Birth of a Reformation; Or, The Life and Labors of Daniel S. Warner

by A. L. Byers

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Desiring to trace the earlier history of the Gospel Trumpet, I have permitted the preceding chapter to overlap this one a few years.

[13] She relates that her consecration occurred in the house of an Elder Walker, and that so great was the power and manifestation of God in Brother Warner while he was praying for her that Walker and his wife through fright fled into another room, where he was found squatted in a corner. In Brother Warner's report of this trip he speaks of a meeting near Lacey's Lake (in Eaton or Barry County) as follows: "Was happy at this place to meet a people who have come out of various denominations, ignoring human creeds and sects and endeavoring to walk in the oneness of the Spirit."

[14] This vision is very similar to the one recorded in the Shepherd of Hermas, in the second century. It was a remarkable coincidence that while Sister Fisher had never heard of the vision of the Shepherd of Hermas, she and her husband had ordered the set of books known as the Apostolic Fathers (in which the Shepherd of Hermas is included), and on the same day of her vision the books were received and unpacked, and on looking into them her husband opened right at the vision in the Shepherd of Hermas. They were astonished to find that her vision was there recorded and explained as the church.

[15] Once after her second marriage, while living in Cincinnati, she wrote a letter to her boy, Sidney, who was in the care of his father. Brother Warner had been to visit her twice since their separation, and he was constrained to go again. So he took the boy and went to the city address as given in her letter. She happened not to be at the house just then. So the two walked about leisurely until she should return. While on the opposite side of the street from her house they saw her returning. She reached the house first and entered the hall and stood waiting for them. When they reached the door she railed out in terrible abuse on her former husband. That was his only reception. He had on his former visits to her felt the Spirit dictating that there was no hope of a reconciliation; and likewise on this occasion, as his child clung the closer to him, the Spirit said, "It is enough; leave off thy fond pursuit."

[16] In reference to this apparent instance of a person's being in a justified state while at the same time in possession of evil spirits it can be said, without attempting an explanation of whether such might be possible, that Brother Warner was always very particular to insist on justification as an essential condition to sanctification, and that if we knew all the circumstances in this case (allowing that the account may not be full) there probably would be no question in our minds.

[17] Brother Leininger relates that at this meeting a Dunkard minister drew his fist to strike him. A daughter of this preacher was a hired helper in Brother Leininger's family. She had obtained the experience of sanctification, which angered her father. As Brother Leininger was going out of the meeting-house, this man stood at the door ready to do violence to him. He drew back his fist to strike, but it seems his blow was rather misdirected, as his thumb nail grazed his own nose and tore loose a bit of skin, so that he went home bleeding and discomfited.

[18] A man who lived in the neighborhood said in one of the meetings that he was going to kick Brother Warner. As the latter was among the last to pass out of the building, this man lingered at the door, while the crowd was waiting to see him do the deed. As Brother Warner passed out he raised his foot to kick, but he did not kick. He was asked why he did not. His reply was, "I was afraid the Lord would kick me". This man accepted the truth and became one of the permanent fixtures in the church in that place.

[19] On the second Sunday the meeting was held in the grove. After the people had assembled a very frightful storm threatened, and people began to leave. Brother Warner stopped in the midst of his preaching, and with his hand lifted to heaven prayed God to scatter the storm and not let it hinder the meeting. He assured the people that they need not leave, that it would not rain. Some had begun to depart but stopped to see whether his prayer would be answered. It did not rain. There were other instances of this kind in Brother Warner's career.

[20] An interesting episode in connection with this trip is related by Bro. D. Leininger, of Beaver Dam, whose mother, known as Mother Krause, was at this time not expected to live. Mother Krause had for some cause held a slight grievance against Brother Warner. Early in December, on the night before she died, she declared she must see Brother Warner and begged to have him sent for. She was told that Brother Warner was over in LaGrange County, quite a distance away, and that if the Lord wanted her to see him he would spare her life until she should have that opportunity. Scarcely had this been said when Brother Warner arrived, to the surprize of all.

Two days before, where he had been holding meetings, he expressed the conviction that the Spirit bade him go to Beaver Dam. Accordingly it was decided to go, and he resumed his writing, at which he had been engaged, until the time to start. Perceiving that no preparations were being made he dropped his pen and asked the cause. He was told that the weather was inclement and that traveling would be disagreeable. He said, "Never mind the weather; the Lord can take care of that. The Lord says, 'Go to Beaver Dam'." Thus it was that he and his company were prompted to make the trip. Landing at Bro. William Ballenger's, they stayed over night. In the latter part of the night Brother Warner awoke Brother Ballenger and said he must go to see Mother Krause immediately.

Mother Krause died the following evening, but not before she was comforted by the presence of Brother Warner.

[21] In addition to this a letter had been received in the community, from Carthage, Mo., written by an opposer who misrepresented the saints as believers in amalgamation with the colored people, the purpose of the letter being, of course, to stir up prejudice.

[22] These meetings in the vicinity of Spring Hill were almost the author's first experience in gospel work. I was asked to join the company to supply a missing part in song, Mother Smith having dropped out previously. After arriving at Meridian it was some time before I could locate Brother Warner.

[23] To one unaccustomed it was hard to realize that opposition to the truth would take the form of a mob. We were quartered at the house of a Brother Smith. When the mob first came, Brother Warner asked if I wished to join him in his escape from the house. I then accompanied him to the pine woods some distance from the dwelling, and we remained there until we could hear that the mob had left. Bro. B. E. Warren had found a hiding-place under the house. The first company of men that came proved to be only a detachment, and the mob afterward came in greater force. This second time I remained in the house with the women folks, while Brothers Warner and Warren took the hiding under the building. The men wanted Brother Warner and lingered at the gate for some time talking with Brother Smith, who would not allow them within the gate except to see for themselves that Brother Warner was not in the house. Finally, after learning that I was present, they asked to see me, whereupon I went out and talked with them from the porch. They asked a number of questions and then left.

Trumpet Family, 1895, at Grand Junction, Michigan

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Sing It Again.

D. S. Warner. B. E. Warren.

1. Let us sing the name of Jesus, oh, that name we love so dear! Sweetest anthem
2. Sing the love-ly name of Jesus, oh, the precious Lamb of God! Lo, he died our
3. Sing, oh, sing the name of Jesus, he is wor-thy, he a-lone, Glo-ry, hon-or,
4. We will sing the name of Jesus all a-long the path of life, We will sing it,
earth or heaven ever breathed on mortal ear; In that name we have salvation, oh, how
souls to ran-som, he redeemed us by his blood; Let the joy-ful o-ver-flow-ing of our
and salvation, chant with angels round the throne; Sing it soft-ly in the Spir-it, sing it
hal-le-lu-jah, 'mid the battle and the strife; We will sing it all to-geth-er when we
pre-cious is the flow! Sing, oh, sing the name of Jesus, for it makes us white as snow.
hearts so full of love, Sound aloud the name of Jesus with the might-y host a-bove.
loud as thunders roll, Sing with rapture, hallelujah, to the Lamb that saved my soul.
meet upon that shore, Oh, we'll sing the name of Jesus, blessed name forevermore.
Chorus.
Sing it a-gain,... sing it a-gain,... Sweetest of all the names that
The precious name, the precious name,
an-gels sing a-bove,... Jesus, thy name's a fountain of redeeming love....

[Listen (midi)] [Listen (mscz)]

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[XVII]
THE MINISTRY OF SONG

Scarcely a spiritual movement in the history of Christianity has been without its service of song. The emotions, whether of victory or of devotion or of interest in the salvation of the lost, naturally flow out in singing. Far back in Biblical history we find songs of victory attending the triumphs of the people of God.

The Wesleyan reformation, through its gifted hymn-writer, Charles Wesley, furnished many of the standard spiritual hymns that are in use today. Witness also the immortal gospel hymns that originated with the Moody and Sankey revivals of the last century. Likewise the holiness movement of forty and fifty years ago was characterized by its holiness songs. And so in these last times, when we have come to the full standard of truth and the full development of the church independent of human creeds, when the "ransomed of the Lord" are returning over the "highway" prepared, what wonder is it that they should "come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads" (Isa. 35:10)? In no respect was the inception of the present reformation more marked than in its ministry of holy song.

For the writing of spiritual hymns Brother Warner had a wonderful endowment. It seems that the development of this gift came, however, only with his entrance upon the special work of the reformation. In his earliest writings we find no examples of hymns or poems of any merit. A few verses in his diary betray a lack of familiarity with the principles of prosody, or hymn-writing. Considering the little time he had to devote to the study of those principles, it is marvelous that he produced so many useful, and we may say excellent, hymns during the few short years of his intensive ministerial labor.

His first effort appears to have been the adaptation of existing hymns either by rearrangement of the words or by composing new words to fit the tunes. Thus we have the Glory, Halleluiah song with new words appearing in an early copy of the Gospel Trumpet. The chorus is familiar to all and we omit it.

On the mountain top of vision what a glory we behold!

Eighteen hundred years of victory are tinging earth with gold;

For the saints are overcoming with their testimony bold,

The truth is marching on.

For the glory of the Father Jesus taught in Galilee,

And preached the great salvation that delivers you and me;

And a million voices shout it, "Redemption's full and free,"

The truth is marching on.

From the cabin on the prairie, from the vaulted city dome,

From the dark and briny ocean where our sailor brothers roam,

We hear the glad rejoicing like a happy harvest-home,

Salvation's rolling on.

Eighteen hundred years of marching, eighteen hundred years of song,

The Conqueror advances, and the time will not be long,

When he shall come in glory and overthrow the wrong,

Our God is marching on.

Nahum's chariots are speeding as the lightning on their way,

And their flying torches tell us 'tis the preparation day;

For the bride is getting ready and the Lord will not delay.

The marriage feast is near.

Precious knowledge is increasing, evening light begins to glow,

With the trump of full salvation many running to and fro;

And the song of glory echoes, Christ has washed us white as snow,

All glory to his name!

The long dispersed remnant of Jehovah's chosen race

Are flying from all nations to their ancient dwelling-place;

And the sinful world is surely in its closing-day of grace,

The Lord is just at hand.

In the valley of decision there's a battle drawing near,

Sectish Gog and Magog powers round about the saints appear;

But our God is our munition and our hearts shall never fear,

The victory is sure.

On the blissful heights of glory we will shout the battle o'er,

And in the golden city we will join the Conqueror,

And when the war is over, with the saints forevermore

And crown him with all praise.

On the subject of the church—a prominent subject with him—we have Brother Warner's arrangement of Frances Ridley Havergal's poem, Church of God. We give but two stanzas.

Church of God, thou spotless virgin,

Church of Christ for whom he died,

Thou hast known no human founder,

Jesus bought thee for his bride.

Sanctified by God the Father,

Built by Jesus Christ the Son,

Tempered by the Holy Spirit,

Like the Holy Three in one.

God himself has set the members

In his body all complete,

Organized by Jesus only,

Oh, the union pure and sweet!

Church of God, the angels marvel,

At the music of thy song;

Earth and hell in terror tremble

As thy army moves along.

Another of the class of adapted hymns was one on the exercise of faith for sanctification, sung to the tune of Beulah Land.

Why should a doubt or fear arise,

As this poor little all of mine

I lay a living sacrifice,

All on the altar, Christ divine.

Chorus

I'm fully thine, yes, wholly thine,

All on the altar, Christ divine.

The word of Jesus I believe,

The Sanctifier I receive;

All on the altar I abide,

And Jesus says I'm sanctified.

Ah, not a moment more I'll doubt,

And not a moment longer wait;

He shed his blood to sanctify,

He suffered death without the gate.

By faith I venture on his Word,

My doubts are o'er, the vict'ry won;

He said the altar sanctifies,

I just believe him, and 'tis done.

Through all my soul I feel his power,

And in the precious cleansing wave

I wash my garments white this hour,

And prove his utmost power to save.

Still another was The Hand of God on the Wall, of which we quote but two verses.

See, the great king of Babel in these latter days of time

Makes a feast that's universal, all the nations drink her wine;

As they eat, drink, and revel in her lofty steepled hall,

God proclaims her desolation by his hand upon the wall.

How the nations are drunken and are sporting in their shame!

Even scoffing at our Savior and profane his holy name;

Far more blind than Belshazzar, who so trembled with appal,

They still riot on to judgment, with their doom upon the wall.

Brother Warner was not gifted in writing tunes. This necessary counterpart was supplied in J. C. Fisher and his wife, Allie R., also in H. R. Jeffrey, a brother who lived in northern Indiana. Fisher frequently wrote both words and music, as did also Jeffrey. One of the first hymns of which both words and music were original with this reformation was The All Cleansing Fountain, by J. C. Fisher. The first stanza and chorus are as follows:

There's a fountain opened in the house of God,

Where the vilest of sinners may go

And all test the power of that crimson flood,

Of the blood that makes whiter than snow.

Chorus

Praise the Lord, I am washed

In the all-cleansing blood of the Lamb,

And my robes are whiter than the driven snow,

I am washed in the blood of the Lamb.

Another early one was H. R. Jeffrey's Songs of Victory, of which the first stanza and chorus will also here suffice.

