“Wen he got thru—it look lak he nuvur wud, I tel him John Jasper ain’ set up to be no scholur, an’ doant kno de ferlosophiz, an’ ain’ tryin’ ter hurt his peopul, but is wurkin’ day an’ night ter lif ’em up, but his foot is on de rock uv eternal truff. Dar he stan’ and dar he is goin’ ter stan’ til Gabrul soun’s de judgment note. So er say to de gemman wat scol’d me up so dat I hur him mek his remarks, but I ain’ hur whar he get his Scriptu’ from, an’ dat ’tween him an’ de wurd of de Lord I tek my stan’ by de Word of Gord ebery time. Jasper ain’ mad: he ain’ fightin’ nobody; he ain’ bin ’pinted janitur to run de sun: he nothin’ but de servunt of Gord and a luver of de Everlasting Word. What I keer about de sun? De day comes on wen de sun will be called frum his race-trac, and his light squincked out foruvur; de moon shall turn ter blood, and this yearth be konsoomed wid fier. Let um go; dat wont skeer me nor trubble Gord’s erlect’d peopul, for de word uv de Lord shell aindu furivur, an’ on dat Solid Rock we stan’ an’ shall not be muved.
“Is I got yer satisfied yit? Has I prooven my p’int? Oh, ye whose hearts is full uv unberlief! Is yer still hol’in’ out? I reckun de reason yer say de sun don’ move is ’cause yer are so hard ter move yerse’f. You is a reel triul ter me, but, nevur min’; I ain’t gi’n yer up yit, an’ nevur will. Truf is mighty; it kin break de heart uv stone, an’ I mus’ fire anudder arrur uv truf out’n de quivur uv de Lord. If yer haz er copy uv God’s Word ’bout yer pussun, please tu’n ter dat miner profit, Malerki, wat writ der las’ book in der ole Bible, an’ look at chaptur de fust, vurs ’leben; what do it say? I bet’r read it, fur I got er noshun yer critics doan’t kerry enny Bible in thar pockits ev’ry day in de week. Here is wat it says: ‘Fur from de risin’ uv de sun evun unter de goin’ doun uv de same My name shall be great ’mong de Gentiles.... My name shall be great ’mong de heathun, sez de Lord uv hosts.’ How do dat suit yer? It look lak dat ort ter fix it. Dis time it is de Lord uv hosts Hisse’f dat is doin’ de talkin’, an’ He is talkin’ on er wonderful an’ glorious subjik. He is tellin’ uv de spredin’ uv His Gorspel, uv de kummin’ uv His larst vict’ry ovur de Gentiles, an’ de wurldwide glories dat at de las’ He is ter git. Oh, my bruddrin, wat er time dat will be. My soul teks wing es I erticipate wid joy dat merlenium day! De glories as dey shine befo’ my eyes blin’s me, an’ I furgits de sun an’ moon an’ stars. I jes’ ’members dat ’long ’bout dose las’ days dat de sun an’ moon will go out uv bizniss, fur dey won’ be needed no mo’. Den will King Jesus come back ter see His people, an’ He will be de suffishunt light uv de wurl’. Joshwer’s bat’ls will be ovur. Hezekier woan’t need no sun diul, an’ de sun an’ moon will fade out befo’ de glorius splendurs uv de New Jerruslem.
“But wat der mattur wid Jasper. I mos’ furgit my bizniss, an’ mos’ gon’ ter shoutin’ ovur de far away glories uv de secun’ cummin’ uv my Lord. I beg pardun, an’ will try ter git back ter my subjik. I hev ter do as de sun in Hezekier’s case—fall back er few dergrees. In dat part uv de Word dat I gin yer frum Malerki—dat de Lord Hisse’f spoke—He klars dat His glory is gwine ter spred. Spred? Whar? Frum de risin’ uv de sun ter de goin’ down uv de same. Wat? Doan’t say dat, duz it? Dat’s edzakly wat it sez. Ain’t dat cleer ’nuff fer yer? De Lord pity dese doubtin’ Tommusses. Here is ’nuff ter settul it all an’ kure de wuss cases. Walk up yere, wise folks, an’ git yer med’sin. Whar is dem high collar’d furloserfurs now? Wat dey skulkin’ roun’ in de brush fer? Why doan’t yer git out in der broad arternoon light an’ fight fer yer cullurs? Ah, I un’stans it; yer got no answer. De Bible is agin yer, an’ in yer konshunses yer are convictid.
