behooves us to remember that we are living in an age the motto upon whose intellectual banners is the old fiat of Genesis: "Let there be Light!" Our church has ever been the champion not only of an educated pulpit but of an educated pew. Its great aim has been to strike the shackles from a fettered intellect and to enrich humanity with the treasures of an open Bible; and it cannot afford to relinquish the palm which for nearly four centuries it has lifted high and serene in the very forefront of Immanuel's marching columns.

I am glad to see it revived because of the part which Presbyterianism has played in the drama of human freedom. Ever since John Calvin founded the University of Geneva at the foot of the Alps and planted the seed of modern republics in the free soil of Switzerland and sent John Knox back to Edinburgh, an evangel of fire, to wrestle in prayer to God for Scotland, Presbyterianism has borne the ark of democracy to Christendom. It has taught the young eagles of liberty to soar; and here, on this oceangirdled continent, it has kindled the beacon-fires of humanity's asylum, laid the foundations of representative government, and molded the civic institutions of the greatest republic on earth. In the Mecklenburg Declaration of Indepen

dence-drawn up among the mountains of Western North Carolina- it hurled against the English throne America's first broadside of defiance. On the Shorter Catechism, it drilled soldiers for Washington's army, and trained statesmen for his cabinet; and during the years which have since elapsed it has given to the Presidential chair of this nation two-thirds of its occupants. Shall a church whose life is interwoven with America's and whose glorious discipline has splendored every page of this republic's history permit its nurseries of thought to perish? Never!

It is a bright page in the history of Presbyterianism which we are this day writing. Would that Dr. Palmer were here that old man eloquent who drove the lottery out of Louisiana. What a blast on his bugle would he sound for the old Pelican State! Would that Dr. Thornwell were here. How lustily would he speak for the old Huguenot State of South Carolina, and what a tribute of praise would he lay at the feet of him who bears his name! Would that Dr. Breckenridge were here. For the old Blue Grass State of Kentucky he would speak with an eloquence which Henry Clay in the Senate could not rival. Would that Dr. Hoge were here. For the old mother State of Virginia he would kindle a music in this church the like of which was never sounded from its organ keys. And last but not least, from the historic shades of Princeton, what felicitations of speech would old John Witherspoon bring us-that old patriot of independence who affixed his name to the immortal scroll of freedom and made our infant republic lisp in the accents of Calvin! I doubt not that in the sky above us the spirits of these men are hovering; and that on this scene with rapt and eager eyes the general assembly of the first born this day looks down. But since these worthies cannot greet us in the flesh, how fittingly appropriate it is that from every part of our broad southland these gentle poets should come to us today, with the holy fire of genius. and with the melting voice of song, to hail the risen star of Sidney Lanier's alma mater.

Forgive me if I sound a note of warning. Saul is not among the prophets, but he can nevertheless sound this