Songs of victory bringing

Unto the Lord most high,

Victory, victory singing,

Let all the saints draw nigh;

For there can be no failure

While Jesus leads the van,

And victory, victory, victory,

Is heard on every hand.

Chorus

Vict'ry shall be the chorus,

Vict'ry our watchword and song,

Jesus is marching before us,

Leading his army along.

A hymn that breathes a deep spirit of devotion was Brother Warner's I Ought to Love My Savior, music by Fisher. There were five stanzas in all. We give it with music at the beginning of [Chapter IX] of this book.

I ought to love my Savior,

He loved me long ago,

Looked on my soul with favor,

When deep in guilt and woe;

And though my sin had grieved him,

His father's law had crossed,

Love drew him down from heaven

To seek and save the lost.

I ought to love my Savior,

He bore my sin and shame;

From glory to the manger,

On wings of love he came.

He trod this earth in sorrow,

Endured the pains of hell,

That I should not be banished,

But in his glory dwell.

We shall refer, in what follows, only to Brother Warner's hymns. One that sung of the times as being prophetic was entitled Prophetic Truth, and is shown with music at the beginning of [Chapter XIII].

'Twas sung by the poets, foreseen in the Spirit,

A time of refreshing is near;

When creeds and divisions would fall to demerit,

And saints in sweet union appear.

Chorus

Oh, glory to Jesus! we hail the bright day,

And high on our banner salvation display,

The mists of confusion are passing away.

We stand in the glory that Jesus has given,

The moon as the dayspring doth shine;

The light of the sun is now equal to seven,

So bright is the glory divine.

Now filled with the Spirit, and clad in the armor

Of light and omnipotent truth,

We'll testify ever and Jesus we'll honor,

And stand from sin Babel aloof.

The prophet's keen vision, transpiercing the ages,

Beheld us to Zion return;

We'll sing of our freedom, though Babylon rages,

We'll shout as her city doth burn.

The fig-tree is budding, the "evening" is shining,

We welcome the wonderful light!

We look for the Savior, for time is declining,

Eternity's looming in sight.

As he saw the church of God emerge out of confusion into the brightness which should characterize the evening of time, he wrote the following, which is given with music at the beginning of [Chapter I].

Brighter days are sweetly dawning,

Oh the glory looms in sight!

For the cloudy day is waning,

And the evening shall be light.

Misty fogs, so long concealing

All the hills of mingled night,

Vanish, all their sin revealing,

For the evening shall be light.

Lo, the ransomed are returning,

Robed in shining crystal white,

Leaping, shouting, home to Zion,

Happy in the evening light.

Free from Babel, in the Spirit,

Free to worship God aright,

Joy and gladness we're receiving,

Oh, how sweet this evening light!

Halleluiah! saints are singing,

Vict'ry in Jehovah's might;

Glory, glory, keep it ringing,

We are saved in evening light.

Another hymn of the return, and also embodying Sister Fisher's vision of the stone tower, was the following:

We are coming, halleluiah! we are coming home to God;

Jesus only we're beholding, who has washed us in his blood:

We are marching back to Salem at the trumpet's joyful sound,

And we're building God's own temple on it's ancient holy ground.

Chorus

We are coming, Oh, we're coming, with the glory in the soul!

Grace we're shouting as we're bringing Christ, the headstone we extol;

Though as captives long we've suffered, we do feel the royal blood,

And we're rising to our freedom in the fulness of our God.

While we're working, we are fighting all the mighty foes around;

Tho' in wrath they do oppose us we will not desert the ground.

O my God, do thou remember all those wicked plotting crews,

Hear them saying in derision, "Now what do these feeble Jews?"

Thou art coming, mighty Jesus, in the power of thy grace;

Now our souls break forth in singing at the smiling of thy face:

Fear of sect, a mount of terror, thou hast made an open plain,

And the misty fogs of error all have vanished in thy name.

Our foundation strong is Jesus, he the topmost, crowning stone;

Halleluiah! we adore him, king upon his living throne:

And his crimson glory streaming through each crystal stone below

Tints the whole ecstatic temple with the beauty of its glow.

Oh, the glory of this temple far exceeds the former one!

All its stones are bound together in Love's dear eternal Son:

In this building, what a wonder! there's a dwelling-place for me;

Yes, thy beauty, O my Savior! I shall here forever see.

Many of his hymns, as is usually the case with hymn-writers, were prompted by some particular occasion or suggestion. Thus in connection with the terrific furnace trials at Bucyrus, Ohio, in 1883, he wrote:

Why should a mortal man complain

At his trials in this wicked world?

Nay, let us thank God's holy name

For all his love o'er us unfurled.

Chorus

O Jesus, bear our souls above

Each wave of trouble that we meet!

Then in the furnace of thy love

We'll sing thy praise with joy complete.

Oh, why should any one oppressed

Forget the promise of our God!

To thee each providence is blessed

If in love thou bear the chastening rod.

Oh, who would cast away the gold

We have gathered in the furnace flame!

And who would wish again the dross

Here purged in our Redeemer's name?

Once when a new printing-press was installed in the Office (he always rejoiced when there was an increase of printing equipment), he wrote the following in anticipation of the Trumpet's being raised to louder blasts. See the music at the beginning of [Chapter XIV].

Onward moves the great eternal

In the order of his plan;

Louder, nearer rolls the thunder

Of his awful word to man.

Since by sin this earth was blighted

God has whispered of his love.

Dreams and visions by his prophets

Breathed of mercy from above.

Louder speaks his love in Jesus,

Heaven sweetly chants his fame;

Earth receives its glorious Savior,

Halleluiah to his name!

Yet the world is wrapped in slumber;

Louder raise the Trumpet's blast;

Oh, in mercy let it thunder,

Ere the day of mercy's past!

In the cages of deception

Souls are pining to be free;

Quickly sound the proclamation

Of the glorious jubilee.

The hymn, Perishing Souls at Stake, was one of the early productions. We quote this hymn and its history as it appeared in the Trumpet of Dec. 15, 1885. The music will be found at the head of [Chapter XVI].

Perishing souls at stake today!

Says the banner of Christ unfurled;

Pleading in love for help to save

Blood-bought sinners o'er all the world.

Perishing souls at stake we see,

Yet the Savior has died for all;

Go and invite them earnestly,

Some will surely obey the call.

Perishing souls at stake today,

There's a famine in all the land;

Many are dying for the bread

Freely given by Jesus' hand.

Perishing souls at stake, go tell

What the Savior has done for you,

How he redeemed your soul from hell,

And is able to save them, too.

Perishing souls at stake we know,

Oh, do pity the sinner's fate!

Brother and sister, will you go,

Give them warning before too late.

Perishing souls at stake today,

Can you tarry for earthly dross?

Fly to the rescue, don't delay,

Bring the needy to Jesus' cross.

The foregoing song was suggested to our mind by a solemn vision given to Bro. C. Ogan, of Latty, Ohio, on the night previous to September 19. He saw Christ displaying a banner upon which was written these words: "Perishing Souls at Stake." That day we had a very solemn meeting at Jerry City, Ohio. The Spirit of God was present, making imperative calls for workers in the vineyard. Our soul was burdened with an awful sense of perishing souls at stake. All hearts were melted before the Lord. A number acknowledged the solemn commission. Dear Brother Ogan was one of them, relating this solemn and beautiful vision.

We pray that all who that day confessed the call of God may go forward, lest that "woe is me" be upon them, and perishing souls be lost for whom the blessed Savior died. In about all the meetings this fall the same great burden has come upon our soul for men and women of God to go forth and hold up the light of his saving truth. O ye that have the real fire of God in your souls, can you tarry at home to watch a few earthly effects, when there is such a sore famine in all the land! And you who have found the true salvation of Christ Jesus are the only ones that can bring the living bread to others. College bread will not do. 'Dumb dogs can not bark'; Babylon priests are full of darkness, and souls are dying all around. Oh! if you have any gratitude in your hearts for what Christ has done for you, go and tell others, and some will surely receive the joyful tidings. Oh, how sad this world with no gospel but the wretched stuff given by Babylon priests! And most everywhere there are at least one or two honest souls who long for the light. Can you stay at home for the sordid dust of earth and let them perish? Oh, fly to the rescue, don't delay; bring the needy to Jesus Christ!

After a few years both Fisher and Jeffrey dropped out of the ranks and ceased to contribute their melodies to Brother Warner's hymns. In their place God provided Brother B. E. Warren. No sooner did this young brother become a part of Brother Warner's company than he began to display a marvelous gift for writing melodies. In the years that followed he filled a large place as a writer of music, and he also learned to write the words as well.

When the company were on their Western trip in the autumn of 1887, Brother Warner wrote the hymn Sowing the Seed, in anticipation of their having to brave the chilling blasts of the winter which was before them.

Unheeding winter's cruel blast,

We venture heaven's seed to cast;

Both late and early plant the truth

In aged hearts and tender youth.

Shall we be found with only leaves

When Jesus comes to gather sheaves?

Nay, sowing daily o'er the land,

We'll come with joyful sheaves in hand.

Nor is the precious labor hard,

Its glory is its own reward;

We plant in hearts of grim despair

A life that blooms as Eden fair.

Oh, were this life the utmost span,

The closing destiny of man.

No toil could half so blessed prove

As sowing seeds of peace and love.

But heaven's bright eternal years

Have bottled up our sowing tears;

There we shall greet in holy bliss

The souls we turned to righteousness.

Then sow the seed in every field,

And grace will bring the golden yield;

We soon shall sing the joyful song,

And shout the blessed harvest-home.

The song Who Will Suffer With Jesus? had its origin while the company were in the South in the winter of 1890–91. It was written at the time a mob assaulted the house in which Brother Warner was preaching and a sharp, flying missile struck him on the side of the face, causing it to bleed.

Who will suffer with the Savior,

Take the little that remains

Of the cup of tribulation

Jesus drank in dying pains?

Who will offer soul and body

On the altar of our God;

Leaving self and worldly mammon,

Take the path that Jesus trod?

Who will suffer for the gospel,

Follow Christ without the gate;

Take the martyrs for example,

With them glory at the stake?

Oh, for consecrated service

'Mid the din of Babel strife!

Who will dare the truth to herald

At the peril of his life?

Soon the conflict will be over,

Crowns await the firm and pure;

Forward, brethren, work and suffer,

Faithful to the end endure.

Lord, we fellowship thy passion,

Gladly suffer shame and loss;

With thy blessing pain is pleasure,

We will glory in thy cross.

One of the prominent features of the reformation was the sweet, heavenly singing of the saints. Wherever Brother Warner's company went the people were attracted by the singing. They were not what the world would call "trained singers"; they were not even adept at reading music. But God blessed the singing, so that the songs, sung in the element of the Spirit, were simply heavenly. At the time the company held the first meeting at Walkerton, Ind. a theatrical troupe came to the town. So many people had flocked to Brother Warner's meetings that the house was packed and there were not many left to attend the theatrical concert. The troupe, not having a sufficient audience, came to the place of meeting and gave some instrumental music just outside in order to attract the people. Of course it interfered with the preaching. Brother Warner said, "Sing a song." Sister Nannie Kigar, who was the soprano of the company and always ready with a suitable selection, started a song. The people decided to remain. Many and powerful were the effects of these heaven-inspired songs.

Mention has been made already of the instance where the cattle listened and gazed with wonder when Brother Warner's company were singing at a place where they had stopped in the edge of the woods for dinner. Brother Warren says that once when they were traveling on the road and singing they were passing a field where there were cattle, horses, and other live stock, and that all of these followed along inside the fence until they reached the corner of the field, seeming to be attracted by the wonderful charm of the singing.

At the time the company visited St. James, Mo., on the second Western tour, Brother Warner wrote the hymn Sing it Again, at a place where they were stopping in the country. Brother Warren then composed the music, and they began singing it. When the time came for them to be taken to the train to leave that part of the country, it was decided that they should be conveyed to Jefferson City in order to afford a little country ride for a change. They camped out the first night, and reached Jefferson City the second day, early in the afternoon. They decided to visit the State prison, and as the weather was warm they left their wraps in the baggage-room of the railroad-station until they should return. When they came back the baggage-room was locked, and the temperature was falling and becoming just a little chilly. Everything was quiet around; not a sound could be heard except the clicking of the telegraph instrument in the office. The train they were to take would not be due until in the night, and as the waiting-room was open they gathered a little fuel and built a fire. When this was done Brother Warner gave a little jump (he always seemed happy enough to jump at any time) and said, "Let us have a song." Naturally enough they sang the new song, Sing it Again. Soon the door opened and in came the operator, and then shortly, almost before they were aware of it, a number of others had gathered and were listening intently. When the song was ended, the operator said, "This reminds me of my childhood days; won't you sing that song again?" They sang it again, and then Brother Warner, as his manner frequently was, took out his Bible and said, "Perhaps you would not object to a little of the Word of God." The operator had to attend to his office duties, but the others listened. Next testimonies were proposed. And so they had a precious little meeting in the waiting-room of the railroad-station, and the new song had already begun to be useful. We here reproduce the words. The music is given at the head of [Chapter XVII].

Let us sing the name of Jesus, oh, that name we love so dear!

Sweetest anthem earth or heaven ever breathed on mortal ear;

In that name we have salvation, oh, how precious is the flow!