“But I hears yer back dar. Wat yer wisprin’ ’bout? I know; yer say yer sont me sum papurs an’ I nevur answer dem. Ha, ha, ha! I got ’em. De differkulty ’bout dem papurs yer sont me is dat dey did not answer me. Dey nevur menshun de Bible one time. Yer think so much uv yoursef’s an’ so little uv de Lord Gord an’ thinks wat yer say is so smart dat yer karn’t even speak uv de Word uv de Lord. When yer ax me ter stop believin’ in de Lord’s Word an’ ter pin my faith ter yo words, I ain’t er gwine ter do it. I take my stan’ by de Bible an’ res’ my case on wat it says. I take wat de Lord says ’bout my sins, ’bout my Saviour, ’bout life, ’bout death, ’bout de wurl’ ter come, an’ I take wat de Lord say ’bout de sun an’ moon, an’ I cares little wat de haters of mer Gord chooses ter say. Think dat I will fursake de Bible? It is my only Book, my hope, de arsnel uv my soul’s surplies, an’ I wants nuthin’ else.
“But I got ernudder wurd fur yer yit. I done wuk ovur dem papurs dat yer sont me widout date an’ widout yer name. Yer deals in figgurs an’ thinks yer are biggur dan de arkanjuls. Lemme see wat yer dun say. Yer set yerse’f up ter tell me how fur it is frum here ter de sun. Yer think yer got it down ter er nice p’int. Yer say it is 3,339,002 miles frum de earth ter de sun. Dat’s wat yer say. Nudder one say dat de distuns is 12,000,000; nudder got it ter 27,000,000. I hers dat de great Isuk Nutun wuk’t it up ter 28,000,000, an’ later on de furloserfurs gin ernudder rippin’ raze to 50,000,000. De las’ one gits it bigger dan all de yuthers, up to 90,000,000. Doan’t enny uv ’em ergree edzakly an’ so dey runs a guess game, an’ de las’ guess is always de bigges’. Now, wen dese guessers kin hav a kunvenshun in Richmun’ an’ all ergree ’pun de same thing, I’d be glad ter hear frum yer ag’in, an’ I duz hope dat by dat time yer won’t be ershamed uv yer name.
“Heeps uv railroads hes bin built sense I saw de fust one wen I wuz fifteen yeers ole, but I ain’t hear tell uv er railroad built yit ter de sun. I doan’ see why ef dey kin meshur de distuns ter de sun, dey might not git up er railroad er a telurgraf an’ enabul us ter fin’ sumthin’ else ’bout it den merely how fur orf de sun is. Dey tell me dat a kannun ball cu’d mek de trep ter de sun in twelve years. Why doan’ dey send it? It might be rig’d up wid quarturs fur a few furloserfers on de inside an’ fixed up fur er kumfurterble ride. Dey wud need twelve years’ rashuns an’ a heep uv changes uv ramint—mighty thick clo’es wen dey start and mighty thin uns wen dey git dar.
“Oh, mer bruthrin, dese things mek yer laugh, an’ I doan’ blem yer fer laughin’, ’cept it’s always sad ter laugh at der follies uv fools. If we cu’d laugh ’em out’n kount’nens, we might well laugh day an’ night. Wat cuts inter my soul is, dat all dese men seem ter me dat dey is hittin’ at de Bible. Dat’s wat sturs my soul an’ fills me wid reichus wrath. Leetle keers I wat dey says ’bout de sun, purvided dey let de Word uv de Lord erlone. But nevur min’. Let de heethun rage an’ de people ’madgin er vain thing. Our King shall break ’em in pieces an’ dash ’em down. But blessed be de name uv our Gord, de Word uv de Lord indurith furivur. Stars may fall, moons may turn ter blood, an’ de sun set ter rise no mo’, but Thy kingdom, oh, Lord, is frum evurlastin’ ter evurlastin’.
“But I has er word dis arternoon fer my own brutherin. Dey is de people fer whose souls I got ter watch—fur dem I got ter stan’ an’ report at de last—dey is my sheep an’ I’se der shepherd, an’ my soul is knit ter dem forever. ’Tain fer me ter be troublin’ yer wid dese questions erbout dem heb’nly bodies. Our eyes goes far beyon’ de smaller stars; our home is clean outer sight uv dem twinklin’ orbs; de chariot dat will cum ter take us to our Father’s mansion will sweep out by dem flickerin’ lights an’ never halt till it brings us in clar view uv de throne uv de Lamb. Doan’t hitch yer hopes to no sun nor stars; yer home is got Jesus fer its light, an’ yer hopes mus’ trabel up dat way. I preach dis sermon jest fer ter settle de min’s uv my few brutherin, an’ repeats it ’cause kin’ frens wish ter hear it, an’ I hopes it will do honour ter de Lord’s Word. But nuthin’ short of de purly gates can satisfy me, an’ I charge, my people, fix yer feet on de solid Rock, yer hearts on Calv’ry, an’ yer eyes on de throne uv de Lamb. Dese strifes an’ griefs ’ll soon git ober; we shall see de King in His glory an’ be at ease. Go on, go on, ye ransom uv de Lord; shout His praises as yer go, an’ I shall meet yer in de city uv de New Jeruserlum, whar we shan’t need the light uv de sun, fer de Lam’ uv de Lord is de light uv de saints.”