Sing, oh, sing the name of Jesus, for it makes us white as snow!

Sing the lovely name of Jesus, oh, the precious Lamb of God!

Lo, he died our souls to ransom, he redeemed us by his blood:

Let the joyful overflowing of our hearts so full of love

Sound aloud the name of Jesus with the mighty host above.

Sing, oh, sing the name of Jesus, he is worthy, he alone,

Glory, honor, and salvation chant with angels round the throne;

Sing it softly in the Spirit, sing it loud as thunders roll,

Sing with rapture, halleluiah, to the Lamb that saved my soul.

Yes, we'll sing the name of Jesus, 'tis the only name that's giv'n

That can save a guilty sinner, and no other under heav'n.

Oh, we love the name of Jesus, his salvation we adore!

Blessed be the name of Jesus, we will sing it more and more.

We will sing the name of Jesus all along the path of life,

We will sing it, halleluiah, mid the battle and the strife;

We will sing it all together when we meet upon that shore,

Oh, we'll sing the name of Jesus, blessed name forevermore!

I shall never forget the time when Brother Warner and his company first came to my father's home in northwestern Illinois. I have always considered it the brightest event in my life's career. Today, as memory carries me back to that time, and I imagine myself in that same situation, I have indescribable feelings. They arrived on a Saturday afternoon in the spring of 1888. My father and I had gone to engage a schoolhouse for the meetings when the company arrived. My sister had been converted the previous year; but during her attendance at school through the winter she had become somewhat cold spiritually and so had no particular pleasure in anticipating the coming of "Warner's band," as she had heard them called. When the company arrived in the house, wearied with much travel, they seemed particularly to enjoy the sense of home, and they sang the hymn,

Home, home, brightest and fairest,

Hope, hope, sweetest and best.

My sister simply melted. That song introduction was enough. Then they had prayer, and their hearts welled up in thankfulness to God for his blessings and care over them. If there ever were men who could pray, Brother Warner was one of them.

After my father and I returned home, my sister and mother wanted me to hear the company sing, and of course another song was requested. They sang this time, The All-cleansing Fountain, and it seemed to be the sweetest singing I had ever heard. During their stay in our home Brother Warren did some composing at the organ, and this seemed wonderful to me. I had never seen such people, whose countenances were aglow with the victory of salvation and who were so filled with praise and song.

While the company were at our home we decided to give them a little outing by taking them across the Mississippi to the city of Clinton, Iowa, then remarkable for its lumber trade, and for having eight large sawmills, one of them the largest sawmill in the world. As we were driving along the road and singing The All-cleansing Fountain, a neighbor who was working in a field near by but who on account of an intervening ridge could not see us, heard the song. Not knowing from whence the sound came he concluded it was angel music, and when he went to his house he declared to his wife that he had heard the angels sing.

A large class of songs that were used were such as expressed victory and worship. Another large class were those of invitation and warning to sinners. In the later books, about all topics that are useful in Christian work were represented.

Songs of Victory was the name of the first book published. It was issued in 1885. This was followed in 1888 by Anthems from the Throne. The third book was Echoes from Glory, published in 1893. Following these a new book of songs has been issued about every four to six years.

---

[XVIII]
POETIC INSPIRATIONS

To reflect on Brother Warner's career is to marvel at the accomplishment that was crowded into a few short years. He was active in several callings at one time. As a minister with the heavy burden of the gospel upon him he labored hard, preaching often and being everywhere in demand. On occasions he preached for three and even four hours in one discourse, the audience as well as the preacher forgetful of the passing time. Though in physical endurance he was weak, yet there were perhaps few speakers who could wear so well in the labor of the pulpit. His private work of instructing seekers, and his ministrations for the sick, requiring the exercise of prayer and faith, absorbed his strength and occupied much time. As editor of the paper, to which he contributed articles, many of them doctrinal and requiring study, and for which he had to edit articles written by others, it was necessary that he spend much time with the pen. His correspondence also was considerable, and as stenographers were not so available then as now he had to do his writing with his own hand. Where would he get time for study and prayer, and for writing hymns or poetry? And yet he accomplished all of these.

In the latter years of his life he apparently was declining to some extent in ministerial vigor; but as a writer his productions seemed only to grow richer with his years. Had his life been prolonged to the full period of what is commonly expected of man, he would have given to the world some of the finest poetical productions. His poems are not at all inferior, though written during a strenuous career.

In 1890, he collected and published his poems in a book entitled Poems of Grace and Truth. It contained 343 pages. With the exception of a small book entitled Bible Readings, and the limp-cover binding of a song-book, this book of poems was the first cloth-bound book ever made at the Gospel Trumpet publishing office. The press-work is imperfect owing to the poor stereotyped plates from which it was printed. A number of beautiful poems were written since the publication of this book and therefore were not included in it.

His longest poem was his Meditations on the Prairie. It occupies eighty-four pages of the book mentioned and is written in ten-syllable iambic verse. It touchingly describes with beautiful imagery the author's acquaintance with and his subsequent marriage to Sarah A. Keller, and the circumstances that led to her deception and separation from him. His own description of its origin, as given in the preface to the poem, is as follows:

In the summer of 1873, the author took a mission-field in Nebraska, much of which had just been settled the previous year. My companion had died one year previously. Just before going West a correspondence was arranged with Sister Sarah A. Keller, which soon kindled into a glowing flame of love. A year later I returned and we were happily joined in marriage. With her precious company I came again to this blooming plain, where one year was sweetened with the most transporting conjugal bliss. In 1875 we returned to Ohio, where life and labors flowed on in uninterrupted happiness, until in 1884 the dear object of our love was deceived by the wily foe and torn from our soul, a crisis that threatened our frail life, and which we survived only by the grace of God.

In the fall of 1887, while on an extensive Western tour, we came into a new part of the great prairie, which strikingly reminded us of our travels on the new plains twelve and thirteen years before. There the Spirit touched our mind with vivid recollections of that cherished one, who made for us this prairie a blissful Eden. An inspired imagination also portrayed what dire wreck of our own life might have ensued from the crisis of broken love had not the grace of God averted the sad issue. This cast us on the sod beneath a load of gratitude, where the poem was inspired as our heart's humble tribute for Heaven's pity and sustaining arm.

A quotation from this poem appears in [Chapter XV] of this book.

Brother Warner was a great admirer of nature as the handiwork of God, and several of his poems are on nature subjects. What we give here are in most cases but selections from the poems named, the omissions being indicated by stars.

AUTUMN

Gone is the spring with all its flowers,

And gone the summer's verdant show;

Now strewn beneath the autumn bowers,

The yellow leaves await the snow.

Behold, this earth so cold and gray

An emblem of our life appears;

Its blooming robes sink to decay,

To rise again in round of years.

Earth cheers its winter sleep with dreams

Of springtime's warmth and gentle rain,

When she shall wake to murmuring streams

And songs of merry birds again.

So we come forth like springtime flowers,

Soon into manhood's summer go,

Then, like the leaves of autumn bowers,

Lie down beneath the winter's snow.

And there our bodies slumb'ring wait

Till time's short winter day has fled,

And Christ, our Lord and Advocate,

Shall come again to wake the dead.

Then winter's storm and summer's heat

Shall end in everlasting spring,

And all immortal we shall meet,

And round the throne of glory sing.

NEW YEAR'S GREETING

January 1, 1890

Another year has come and gone

So swiftly flows unceasing time.

Forever on and on and on,

With sorrow's groan and merry chime.

Commingled in its surging tide,

Time bears along upon its flood

Poor human wrecks by sin destroyed;

Yet o'er its stream, the hand of God

Still bends his bow of hope divine;

Its hues of love in beauty shine.

Another year of hope and fear

Has swept around its dial-plate,

And with it thousands disappear

To higher bliss or awful fate.

God grant to us who yet survive

A heart of fervent gratitude,

And grace that we may wholly live

To glorify the Source of good;

Then, should this be our final year,

We'll sink to rest without a fear.

Another year hath brought its store

In rich profusion at our feet,

That we should, heart and soul, adore

Our Maker's love so broad and deep.

And have you cast your bread upon

The waters of the passing year,

In hope that what your hands have done

Will in much future good appear?

Then as thy faith so shall it be;

In coming days thine eyes shall see.

---

The poem To the Alien, is addressed to his wife, Sarah, who, early in the year 1884, through the influence of a spiritual deceiver, as already stated, left her husband.

TO THE ALIEN

Three years have fled since billows wild

Wrecked our domestic bark,

And chilled your love for husband, child,

Mid waters cold and dark.

"How wonderful the mystery,"

Astonished men exclaim,

"That hearts so knit in unity

Could ever part in twain!"

---

We suffered some adversities,

A portion all must find,

When compassed round by devotees

Whose creeds we'd left behind.

When pressing to the harvest-field

Of everlasting truth,

And just before the golden yield,

Alas! you turned aloof.

Oh, how I wish that you could share

In these ecstatic days,

Enjoy the light of God so pure,

And help to sing his praise!

My soul had longed for more of God,

More glory in the cross;

But never dreamed that it must come

Through such a bitter loss.

I can not chide his providence,

But count it all the best;

For in each storm of violence

I sink to sweeter rest.

---

'Twas not a rival filled thine eyes

With colored fancies rare;

But Satan came in deep disguise,

And wrought the dread affair.

---

We still are joined in Eden's bond

Of matrimony true;

While life endures, yet undissolved

It binds my heart to you.

No court of man nor Satan's power

Can disannul the tie;

Though spirits rent, in evil hour,

"One flesh" are you and I.

No face so fair, no heart so warm,

Upon this verdant sod,

Shall alienate with rival charm

The wife received of God.

So I will walk with God alone,

And bless his holy name,

Till he shall bring the alien home

To dwell in love again.

In vision of the night I saw—

And woke to joyful praise—

True nature reimprint her law

That ruled thy former days.

From nature's pure affections then

Grace led to love divine;

Then heaven's bliss alone can bound

Our mutual joy sublime.

God grant that this may real prove

Through coming years of time,

And in his shining courts above,

An endless crown be thine.

The hand of God alone can take

The broken chords of love

And knit them in a union sweet

As love's pure reign above.

Here I will close my present rhyme;

But ever pray for you,

That God may give you back again

The heart of woman true.

Then touched by sweet seraphic strains,

With all the heavenly throng,

I'll shout aloud my Savior's praise,

And sing another song.

TO MY DEAR SIDNEY

The heart that feels a father's love

And swells with love's return,

Will kindly bear this overflow

Toward my only son.

Yes, Sidney's love so blent with mine,

A poem shall employ—

A token left to coming time

That father loved his boy.

One gentle vine—thy tendrils sweet

Around my soul entwine;

A comfort left in sorrows deep,

One heart to beat with mine.

Thy life has dawned in peril's day.

Mid wars that heaven shake;

Thy summers five, eventful, they

Like surges o'er thee break.

Thy little soul has felt the shock

Of burning Babel's fall,

When hell recoiled in fury black

And stood in dread appal.

But wreaking out his vengeance now,

Like ocean's terror dark,

Hell's monster came athwart the bow

Of our domestic bark.

Thy guardian angel wept to see

This brunt of fury sweep

The girdings of maternity

From underneath thy feet.

But pity still her garland weaves

Around thy gentle brow,

And angels on thee softly breathe

Their benedictions now.

They soothe and bless thy manly heart,

And wipe away thy tears;

So tempered to thy bitter lot,

The bitter sweet appears.

An exile now is each to each,

As banished far at sea;

A martyr on his island beach,

I daily think of thee.

And stronger love has seldom spanned

The mocking billows wild,

Than are the chords that ever bind

To my beloved child.

Though sundered not by angry main,

Compelled from thine embrace,

We flee abroad in Jesus' name

To publish Heaven's grace.

Thy little heart can not divine

Why Papa stays away,

But coming years will tell, if thine,

The great necessity.

When sickness crushed thy little form,

I knew my boy was ill;

I heard thee in my visions call,

But duty kept me still.

A trial deep, to feel thy pain,

And yet debarred from thee,

To show that sinners lost are in

A greater misery.

Oh, may this lesson speak to thee

When Father's work is done!

And highest may thy glory be,

A soul for God is won.

And now, my son, attentive hear

My benediction-prayer,

And ever tune thy heart and ear

To heaven's music rare;

For ere the light of day had shone

In thy unfolding eyes,

We gave thee up to God alone,

A living sacrifice;

And oft repeated when a babe,

To God our child was given;

And Jesus heard the vow we made,

And wrote it down in heaven.

So, like a little Samuel, you

Must answer, "Here am I";

Give all your heart to Jesus, too,

For him to live and die.

Like Samuel, serve the living God,

His temple be thy home;

In love obey his holy Word,

Thy gentle heart his throne.

The Lord is good, my darling boy;

He made thy body well,

And he will bless thee evermore,

If in his love you dwell.

A new edition may you be

Of Father's love and zeal,

But yet enlarged so wondrously

That earth thy tread may feel.

The poem Throwing Ink at the Devil, refers to the printing and publishing of the Gospel Trumpet. The place "where two lightning tracks lie crossing" is Grand Junction, Mich., where the publishing office was then located.

At Wartburg Castle sat a son of thunder

Dealing heaven's dynamite,

When, lo! before him 'peared an apparition,

Fury-threatening demon sight.

The piercing words of truth, so long besmothered

Flashed the burning wrath upon

The devil's patent monk and pope religion,

Which confronts the dread reform.

---

Before the dauntless, lion-hearted Luther

Forth the hellish monster stood,

Drawn from his prison by the scattering theses

'Gainst the Romish viper brood.

He lifted up his eyebrows knit with thunder,

To the hellish specter said,

With stern address, "Du bist der wahre Teufel!"—

Hurls an inkstand at his head.

The doctor's splattering missile, proving potent,

Drove old Satan from his door;

But ink he threw on paper at the devil

Battered down his kingdom more.

---

Not now, as did the sturdy Wittenberger

Fling an inkstand at the foe,

But by the mighty force of steam, much faster

We the battle-ink can throw.

Just at a point where lightning tracks lie crossing,

Northward, southward, east, and west,

The Lord has planted his revolving cannon,

Firing ink at Satan's crest.

---

Not only toward the main forewinds of heaven

Sin-consuming ink is shot,

But right and left in force, 'tis outward given,

Striking sin in every spot.

When round "Mansoul" Immanuel plants his army,

To retake the famous town,

On "eye-gate" hill he plants this mighty engine,

Till surrendered to his crown.

If chance a pilgrim's shield of faith is drooping,

And his heart with fear oppressed,

Then comes the ink-winged angel, trumpet sounding,

And his soul anew is blessed.

TRUTH

"And what is truth?" asked Pilate, sober.

Immersed in deep perplexity,

And trembled while in judgment over

The One his final judge must be.

He asked, but waited not the answer;

For in his majesty there stood

The Truth himself at his tribunal—

Yea, the incarnate Truth of God.

Shine on with all thy constellation,

The precious attributes of God,

Love, mercy, justice, and compassion;

For second in thy magnitude

Thou only art in love's effulgence.

"I am the truth." and "God is love";

From both in one omnific fulness

Proceed the streams of truth above.

High honored and from everlasting

Thou art, O Truth, a pillar strong,

Upholding justice, faith, and virtue.

Before the stars together sang

Our ill-doomed planet's new creation,

Thy hand didst hold, on heaven's throne,

The balance weighing every nation,

Upon the worlds that round thee shone.

Thou art the firm and deep foundation

Of hope and universal good,

And on thy broad eternal bosom

Is based the awful throne of God.

The myriad stars that gem the ocean

Of boundless space, at thy command

Pursue their even-tenored motion,

And are supported by thy hand.

---

AUTUMN LEAVES

A mournful sermon greets my ear!

The pensive season of the year

Now preaches in a muffled tone,

From nature's fast-decaying throne.

Come to the woodland's cold retreat;

The leaves that rustle at thy feet,

With all that linger o'er thy head—

Commingling, yellow, green, and red—

And all that, trembling, leave their place

And softly greet their mother's face,

As sailing from their lofty top

They in your presence mournful drop,

Remind the thoughtful passer-by,

Thy falling autumn, too, is nigh.

Life has its gay and happy spring,

When birds of every feather sing;

Its warm and verdant summer, brief,

Which hastens to the yellow leaf,

Soon winter's icy hand will lie

Upon our cold and lifeless clay.

But oh! our soul—where will it be

Throughout the long eternity?

How can this question pass your mind

As falling leaves drift in the wind?

---

Ah! there's a sweet and sacred spell

That draws me to the shady dell;

Here could my soul with God remain

In meditation's holy frame.

Ho! all ye men that know not God,

Come seek him in the shady wood;

And, all ye saints of feeble love,

When will ye come and wisely prove

The blessedness that crowns the hour

That's spent with God in leafy bower?

If only heard your prayers ye say,

Then unto God ye never pray;

For did ye truly seek his face

And pray to win his saving grace

You'd pray when mortals are not near,

Right in your heavenly Father's ear.

In public, too; yea, everywhere,

But most of all with secret prayer;

Where only silent leaves applaud,

There would ye bow and worship God.

---

Then in the hush of solitude

Come listen to the voice of God;

Come oft, and he shall teach thine ear

His gentle words of love to hear.

There is no place on earth so sweet

As forest shades, where streamlets meet

And sing aloud their rocky ways,

With birds, and universal praise.

Do not the lover and his maid,

Delighted, walk the balmy shade,

And there unlock, with words so blest,

The pent-up love within their breast?

The crazy-quilt spread on the ground,

Of beauty-tinted leaves around,

Each bright sunbeam and fragrant flower,

And nature's music in the bower—

But, most of all, the cooing dove—

Lend inspiration to their love.

And does not nature's solitude

Inspire a soul to worship God?

Behold, he framed her majesty,

Cast up her hills, and carved the way

For babbling brooks that flow between

And tread the winding valley's green.

The many lovely trees that spread

Their sheltering wings above our head,

Rose up by his supreme behest,

With all their nuts and fruitage blest,

He taught the vine their trunks to climb,

Like cords of love their boughs entwine.

---

Hear thou, O man, our autumn chant

While sunbeams coldly o'er us slant,

And mournfully we fall so low

To don our winding sheet of snow,

There doomed in silence to decay.

So, too, thou, man, must pass away;

Thy springs of love shall lower run

Until thy life's last setting sun;

Then in thy grave-suit, coldly wound,

Like us return to mother ground.

But we are not without a seed,

From which anew there may proceed

Our kind to grow and multiply,

As round and round the seasons fly.

So, man, within thy mortal breast

There is a soul, immortal quest,

That shall reanimate thy clay,

And both, immortal, live for aye.

Thou shalt from winter's sleep arise,

And meet thy Savior in the skies.

With this blest hope so sure and bright

All seasons beam with golden light,

In winter's storm and summer's heat

The pure in heart have joys complete;

And when the close of life appears,

Their pleasures ripen with his years—

Unlike the sinner, dark and cold

Who graceless, godless, hopeless, old,

Sits lowly down in autumn's vale,

His life all fruitless to bewail.

Each falling leaf his conscience stings

And thoughts of future judgment brings;

Yea, warns him that the time is nigh

When he in black despair must die.

Unlike the life in folly spent,

And now with sinful years is bent

Low at the grave with dismal moan;

Nay, "for the righteous light is sown,"

Yea, light that brightens in the vale

Of falling leaves, where he can hail

The glories of another world;

Where mortal shafts are never hurled,

Nor cruel frosts can ever sting.

There life begins another spring

To flourish in eternal green,

In heaven's high celestial scene.

BEAUTIFUL SPRING

Ah, gentle spring, thy balmy breeze,

New chanting 'mid the budding trees,

A glorious resurrection sings!

And on thy soft, ethereal wings

Sweet nectar from ten thousand flowers,

That bloom in nature's happy bowers

Thou dost as holy incense bring

To Him who sheds the beams of spring.

Far in the South thy bloom appeared,

And all our journey northward cheered;

A thousand miles in sweet embrace,

We northward held an even race;

Or if by starts we did outrun

Thy even tenor from the sun,

Ere long we blessed thy coming tread

And quaffed the oders thou didst spread.

O brightest, sweetest of the year!

When all is vocal with thy cheer,

Thy lily-cups and roses red

With us some tear-drops also shed.

The cherry-trees, in shrouds of white,

Bring back to mind a mournful sight—

A coffined brother 'neath the bloom,

Just ere they bore him to the tomb.

Ah, yes, thou sweet, beguiling spring,

Of thee, my inmost heart would sing.

"The time of love," all bards agree

To sing in merry notes to thee.

Yea, such thou art, and happy they

Who walk in love's delightful day

Along the path thy flakes hath strewn,

And know indeed her constant boon.

But what of him who walks alone,

With past love fled and turned to stone?

Shall not the springtide music's roll

Mock withered joys and sting the soul?

Not in the heart embalmed in love

Transported from the worlds above,

Nor seasons, no, nor else can bring

Heartaches where only God is king.

That soul an endless spring enjoys

Where life the will of God employs.

He 'mid the fields of bliss may tread,

And feast on joys that long have fled,

By sacred memories' glowing trace

More than the heart untouched by grace,

Can drink from full fruition's stream,

Or paint in fancy's wildest dream.

O God! thou art the life of spring,

The source of all the seasons bring,

The soul of all the joys we know,

The fountain whence our pleasures flow.

While nature wakes from winter's sleep,

And gentle clouds effusive weep,

We join creation's grateful lays,

And celebrate our Maker's praise.

The deaths of individuals furnished inspiration for many a verse from Brother Warner's pen. Celia Kilpatrick Byrum was one of the early workers in the Gospel Trumpet Office, when the paper was published at Grand Junction, Mich. Her death occurred on the 11th of December, 1888.

And is she gone—dear Celia gone?

Such news would tax credulity

Did not the Spirit's previous tone

Toll in our bosom mournfully

The thought, "She's left this mortal clime,

And we shall see her face no more

Until we pass the bounds of time

And meet upon celestial shore."

'Twas in our heart to tune our lyre

To sing thy cheerful wedding-day;

But debts are made by fond desire,

More than our fleeting time can pay.

So now we sing our mournful lay—

Another epoch followed soon

To thy poor soul, a brighter day

Than that when blessed beside thy groom.

The Author of these feeling hearts

Chides not affection's flowing tears;

But with them soothing balm imparts,

And in his arms of love he bears

Poor nature's heavy burden up:

So when bereavements press our mind,

Grace drops such sweetness in the cup

That even then we comfort find.

But is she gone whose heart e'er burned

With such devoted, fervent zeal?

To bless mankind her spirit yearned,

Wished every heart God's love might seal.

She thought no sacrifice too dear,

No painful toil and care too great,

That all this world the truth might hear

And gain redemption's blissful state.

O sister, while thy eyes beheld

Whate'er thy willing hands could do,

No needed rest thy footsteps held,

No moderation couldst thou know;

Regarding not thy slender frame—

To pious toil so passionate—

Till thy enfeebled limbs refrained

To execute thy heart's mandate.

---

When sickness had already cast

Its waning paleness on thy cheek,

God folded thee within the breast

Of love, connubial, warm and deep.

Thank heav'n for this provision kind,

To bless, support, and comfort thee;

On those strong arms thy life declined

Till from thy suffering body free.

---

Dear Celia's gone! How sad the news,

Dear saints, this mourning Trumpet brings!

The hands that dropped refreshing dews

Upon its flying-angel wings

And toiled so hard to set the lines

That burned upon your hearts with love,

Inspired your souls a thousand times,

Has gone to blissful toils above.

---

Ah! now invert the column rules,

And dress the Trumpet sad with crape,

That all who read may know it feels

And weeps the loss of friend so great.

Her artful fingers shall no more

Set up its many vocal peers,

Nor shall her anxious heart yet pour

Upon its sheets her moist'ning tears.

Her gentle voice, so fine and sweet

The Trumpet organ's highest key

Is singing now, at Jesus' feet,

With heaven's joyful minstrelsy.

Oh! could we near the pearly gate

And listen to her ransomed song,

Our souls would more felicitate

The bliss of that immortal one.

The poem The Marriage of a Mr. Hope, is a play on the word "hope" and has a slight touch of the humorous.

It appeared that Mr. Hope,

Entertained the pleasing hope

That some hopeless one among the fair

Was seeking hope from life's despair,

And was pleased with Hope to share,

The cheerful name of Hope to wear.

And so good Hope went smiling 'round

Till the object of his hope was found;

Then sitting by the fair one's side,

Hope beamed with prospects of a bride.

The question asked, the prompt decision

Turned hopeful's hope to full fruition,

And so it happened very soon,

The beau of hope became a groom.

Then hopeless changed to Hope by name,

And two hopes but one Hope became.

Their bark now launched on the stream of hope,

May all the blessings hope bespoke

Their voyage crown along the way

Of hope's uncrowded blissful day,

And may their happy little bark afford

A lively crew of sunny Hopes aboard;

And when to anchor in the harbor driven

May all their hopes be realized in heaven.

An interesting imaginative story of some length is his poem Soul Cripple City, in which he represents sectarian religion as a city wherein the inhabitants walk on crutches. The following is the first stanza.

Not a mere imaginary

Object, borne on fancy's wing,

Is the city of this story,

But a real historic thing.

Though by troupes and proper figures

We delineate her fame,

Though she has some mystic features,

She's an entity the same.

He takes up the different denominations as particular brands of crutches on which people hobble.

But whereunto shall we liken,

Or with what similitude,

Paint this foolish generation?

Ah! behold the sinful brood!

All within that mystic city

Walk not upright on their feet,

But on crutches play the cripple—

'Tis a custom they must keep.

Not a man in all Soul Cripple,

Not a woman, girl, or boy,

But must go it on quadruple,

Must the wooden legs employ.

Not one ever tried it walking

On created feet alone;

Not on crutches to be stalking

Were a scandal to the town.

---

Next appeared the English crutches,

And the High Episcopal.

Thence the mania fast increases,

Every style conceivable.

Wycliffe crutches, Calvin crutches,

Quaker, Shaker, Mennonite,

Wesley crutches, twenty branches,

M. E. crutches, black and white.

---

Then there are the Baptist crutches,

Hard-shelled and inflexible,

Free-will Baptist, bond-will Baptist,

And the creed Six Principle.

There are Baptists called Ephrata,

Saturnarian Baptists, too,

Anabaptist, Calvinistic

Baptist crutches we'll undo.

---

In this mart of vain religions

You will find on Water Street,

And at all her river stations,

Crutches vaunted as complete.

But the clubs that they are vending,

Are as hollow as a horn;

They that buy need no repenting,

In cold water they are born.

---

All these bapto 'sociations

Have a god of water made,

Leaving fire and salvation

And the blood without the trade,

More than all the sects who clamor,

Just to make the sinner wet,

Who have swallowed down a Campbell,

And are straining at a gnat.

He allots special "Additions" to the city for Adventism, the Salvation Army, Russellism, and Lyman Johnson of the Stumbling stone. The last of the poem is devoted to God's call to his people to come out of Babylon. We give but three stanzas.

But adieu, for we must travel

With the remnant who return,

Fleeing from the fall of Babel,

To the new Jerusalem.

Hark! a noise like many waters!

'Tis the captive's jubilee,

Like the voice of mighty thunders,

Halleluiah! we are free!

---

Jesus is our head and ruler,

And his Word our only guide,

And his gentle Spirit leader,

He our peace, a constant tide

Flowing in our tranquil bosom,

Where is reared the mystic throne

Of the King of peace eternal,

Where he dwells and reigns alone.

Oh, the glorious hope of Zion!

Oh, the riches of her grace!

Ever happy are the people

Who abide in such a place.

God is over all in glory,

And is through them great and small,

And he's in them by his Spirit,

Jesus, Jesus, all in all.

The Crusades of Hell is the title of a serial poem describing the fall of man, the plan of salvation, and the different epochs of Christian history. It shows how Satan attempted to destroy the church by martyrdom and, failing in that, next attempted counterfeiting the church by making false churches.

His poems To the Ocean and Good-By Old Rockies were written on his Pacific Coast trip in the autumn of 1892.

TO THE OCEAN

Help me, O sweet voice of inspiration,

Help me sing one gentle lay

To the ocean's wide and deep creation,

Singing for us night and day.

And thou restless sea, with all thy wonders,

Touch my heart with melody;

For no bard can sing thy awful numbers

Uninspired indeed by thee.

'Twas a balmy evening in October,

As our train sped on its time,

That we came in sight of God's great ocean,

To the old Pacific brine.

Swiftly gliding down its ancient orbit,

The great monarch of the light

Dropped his golden smiles upon the water

Ere he bid us all goodnight.

---

Thou a preacher art to all the ages,

And thy audience all the world;

Lo! we read thy sermon on the pages

Of the book that God unfurled.

And to all that tread thy sand evirons

Thou dost thunder, yea, and show

How the human heart in sin's dominion

Never, never peace can know.

As thy waves in ceaseless turmoil labor,

And in fury beat the shore,

As they writhe and moan and dash asunder,

Rise and fall for evermore,

So the blasting hopes and guilty terrors

Of the sinner's wretched heart,

Restless, fearful, and despairing ever,

From his bosom never part.

Only One has sailed upon the bosom

Of the tempest-troubled sea,

Who could hush the winds and calm the billows—

He who spoke to Galilee.

Only he can break the storms of passion,

And rebuke the fears of hell;

Only he can calm the struggling spirit,

Speak the word, Be still, be still.

---

Oh, I bless thy kindness, friend Pacific,

For thy temporizing breath;

For the climate wafted from thee truly

Is an enemy to death.

Sweet and soft and balmy are thy breathings,

Keeping winter blasts away;

And I thank thee, Providence, that brought me

Here to San Diego Bay.

---

On this seacoast I would fondly linger,

Where the zephyrs gently breathe

O'er the vineyards vast, and lemon orchards,

Where the bright pomegranates wave;

And the golden orange, figs, and guavas,

Apples, pears, and prunes abound;

With delicious nectarines and peaches,

Blessing all the season round.

Where the ocean moans its solemn numbers,

And the sun outpours its gold

On the clouds which hang, while twilight lingers,

O'er the sea-waves rising bold.

And the glorious king of day, descending,

Bids the vintage toilers rest,

While he cools his fevered brow each evening

On the great Pacific breast.

GOOD-BYE, OLD ROCKIES

I love your wild, romantic beauties,

Ye forms that seem to vie

Each with the summit of his neighbor,

And pierce the giddy sky.

Old Rockies, now to you

I bid adieu, adieu,

But hope we part not here forever.

I leave you as I found you, covered

With winter's chilly shroud,

Reaching toward the starry heavens,

And manteled in the cloud.

While I God's mercy preach,

And you his greatness teach,

We jointly glorify our Maker.

I read upon your lofty bulwarks

The might of nature's God,

What fortresses thy hands have builded

Where human feet ne'er have trod!

The strength of these are thine,

And round their apex shine

Jehovah's bright creative glory.

---

Divine Guidance was a poem of his later years in which he reflects on the kind hand of God upon his whole life.

I own a providence supreme, divine,

Has ruled and overruled this life of mine,

Yes, ruled in all that heaven's love bestows,

O'erruled in that from ill-intending foes.

But oh, what mystery

Veiled all his policy,

And made this life a solemn wonder!

To trace the mystic path my feet have trod,

And note how every step is marked of God,

How mercy hovered o'er my single blank

Till at Love's throne my haughty spirit sank,

And saw my pardon free

Flow down from Calvary,

Unlocks my bosom's grateful fountain.

But greater, wider, higher, O my Lord,

My humble walk with thee unfolds thy Word,

Unfolds thy plenitude of love and grace,

And helps thy hand in providence to trace.

And yet high o'er my soul,

Like ocean billows roll,

Unsolved, ten thousand sacred wonders.

I bless thee, O thou wise and loving Guide,

That thou didst lead to full salvation's tide,

And there my heart didst wash in crimson blood,

Restore into the image of my God.

Thenceforth my soul hath been

The palace of a King;

The joyful place of royal banquet.

And I, who kingly honors never dreamed,

Am raised with him who hath my soul redeemed,

To jointly reign On Love's eternal throne,

His peace and joy and glory all my own.

O mystery Providence!

Why lavishly dispense

Thy gifts on one so meanly suited!

Lord Jesus, when I retrospect my life

Down through the varied scenes of mortal strife,

At every change I stand in wonder wrapt,

How thou hast saved and used and blessed and kept,

And by thy blood hast bought

A thing of utter naught;

And well may all the angels marvel.

Besides the foregoing were a number of short poems, also a lengthy poem on Faith, which covers over sixty pages in his book. His poem on Innocence is referred to in our first chapter.

---

[XIX]
LAST YEARS

During the last years of his life Brother Warner's time was devoted in greater proportion to writing than during the preceding years of more active ministerial work in the field. Possessing a weak physical constitution he aged rapidly and seemed elderly at fifty. Due to an earnest desire to accomplish much for the cause of God he had, however, a hope that the Lord would 'satisfy him with long life,' as the Psalmist expresses it. Whether he had any idea that his life might soon draw to a close, it is not known, but at any rate he felt prompted, after the few years he spent in evangelistic tours, to devote more of his time to writing on specific lines of truth. He wished in particular to write a book on prophetic subjects.

He spent the winter of 1891–92 mostly at home writing, but he was not altogether satisfied to be out of the field entirely. He desired in some manner to combine writing with field work.

We have been very desirous that God should manage this poor frail temple so as to get the most effectual service and highest degree of glory. That he has enabled us to preach the gospel for twenty-six years through constant weakness and many infirmities has been a marvel of divine grace and a miracle of divine power. Should any one ask why he did not heal us up soundly, we answer. Many years ago as we cried to God to remove this thorn from our flesh, he taught us that he had weighty responsibilities to lay upon us, and that our afflictions would contribute to that humility and utter dependence upon God that were necessary to fill our calling; that in our weakness he would manifest his own power. So the Lord chose to display his power in upholding us in our afflictions rather than in utterly removing them. So we with the apostle 'glory in afflictions, that the power of Christ may rest upon us.'

Of late years our experience has been something like this:

When out in the gospel field and spending our time between meetings chiefly in conversation with the dear brethren, who are always eager to talk about the good Lord and his dealings, an uneasiness would arise in our heart, a conviction that could we be away quietly with the Lord writing the precious things he has given us to set forth, time would be better used and God more glorified. These feelings created a longing to retire to our editorial sanctuary.

But remaining at home this winter, our mind has not yet been exactly satisfied, owing to the many earnest calls to the field. Last fall in Wooster, Ohio, we were kindly provided with a room to ourself. It being only a few moments walk from the hall, we could retire in good time, arise about three in the morning, have a good long time to wait before God, and yet get an early start to work. During that time the Lord blessed us in preaching daily, and we got more writing done, it seems to us, than if at home. Ever since, that arrangement has appeared to my mind as the best possible plan for effectual service to God. Since the Spirit seems to stir our heart to go forth and preach the word and at the same time requires our time uninterrupted by surrounding company and conversation, except when we can be a special help to some soul, we can see no way but to labor chiefly in towns and cities and have a retired place to spend the intervals between meetings before the Lord. This will enable us to make the best use of our time and also avoid the exposure and fatigue of going about from place to place. God knows it is not because we are not willing to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ, but only for the glory of God, that we may do more good in this short life.

Facsimile of D. S. Warner's handwriting

The family, as it last appeared

He never could remain long out of the gospel field. It was not his privilege, however, to carry out the plan of working in cities while engaging in writing. He rather had to be subject to calls as they came. To remain in one place very long and engage in writing he found to be weakening, due to the fact that he was likely not to take sufficient exercise. We have already noted his illness with rheumatism just before making the trip to Denver in the spring of 1892, and his sickness he had during that trip. He was not at home long after this trip until he was called to the Pacific Coast. While on the latter tour he spent two weeks, during the holiday season, at Farmersville, Cal., writing on his book on prophecy, The Cleansing of the Sanctuary. He returned in February and attended some of the camp- and grove-meetings during the summer. In the latter part of the following winter he spent some time in the home of Bro. B. E. Warren, in Springfield, Ohio, writing hymns for a new song-book he was helping to edit. This book, Echoes from Glory, was ready by the time of the June camp-meeting at Grand Junction.

On Aug. 12, 1893, he was married to Frances Miller. This was his third marriage, his second wife having died in Cincinnati some time previously. During the summer Brother and Sister Warner made a tour to Illinois and Missouri, and later to Pennsylvania.

In the New Year's Greeting, in the Trumpet, for 1894 he expressed a desire to make a world tour. He thought seriously of doing so, but concluded later that his health would not permit. His years were drawing to a close. At the end of the Greeting he wrote the following verses:

My years of time all flee away,

And, swifter than an arrow,

I glide along my pilgrim way,

And hasten to the morrow.

Away, away, see the moments fly,

We can not hold them waiting;

Then on their pinions let us try

To drop a future blessing.

My years of time, how fast they flee!

And yet the scribe of heaven

Records whate'er my actions be,

The thoughts my life has given.

Thanks be to God for his boundless grace

That keeps the record holy;

Just ready, Lord, to see my face,

And enter into glory.

My years of time are meted out,

A moment of probation,

Upon which hangs the awful weight

Of endless destination.

Press on, press on, O my soul, and seek

Eternal life's fruition,

Since everlasting ages reap

The fruits of short duration.

My years of time run on in peace,

All seem a golden summer;

And each one, blessed with heaven's grace,

Shines brighter than the former.

O God, thou crownest the happy years

With thy unbounded goodness,

Thy wondrous love has changed my tears

To songs of joy and gladness.

My years of time will close ere long

Where blooms an endless spring,

Where all the ransomed swell the song

The angels can not sing.

Roll on, sweet years, for I know my last

Will end high up in glory,

The toil I love will sweeten rest

And gem my crown of duty.

In the meantime there had opened up a rather unique method of evangelistic work. Bro. G. T. Clayton, who had been engaged in the Eastern field, had planned an Ohio River campaign. He had purchased a boat 26 × 80 and fitted it up for a dwelling and a meeting-hall. The plan was to float down the Ohio and tie up at every town on each side of the river and hold meetings for a season. January and February of 1894 were spent on this Floating Bethel, as it was called, with Brother and Sister Clayton. By this means he could do writing and at the same time hold meetings.

Late in May, 1894, he held a discussion with an Adventist leader. He attended during this summer, as usual, the general camp-meetings and grove-meetings. He began the erection of a house on the camp-ground near Grand Junction and by the following winter it was sufficiently completed that it could be occupied.

We are making some quotations from his New Year's Greeting for 1895. Little did he know that this would be his last message of this kind. He died in December of that year.

To all our dear friends and readers we devoutly wish a happy New Year. May each of you enter the year with a holy zeal to glorify God in your soul and body, which are the Lord's. Nothing better can we wish you than the meekness of Christ in your heart and life and the omnipotence of faith in your work for him.

How solemn and awful the place where we stand today! We have been carried down the stream of time until we approach its very outlet into the boundless expanse of eternity. Upon us have fallen the ends of the world. We are called in the providence of God to take a part in the last great struggle against the principalities and wicked powers of this sin-stricken earth. Oh, how significant to us are the words of John, "Beloved, it is the last time"! The harmonious testimony of all truth and of current facts on earth show us that we are rapidly approaching the last day of the last days.... But we know nothing with any degree of certainty. God alone knows the awful day and hour, and we may err even in naming the approximate time. Yea, before another New Year's bells ring on earth the trump of God may proclaim the death of time. One thing is sure, the Lord's coming is not very far off, and men of all creeds and faiths seem to agree in this....

... In great weakness of body we began the erection of a house last September. Bless God, he has in every way wonderfully blessed us in this work; and now we expect in a couple of weeks to move into our house on the camp and take up the writing of prophetic truth with a physical and consequent mental energy we never before possessed.

We were consecrated to go to the foreign lands, and indeed thought the Lord would soon send us forth. But he showed us we were physically unfit. However, we may yet go. Our only wish is that God may get the greatest possible glory out of all our remnant of time and feeble abilities, coupled on to his omnipotent power and infinite wisdom.

At the close of the Grand Junction camp-meeting of that year, the last year of his life, he wrote the poem After the Battle.

Lo, they are gone; that armored host

Whose feet have daily pressed

These grounds have fled their several ways,

And all is hushed to rest.

But hark! the leaves upon the trees

In echoes lisp their song,

And on the wings of every breeze

Salvation floats along.

Oh, sacred ground! oh, honored site!

Behold, Jehovah's feet

Have stood among us here, and light

Eternal, pure, and sweet

Has glittered from his sword of truth,

And from his awful eyes

Two fiery streams have issued forth,

Revealing sin's disguise.

No battle-field where armies stood

In rank, with musketry,

And garments dyed in human blood,

Achieved such victory,

Or turned a scale of destiny

Of such momentous weight,

Or ever reared a monument

Of liberty so great.

Not with the cannon's roar of death,

Nor din of battle wild,

But by the burning fuel of fire

Salvation won the field.

'Twas not a crown of earthly state,

Nor freedom's empty boast,

But souls upon an awful brink

Called forth this mighty host.

The thrones of earth must crumble down,

All nations fade away;

Dominions of antiquity

Can not abide for aye:

But spirits captured here from sin,

And marshalled with the free,

Shall live and reign and sing and shine

Through all eternity.

But they are gone, those heralds strong,

Who stand within the sun,

And all that army dressed in white

To other fields have run:

And from this holy battle-field

New waves of glory roll,

And these, in turn, will others wake,

To spread from pole to pole.

Amen! amen! let heaven shout,

And earth break forth in song!

A thousand camps, ten thousand groves,

In every city throng.

Along the rivers, o'er the sea,

In Jesus' mighty name,

The present truth that set us free,

To all aloud proclaim.

This was his last poem, so far as is known, excepting a few verses he wrote in connection with obituaries. He assisted in meetings in the northern part of the State during the summer. In this series of meetings he obtained very little rest or time for writing, which emphasized the desire to devote more time to pen preaching at home. It was always hard for him to deny himself the glory of the field work, for he enjoyed it; but he felt he must settle down to write.

Library and home, Grand Junction, Mich.

Camp-ground and lake, near Grand Junction, Mich.

Besides some other small works, he prepared a new tract showing the fallacy of the millennium tradition, revised the tract on Marriage and Divorce, and wrote a book entitled, Salvation, Present, Perfect; Now or Never. His major work, however, to which he had for some time given attention, was his book on prophecy, The Cleansing of the Sanctuary. Of this he had written nearly four hundred pages.

By this time a children's school was started on the camp-ground, near Grand Junction. He took quite an interest in the school. Among the last things that engaged his mind was the arranging of a system of Bible-study. It is evident that he had in mind some sort of training-school, for he had planned courses in history, music, penmanship, etc., in addition to Bible-study.

And now we come to the end of the journey of life for Brother Warner. That frail body which had often been so wondrously touched and sustained by divine power was to be left in the grip of an affliction that should end his earthly career. His work was done. The purpose to which God had called him had been accomplished. He was to give place to others. This wonderful man of God, whose physical temple had so often by the Holy Spirit been quickened to new life when about to fall, and through whose touch the same divine power had many times brought help to the afflicted bodies of others, must himself now succumb to the hand of Death, for in this world all must die. His vitality, always weak, and now declining, had but slight resisting power against the forces of disease and decay that humanity is subject to in this life. An undermining affliction seemed to be at work in his body. On Sunday, Dec. 1, 1895, he preached a sermon on Christian Growth in the schoolhouse (also used for a chapel) on the camp-ground. That he should preach while physically weak was no uncommon thing and no one realized that he was so near the end. That discourse was his last.

The following Sunday he suffered very much from an attack of lung trouble and was unable to speak above a whisper. But after prayer was offered he arose, walked across the room, and praised God aloud, also joining in singing. Thus he fought the fight of faith till the very last. His illness soon developed into pneumonia, and he went down rapidly. About midnight on the night of December 11 his watcher, noticing that he seemed to be resting easy, left the room to have his midnight lunch; but ere he returned the spirit of Brother Warner silently took its flight to the glory world above. Thus he died in solitude, at about 12:30 A. M. Thursday, December 12.

"Our friend and brother dear, whose life

Made bright this world of ours,

Has passed away mid early snow,

Soon after Autumn's flowers.

No days of lingering sickness came

To warn us of his death;

No vision from the silent land

To tell of parting breath."

A post-mortem examination revealed an enlarged heart but no trace of tuberculosis, which he had in his younger days and from which he was miraculously healed and preserved.

His spirit was very tenacious of life. As ill as he was, he arose every morning at his regular early hour, and through the day engaged to a slight extent in writing. Even the day before he died he was on his feet a part of the time.

The funeral was held on the camp-ground on Sunday, the 15th. A brief notice of his death was inserted in the Gospel Trumpet of December 12. In the succeeding issue the obituary appeared in full between draped column rules.

Of the last hymn he attempted he completed only the first stanza, one half of the chorus, and the first line of the second stanza, the hymn as he left it appearing thus:

Shall my soul ascend with rapture

When the day of life is past?

While my house of clay shall slumber,

Shall I then with Jesus rest?

Chorus.

O my soul, press on to glory,

Worlds of bliss invite thee on.

Oh, shall my immortal spirit

This hymn was afterward completed by Sister Georgia Elliot. Music was composed for it, and it appears as Number 365 in Select Hymns.

---

[XX]
AS OTHERS KNEW HIM

The following statements by individuals who knew Brother Warner personally are of interest.

Our home was at Lindsey, Ohio, when we first met Brother Warner. We were then members of the Evangelical Association. We were both sanctified, but were dissatisfied with the formality of sectism. We attended the regular appointments faithfully; but we craved for deeper spiritual devotion and felt the need of special services where we could talk freely of the glorious doctrine of sanctification. When the people throughout the country heard what we taught, many doors opened among the denominations and many were converted. This stirred the ministers with envy, and they tried to stop the work, but failed, because it was God's work.

This continued for five years. We felt we should be better out of the Church than in it, and often wished to withdraw, but did not know where to go. We made this a subject of special prayer and meditation. We were assured God would bring us and lead us in a way we did not understand.

We had not known Brother Warner, but had heard that he was a deceiver and that everywhere he went he caused the most spiritual to believe his doctrine. We received a card from him stating that he had just closed a meeting and that the Lord was directing him north for the next meeting. He said if we could furnish a place for meeting, either public or private, he with his company should be glad to visit our place.

I asked husband what to do. He said, "Mother, do you know this is the man that we were warned against?" I said, "Yes, I know, but we are praying for God to send us a man who will preach and practise the whole truth. Now, if this man is of God we must receive him." I went to the Lord with the matter and said, "Lord, if thou dost want these people to come and hold a meeting and can use them here, send them right on, without my answering this card." This was on Monday morning. At one o'clock a load of six drove up to the gate. Brother Warner came to the door and knocked. When I opened he said, "Peace be unto this house." I can not tell my feelings, but after I gave them a hearty welcome I was conscious they were of God and decided they should stay as long as God could use them.

While I was preparing the noon meal for my new guests and my family, they sang numbers 43 and 72 out of Songs of Victory. [These songs were, 'Twas Love that Found Out Me, and, The Hand of God on the Wall, respectively.] We never before heard such heavenly music. The tears streamed down husband's cheeks. My daughter was so affected she left the house; it made such an impression on her she afterward gave her heart to God.

God used Brother Warner to help us discern the one body of Christ and the evils of sects. We rented a hall. Sometimes it was crowded with earnest listeners, and I am sure much good would have been done had it not been for the five ministers who lived in our town. One night Brother Warner preached with such power one of the preachers said, "This is too strong for me," and went out. The hall was closed against us and we held our meetings in private homes. On occasions rotten eggs, gravel-stones, and mud balls were thrown at us, and through it all Brother Warner praised God and manifested such a calm and gentle spirit one could not help but feel he was a man of God. During these meetings some walked thirty miles to hear the truth.

Brother Warner had been undergoing the great trial of his wife's separation from him, and many earnest prayers went up for her. He gave us some of his letters to read, which he wrote to her, and oh! the gentle spirit, and the kind pleadings which he wrote, were enough to break any heart of stone.

Later we moved to St. Louis, Mich., and it was our privilege to have him in our home often. He always preached with power. I can say his life and conduct were worthy of imitation.

Mrs. Elizabeth Walter,
St. Louis, Mich.

The first time I met Brother Warner was in February, 1883. He came to our home and assisted in cottage-meetings. He was a very humble man of faith and one I dearly loved. At the first camp-meeting at Bangor, Mich., in 1883, he was called away, and I took him to the train. As he stepped from the vehicle I handed him eleven dollars. He raised both hands and praised God, as he had had no money for car-fare.

I was with him one time in Chicago in search of a printing-press. At the breakfast-table in a restaurant he poured out his heart to God in deep, earnest prayer and thanked God for the food, which drew the attention of many listeners. At noon we bought a lunch, so as to save the Lord's money. In an alley just off a busy street we found a dry-goods box, which served as a place for our meal. Here he again lifted up his hands and in a deep sense of gratitude gave thanks to God.

S. Michels,
South Haven, Mich.

In October, 1881, I was visiting in North Eagle, Michigan, at my father's, Daniel B. Howe. A brother sent us a Trumpet, the first we had seen. In a few days J. C. Fisher and wife came there. Father asked him to come and hold a meeting, which he did in December, and was there all winter. Many received the light. In October, 1882, Brother Warner came and some others, and held a meeting lasting several days. That was a wonderful meeting to us. When Brother Warner came he seemed to be under a heavy trial on account of some difficulty that had come into his life, and was very sad, apparently unreconciled.

He stayed at our house, and while there God wonderfully blessed him and the clouds began to lift. When he was preaching on Sunday morning, the power of God came down on him and on the people. All wept and shouted. He leaped up a foot or more, turned completely around, and came down facing the audience. From that time the sorrow and sadness were gone.

I did not see him again until in 1894 at the June camp-meeting at Grand Junction. I went to where he was staying at the Trumpet Family residence and met him at the breakfast table. He asked me how the people were at North Eagle. I told him all were well. He put his elbow on the table, his face in his hand, and wept like a child for a few moments. Then he said, "Pardon me, I have to think of how the Lord blessed me there. I never knew that the Lord could bless a mortal man as he blessed me at that meeting."

In 1895, in March, he came to preach my father's funeral. While he was waiting for the train at Grand Ledge he wrote a poem and read it at the funeral. I next saw him at a grove-meeting south of Eagle. He preached a great sermon on the Church. He said nothing of other ministers or denominations, but his discourse when finished left no place for any other church, no possibility of there being another. I never saw him again, as he died the following December.

In my estimation, there never lived a more holy or godly man than he. I doubt whether any other reformer was any more devoted to the cause of Christ than he, or ever preached sermons that were more deep or soul-stirring than his. He lives in the hearts of the people today, and in his writings will be heard until the end of time.

Julia M. Cheeseman,
Liberty Center, Ohio.

Brother Warner was one of the most godly men I ever met; he was so consecrated and devotional. He had great power with God and men; was very humble, and all persons, regardless of rank or position, could approach him for help.

I was at a meeting at Carthage, Mo., where he was preaching. An awful storm came up, and we were in its path with a cloth tabernacle. At the roar of the wind people became alarmed and began to run. Brother Warner cried out, "Stay in the tent; not one shall be hurt." Lifting his eyes and raising his hand heavenward, he said, "Father, calm this storm so thy word can be preached." The storm ceased within a short distance, not more than a block, away. Much damage was done to buildings. The top was blown off the large woolen-mill and box-cars were thrown from the track. I was amazed and said, "What manner of man is this that even the winds obey?"

At another time some boys whose people opposed the truth gathered in a body and began to drink, and finally came to disturb the meeting. They did this on two nights. On the third night, when Brother Warner was preaching he heard them coming. He said, "Father, rebuke the devil in these carousing boys." That was the last of their disturbance. He was a man of faith and was always praising God, even in the deepest trials. He was a reformer indeed.

Lena L. Matthesen,
Moore, Okla.

My memory is poor and I now recall but a few instances. At one time while Brother Warner was preaching a terrible storm came up. The heavens were black. The congregation was becoming uneasy and fearful. He told them to remain seated; that God had given him a message and would not let it rain. He asked God to hold the rain till he had delivered the message. I do not know how long he was preaching, but it was unusually long. God surely held the rain, for when he had finished and the people reached their homes the rain poured down tremendously.

Once when sectarians were framing all manner of falsehoods and sending them broadcast over the country, some of his friends came to him saying, "How can you stand all this?" He paused a moment and then said, "This all came about since I died."

William N. Smith,
North Star, Mich.

Once when he was away from home holding meeting, Brother Warner felt a strong impression that he should return home. Some one offered to take him to the train, though the time was short till the train was due. Brother Warner was praying the Lord to hold the train. When they came in sight of the station, the train was there and soon began to move off. He cried aloud, "My God, stop that train for me." The train slowed down. The conductor signaled to back-up and stop, and took him on. He expressed his gratefulness to God and to the railroad men and confessed God in it.

He told me that at one time he received a telegram from the West requesting him to come in haste. He went to his room and placed the matter before the Lord. He had no means; but the Lord told him to go, doubting nothing, that all things were possible with Him. He then packed his grip and hastened to the depot. When he arrived there he continued in supplication to God. People began to gather to take the train. All at once his eye caught sight of a man hurrying toward the station. The man came in, and when he saw Brother Warner, rejoiced, and said, "Well, I see you are packed to go." "Yes, I received my orders from God to go on a Western trip." "Well, a man needs money to travel on," the man replied, and then handed him a bunch of money. After he had purchased his ticket he noticed he had plenty of change left to defray all necessary expenses, and he went on his way rejoicing. He arrived at his destination and had success. When he was ready to return and was in a conveyance to go to the depot, an old sister called to him to stop and said, "Here is a little budget; take this." As he was in a hurry he just put it in his pocket. Later, when he opened it, he found one hundred dollars in gold. He came home rejoicing, like the disciples when they were sent out without purse or scrip.

A. J. Shelly,
Alma, Mich.

I was much impressed with Brother Warner's remarkable patience under trying circumstances, and when his frail body was racked with pain. On one occasion he and I were on our way to a tent-meeting on the north side of Denver. Being quite late on account of having gone to pray for the sick, we were waiting for a car at a transfer-point, and it seemed to me the car never would arrive. I became anxious and paced up and down the sidewalk (as though in so doing I could hurry up the car), because it was then time for meeting to begin. But to my astonishment, Brother Warner was humming a song and 'making merry in his heart to the Lord.' I said, "Brother Warner, do you ever become impatient?" "Impatient!" he replied, "I have not felt impatient for fifteen years." I believed it then and I believe it now and have ever since that evening. I was striving to overcome anxiety and restlessness because of pain, delay, or opposition, and have succeeded to a great extent in submitting all to the One who is able to cause all things to work together for our good.

John E. Roberts,
3830 Stuart St.,
Denver, Colo.

A TRUE EXAMPLE OF HUMILITY

One of the most striking examples of true humility that I ever saw was on the day I first met and became acquainted with Brother Warner. With his company of workers, he came to the place where I was expected to preach that day. I was just beginning in the ministry, and had a very high ideal of a minister, to which I was trying hard to attain. When I arrived at this place, the company had already come, and we simply met and were introduced before the Sunday-school began. After the exercises were over, and before time to begin preaching, Brother Warner came to me and said he understood that I was expected to preach that day. I answered yes, but not when a man of such reputation and ability as he was present. He insisted that I go ahead, as he was very tired from the labors he had been in and from the trip which they had just made from the West. I answered that I could not preach much yet, and if he would speak only a little while, it would be a treat to the congregation and me. He still insisted that I should preach, and did not seem to care to take the pulpit. I plead with him to do so, and said, "Brother Warner, I simply could not preach in the presence of such a great man as you are." He came up to me and placed his arm around my neck and his head on my shoulder, and said, "God bless you, my brother, I am only one of God's little ones."

This action seemed very strange to me, as I was not acquainted with such a spirit in a man of such reputation; but I kept insisting that he take the pulpit, if not for more than but a few minutes. He then said, "Well, then, if you feel that way, I will; but I need your prayers." He really did look weary, and seemed so frail in body that for a moment I feared I did wrong in urging him so hard.

Well, he began, and I felt that I should be prepared to follow him in case he should stop suddenly, and I would finish the sermon. He preached on the subject of sanctification, and I was so desirous that he might be able to give us a full sermon on this precious subject. Well, he had hardly begun when he seemed to change into another man, and my fears were soon gone that he might have a physical breakdown before the close. That weary look and the appearance of frailty soon disappeared, and the wonderful words that he spoke were full of power and authority. I was soon lost in the glorious truths of the sermon and was unconscious of my surroundings. When he sat down, we were surprized to find that he had preached just three hours, which seemed such a short time to all of us.

The deep impression of the humility of this man of God and the divine power with which he preached had this effect upon my heart: If this is "but one of God's little ones," where will there ever be a place for such an ignorant beginner as I? My ideal of a minister was wholly changed, and it was for some time that I had great difficulty to believe there was a place for me. But having the privilege of sitting at Brother Warner's feet in a series of meetings following that day, I was greatly helped to try to sink into deeper humility, and through the grace of God find my place in the body, the church. This impression of humility has remained with me these years, and has often been a protection when at times there would be presented temptations to self-exaltation.

A WISE ANSWER

In one of the meetings that Brother Warner and his company held in our home neighborhood my older brother had become very much interested in the good singing of this company. He was passionately fond of good singing, and though working hard all day, could not stay away from the evening meetings. But he had become backward in his spiritual life, and knew he was living far below the standard that Brother Warner was holding up. At the close of one of the evening services Brother Warner met my brother and asked him how it was with his soul. The answer was this: "I simply confess to you that I don't have enough brains to understand sanctification." These words were spoken in a spirit of resistance and self-justification. Brother Warner looked into his face with a kindly and humble smile and said: "God bless you, Brother John, it doesn't take brains."[24]

HOW A VICTORY WAS WON BY PRAYER

While Brother Warner was with us in San Diego, Cal., he gave a series of lessons on the Revelation, and preached hard against the errors of Millennialism. A man who had come amongst us, who was a preacher, and seemed to be accepting the truth very well, but had not received the light on this line, became very much offended at the sermon Brother Warner preached that evening. He seemed to lose his patience altogether, and manifested anger. He came forward to Brother Warner before the congregation had left the hall and in a loud voice and with a face expressing real bitterness said, "The Lord shows me that you are of the devil." He had hardly finished his words when Brother Warner fell on his knees and began to pray, right at the feet of his accuser.

I never before heard such a pitiful prayer, as he poured out his heart to God for this dear man who had brought such a charge against the servant of the Lord. He prayed that the man might be able to see his wrong, that God would reveal the truth to his understanding, and also bless the people who were standing and looking on at this scene of Christian discourtesy, etc. We were all so shocked at the unusual act that it was hard to know just what to do but stand there, which we did, until the prayer was over. After finishing the outpouring of his soul in prayer, he quietly rose from his knees, and went away. The accuser was one of the most surprized people I ever saw. During the prayer he stood as though riveted to the floor, his deathly pale face turned down toward Brother Warner. His hands hung by his side, and he had the appearance of one paralyzed. For a while after Brother Warner had risen from his knees, the man remained fastened to the spot. The congregation began going out, and finally the man also took his hat and left, without one word.

The next night, in the presence of a large audience, this man arose and came forward to Brother Warner, weeping and humbly asking that he might be forgiven for the great offence toward him and the people. He said the Lord had shown him that Brother Warner was right, and he did all that could be expected to right himself with God. From that time he was a strong advocate of the truths of the reformation.

The wisdom of God that was manifested in this moment of sudden surprize, in this critical condition, had a wonderful effect upon the people.

J. W. Byers,
618 Palm Ave., Fresno, Cal.

Very early in my experience in the reformation I was staying at the home of Brother and Sister Fry, in Michigan. I had been under accusation for some time. Brother Warner was coming to hold a tabernacle-meeting right near their home. I determined that when he came I would go to him and tell him I was backslidden and ask him to pray with me. I did not go to see him until just before he arose to preach, hence said nothing to him regarding my condition; but I shall never forget that sermon. He arose, and with his eyes filled with tears he broke the bread of life, and my accusations were swept into oblivion, and my soul received a glorious refreshing. It made one think of the saying of Jesus, "Feed my sheep."

At another time, on the old Deerfield (Ind.) camp-ground, I fallowed him to the meeting one morning, and though he was always frail it seemed he was worse that day, so that he almost reeled as he walked. After singing, we all knelt in prayer, and Brother Warner prayed, "Now, Lord, thou hast laid this message upon me; give me strength." He sprang to his feet and leaped all over the floor. He preached for a long time. That made a lasting impression upon me, for I knew he received help directly from heaven.

J. W. Daugherty,
Glenville, Nebr.

It would require much more space than is at my disposal to narrate even half of the things that stand out prominently in my memory concerning the life of D. S. Warner and its influence upon me. As his last years were spent in my home community, and he was often in the home of my parents, I was intimately acquainted with him from my childhood's earliest recollection until I was past fifteen years of age, when he died. This association being at the impressionable period of my life, multitudes of events were stamped indelibly upon my memory.

I shall mention but three of these incidents. The first occurred in the autumn of 1890. An assembly was being held at Geneva Center, a short distance southwest of Lacota, Mich. One day while a special service for children was being held I sat upon the front seat, listening to the kind, persuasive words of instruction and admonition being given by Brother Warner. At the close of a short talk he asked, "How many of you children want to give your hearts to the Lord?" and then without waiting for a reply he turned to me, and with love and tenderness beaming from his kindly eyes, asked, "Do you not want to get saved now?" Instantly my heart was stirred. I knelt at the altar and Brother Warner came and prayed for me. Laying his hands upon my head, he said, "Lord, give this boy a new heart; take away from him the stony heart and give him a heart of flesh." I felt immediately the touch of God. I was born of the Spirit. My young heart was filled with holy joy. Can I ever forget that glad moment? Not so long as I have a being. When time, as we know it, has ended, when old earth itself has grown weary and ceased to go round, and when all the stars of the heavens have forgotten to shine, I shall still praise God for the revelation of divine life that thrilled my soul on that glorious morning. And when I wander over the green fields of the heavenly paradise, or sit down with my Lord in the city of God, I want to renew that association with Brother Warner and thank him for what he did for me.

Brother Warner's preaching always possessed for me an irresistible charm. His doctrinal sermons took hold upon me, especially those devoted to prophetic subjects. I remember distinctly one sermon on prophecy, delivered at the camp-ground, near Grand Junction, Mich. It created a lasting impression upon my mind. Although he preached for four hours and ten minutes, the time did not seem long. I have no doubt that my later interest in doctrinal themes is due, in a great measure at least, to those early impressions, when the Spirit of God stamped the truths of his Word upon my soul.

The third incident that I shall mention was a sermon preached by Brother Warner, just a short time before his death. It was delivered at the camp-ground. The subject was Heaven. So inspiring was this message that it created in me an intense longing to go to that place of light and life—a longing that abides with me still.

F. G. Smith,
Anderson, Ind.

I can not find words to express the help and comfort Brother Warner was to me. I well remember the bitter persecutions he and his company met while here in the South. His pure, holy life and the radical preaching are still living in the South. I remember hearing him preach one night, in a private house, on the oneness of God's people. He was so filled with the Holy Spirit he would leap and praise God. The ceiling overhead was very low. He said the leaps in his soul were higher than the ceiling of that house. I thought every time he left the floor he would hit the ceiling. He and his company were in our house at Spring Hill when the angry mob came after him; but the Lord took care of him.

Mrs. Demaris (Smith) Vance,
Meridian, Miss.

Brother Warner was the man under whose preaching I was convicted for salvation. I had gone fifteen miles to hear him, and when I arrived on the ground I was met by an old friend of mine who had been one of the worst men I have ever known. He said to me, "Praise God, I am glad you are here." This made me feel that after all there might be a chance for me to obtain freedom, from the sins that held me. When I went to meeting that night and Brother Warner was pointed out to me, I thought to myself, "I fear there is not much to him." But they sang and Brother Warner began preaching. I never had heard a man preach as he did. After the meeting, several were prayed for and healed. Something came over me as I stood and seemed to go off the ends of my fingers, and I said to myself that this was the first camp-meeting I ever attended that was not ruled by Satan, and that if I could get this religion I could keep out of hell.

One day some one arose and testified that he was still "chawing" tobacco and asked all to pray that he might hold out. Brother Warner remarked that all the saints were testifying for Jesus but this man got up and testified for his tobacco. This was a new kind of talk to many of us. Brother Warner was one of the greatest preachers I ever heard. God was with him in such power as no one else seemed to have in those days.

R. H. Owens,
Mt. Pleasant, La.

At a grove-meeting near Antwerp, Ohio, some roughs came to break up the meeting. They divided into two squads, one to pass to the one side of the congregation and the other to the other side. They were prepared to throw eggs, but the leaders of the two squads said, "Don't throw until something is said to justify." They marched to their places and waited. Brother Warner was preaching with wonderful anointing, and shouting. Finally the leader on one side said, "There shall be nothing thrown at that man by my consent. He is preaching the truth; he is a man of God." So they started back. Strange to say, those on the other side did the same, and the two parties met. One said, "Why didn't you throw?" The other said, "Why didn't you?" The leader repeated as before remarked. Finally one big fellow said, "Well, I am going to take one shot, anyway," and he threw an egg right into the congregation. There was a man sitting near the front who was a sectarian; the egg struck him directly in the face and broke over him. He made quite a splutter.

At a meeting at Rising Sun, Ohio, Brother Warner was praying in an opening service when some one threw a pack of cards over their heads. After the preaching the people were gathering up the cards. He said, "Amen, gather them up; the devil has surrendered; he has given up his testament."

J. N. Howard,
Nappanee, Ind.

It was in the spring of 1891, in southern Indiana, that I first met Brother Warner. I shall never forget the impression he made on me as he stepped into our home. I felt so sensibly the presence of God with the man. He held a two weeks' meeting at our place at that time. A number of souls were saved. Opposition ran high. The meeting was held in the schoolhouse near to a sectarian meeting-house. The preacher who preached at this place tried to get a revival started, but failed. One minister rode all day on a Sunday trying to gather up a mob to drive the brother out of the country; but the people so much enjoyed his preaching and were so won to the man by his gentleness and the clearness of his teaching that they would not rally to the opposers' standard.

I had the pleasure of having him in our home at a later time for about three months. It was at this time that we learned more about his prayer-life. My father-in-law once drove him out of the woods where he had gone for prayer. Those prayers, however, and his patience and calmness while being driven out of the woods resulted in my mother-in-law's salvation.

He had a great, sympathetic heart and consequently could comfort the sorrowing as few men could. He preached the funeral of my little boy, and his words of comfort were as a healing balm. He and I roomed together at one time, when he held a ten nights' debate with a Seventh-day Adventist preacher. Here he again impressed me with his mighty prayers. After going to our room he would wrestle long and earnestly with God in prayer before retiring. I have always felt much indebted to him for his example in prayer and holy living.

C. E. Orr.
Everett, Wash.

For about seven years we traveled with Brother Warner in the ministry. Our work was incessant, winter and summer. My intimate association with him impressed me with his deep devotion and sterling Christian character. He was a student of rare ability and an efficient New Testament minister and writer. He was not given to lightness, sentimentality, or idle words. He was sober, serious, and impressive in both words and actions. No one could enjoy his presence and association unless he, like him, would live spiritual and close to God. His whole life and ambition were the spread of the pure gospel and the well-being of souls. He used no empty words in his manner of preaching. His messages were weighty and impressive.

I remember one time in Canada where God's presence was so manifest in one of his sermons that when he was through preaching the entire congregation to an individual knelt in prayer and sought the Lord for pardon and peace. He was a very busy man. He was up early in the morning and late at night studying, writing, preaching, or helping some needy soul. He was charitable, sympathetic, hospitable, and self-denying. His life was full of constant peace and victory. I can not estimate the value and worth to me of my intimate association with him through those years.

He was evidently chosen of God as a great reformer. While he was meek, mild, and gentle, he was heroic and fearless as a Martin Luther. We shall do well to preserve his words of writing and to remember his example, for we shall thereby be worth more to God and souls.

B. E. Warren,
Springfield, Ohio.

It is indeed a pleasure to me to contribute a few lines of kindly remembrance of our departed brother D. S. Warner. It was the good pleasure of our heavenly Father that my dear wife and I live with Brother and Sister Warner as members of their household for some fifteen months before he died. I can say with all truth that the gospel he preached he lived. He was always cheerful, kindly, and affectionate in brotherly love to all about him, ready to give wise and fatherly advice and counsel. He was very devoted and much given to prayer in his home. He spent much time in his library with his books and translations of the Scriptures, and did much writing and correspondence, his wife assisting him much. The book Salvation; Present, Perfect; Now or Never, he wrote at this time and he read the manuscript to us before it was printed.

He loved to talk of God's dealings with him; how God led him step by step out of error and confusion and many deep difficulties, how he was violently persecuted by false brethren, how his wife became deceived and separated from him, etc. He would tell of how God revealed to him the sect Babylon of the Revelation and gave him to understand that he must cry out against her and expose her sins; how Babylon loomed up before him as a great black mountain, and that God was taking him as a worm to thresh it, and how he shrunk back at the thought of being thrown against such a seemingly impregnable wall, "God made me see," he said, "that I was nothing but a little mouse, but that he had his hand over me," then he would feel encouraged.

What God accomplished through him some of us know something about, and the results are glorious. Verily he being dead yet speaketh!

Curtis W. Montgomery,
27 Chestnut St.,
Marcus Hook, Pa.

In the winter of 1888–89 Bros. Geo. T. Clayton and Charles Koonce came to our community, near Cochran's Mills, Armstrong Co., Pa., preaching what was generally termed "a new doctrine," a "turning the world upside down." I was a boy sixteen years old, and the first night of the service walked four miles to the meeting. The first sermon made a deep impression on my mind. During that meeting quite a congregation was raised up for the truth.

A few weeks after the close of this meeting, Brother Warner and company came. They arrived in spring wagons from Blanco, Pa., a distance of about thirty miles. I was working with my father in the field when they passed down the road, singing The River of Peace, and shouting, "Halleluiah!" We never witnessed such a scene. Singing and shouting along the public road was characteristic of Brother Warner's company in those days. At night people would rush to their windows to hear the singing, and remark, "The angels are coming."

In this meeting Brother Warner's preaching was all doctrinal. It was all new to us; but I never was able to shake off the convictions that fastened on my heart that these people had the truth. I said I wanted their kind of religion.

In August of 1892 we attended the Perryville (Pa.) camp-meeting. I well remember going to the depot from the camp-ground for some baggage, and of meeting on the way Brother Warner and company, who had just arrived. At first they did not recognize me; but when I said, "Praise the Lord," Brother Warner arose in the spring wagon and lifting his hand to heaven shouted at the top of his voice, "Halleluiah! praise our God for eternal salvation!" and all the company joined with loud amens and, "Glory to God!"

At this meeting also Brother Warner's preaching was about all doctrinal. The great fundamental truths of full salvation, holiness, the church, unity, the downfall of sect Babylon, and the command to come out of her, the great apostasy, the last reformation, divine healing, etc., were preached uncompromisingly. I will say, brethren, this kind of preaching confirmed the saints and brought out clearly the holy remnant from the folds of confusion and drew the line in the manner that people knew the way to Zion and rejoiced in their freedom. Sinners were soundly converted under this preaching. They were not born dead. People usually came through at the altar shouting. It was not unusual during a sermon to see one hundred saints on their feet shouting and Brother Warner leaping and crying, "Fire! fire!" We all got this inspiration, and leaping and shouting were characteristic of most of the early preachers in the pulpit.

In the summer of 1893, wife and I attended the Grand Junction, (Mich.), camp-meeting. When the train from South Haven stopped at the station I heard a great shout, and looking over near the Trumpet Office saw Brother Warner leaping and shouting, crying at the top of his voice as the saints were getting off the train, "The holy remnant is pouring in." That was a great meeting, the most powerful I ever attended. Miracles were wrought and devils "crying with a loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them."

Brother Warner impressed me as a man of deep piety and spirituality. He was very humble and tender-hearted. Many were the warm-hearted counsels and admonitions he gave to the younger ministers, and these were delivered in tears, with a, "God bless you, my dear brother." He was a very able man in the Scriptures, and one of the deepest in prophecies I have ever heard. He was slow to see the faults of others; but able to expose wrong-doing when he clearly discerned it in any one. He was very definite and radical in his preaching, and eternity alone will reveal what he suffered because of his bold defense of what he believed to be the truth. We who knew him best would never question his sincerity. He was a reformer in every sense of the term. The influences of his life and ministry will sweep onward till time shall end. The principles he advocated are more and more being recognized by spiritual people everywhere, and the fires of reformation are destined to sweep the earth until

"We girdle the globe with salvation,

And holiness unto the Lord;

Till light shall illumine each nation,

The light from the lamp of his word."

H. M. Riggle,
Akron, Ind.

As a young worker in Brother Warner's company for a few months I was deeply impressed with his kindness, courtesy, and humility. He often exhorted the young ministers and workers to seek humility of heart, and often related an incident of his personal experience in talking with the Lord, when the Lord said to him, "Be humble, my child, be humble."

He had a great burden for the gathering of God's people, the prosperity of Zion, and the salvation of the lost. To this end he dedicated his time, talents, and means, and was so self-denying that he would share his last penny with those in need. He said, when he finished a Bible subject or outline for a sermon, "There's the skeleton, I'll trust the Lord to put the meat on it." I heard him say, "Satan puts us in his sieve that he may sift all the good out of us; God puts us in his sieve that he may sift all the bad out of us."

Brother Warner was a son of thunder in delivering truth against false religions, but as wise as a serpent and as harmless as a dove in dealing with the erring ones.

Nora Hunter,
San Diego, Cal,

I also wish to bear personal testimony of Brother Warner. The first time I met him was on Apr. 7, 1888, at our family home, near Albany, Ill. He with his company were on their return from their Western tour. I had been teaching school in Iowa during the previous winter and had also engaged myself for the spring term, but had a two weeks' intermission for vacation, which I decided to spend at my home. How wonderful that the course of life may turn on a mere decision, which at the time may seem to involve no particular consequence. It was during that two weeks' interval that I met Brother Warner and came in contact with the reformation movement.

On the date mentioned, the little company of evangelists arrived at our house. They were brought thither by Brothers Knight and Daniels from the former's home, near Fulton, where they had arrived the day before. My father and I had gone to engage a schoolhouse for meeting. When we returned two men were standing at our front gate conversing, one of whom was Brother Warner. My father made himself acquainted and then introduced me, informing Brother Warner that I had been converted only a short time before. As he reached to shake my hand he said, so appreciatingly, "Well, that's good news," and there beamed out of those soft blue eyes a Christian love and tenderness that made a lasting impression on me. That he should so rejoice in spirit at the knowledge of my conversion seemed to give me a spiritual uplift and to place my appreciation of things spiritual on a higher level. It seemed that during that week when Brother Warner and company were with us our home was a heavenly paradise. I regard that week as the brightest and most full of destiny to me in all my life's history. There was something about the happy, victorious spirit of those dear saints that exalted Christianity in my conception and made it a thing very much to be desired. The impression made upon my young heart at that time can never be erased.

My mother had been reading the Trumpet and had formed the opinion of Brother Warner that he was a great and wonderful man. So when she met him she exclaimed, "And is this Brother Warner!" His reply was, "Yes, and he is the least man you ever saw."

In the meeting that followed he instructed me in my consecration for sanctification. As I arose, ready to venture on God's promise, he discerned my faith and broke the way before me by claiming the promise with me.

When my mother died, in July, 1894, I was engaged in the publishing work at Grand Junction. The telegram notifying me of her death said also, "Bring Brother Warner." This message was received late in the evening, and Brother Warner had retired. I went to his room and informed him of the request. He was feeling bad physically and wondered if Brother —— could not go instead. I knew that no other person available could give the satisfaction Brother Warner could, and so expressed myself to him. Finally he consented. Although he was weak and tired he arose from his bed and prepared to go. It was never in him to shirk what might be interpreted as duty. He believed in taking the Lord for his sufficiency, and the Lord did not disappoint him. We had to take a night train for Chicago, and before we reached the city he said he felt stronger than when he started, and this in spite of his having been deprived of rest. He preached the funeral discourse, wrote quite a lengthy obituary and poem, and even responded to a request to preach in an evening service. It was wonderful how he could take God for his strength and his every need. His life seemed to be a constant miracle.

I have traveled with him, slept with him, taken part in his meetings, and have been associated with him in editorial work, and thus have known him at close range and he was always God-fearing, humble, loving, devoted, full of faith, and possessed of singleness of heart, to a degree rarely known among men. His life, so exemplary, was an object lesson of Christian attainment and of what God can do for and through weak humanity. It was an inspiration to feel the touch of his Christian spirit. And thus we exalt, not the man—for apart from the divine influence that ruled his life he would have been very commonplace—but we exalt the God who can take such humble instrumentality and by a transformation of being use it to accomplish his work in the earth. It is the Christ in man that we are to exalt and to follow.

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Grave of D. S. Warner, near Grand Junction, Mich.

The new monument

The body of D. S. Warner lies, near where it fell, in a rather lonely spot some distance off the thoroughfare, in the sparsely-wooded edge of the camp-ground near Grand Junction, Mich. This place, where are situated a few other graves and where the proximity to the empty cottages on the camp-ground gives an aspect of desertion, is a place for reflection. Here nature undisturbed, through the succession of bursting buds of spring, refreshing dews of summer, sighing breezes and gently falling leaves of autumn, and rigorous storms of winter covering all with a shroud of snow, is heard to speak silently but eloquently of the brief cycle of life on this earth, of the grave as our last resting-place, and of the fact that "here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." One thinks, when standing beside this grave, of the wonderful accomplishment crowded into that short career, and of the reward of a life of faithful service. And one feels springing from the depths of the heart this choice, that come what may of toil and self-sacrifice in the Christian service, come what may of reproach and persecution for Christ's sake, "let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his."