in winter, adding that even then she was unable to keep warm.
"I open my windows," was the explanation, "to warm the rooms by filling them with fresh air. It is impossible to heat dead air. To inhale the same air over and over again is to breathe in poison."
As "it is impossible to heat dead air,"
so it is impossible to incite zeal in a
dead church. The breath of the Spirit
is first needed to change the spiritual
climate. (Text.)
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Renewing the Faith—See Extremity not Final.
RENOVATION
The verses below by Sam Walter Foss, from a poem on "The Soul Spring Cleaning," have in them a suggestion that every man may now and then utilize:
Yes, clean yer house, an' clean yer shed,
An' clean yer barn in ev'ry part;
But brush the cobwebs from yer head,
An' sweep the snow-banks from yer heart.
Yes, w'en spring cleanin' comes aroun'
Bring forth the duster an' the broom,
But rake yer fogy notions down,
An' sweep yer dusty soul of gloom.
Plant flowers in the soul's front yard,
Set out new shade an' blossom trees,
An' let the soul once froze an' hard
Sprout crocuses of new idees.
Yes, clean yer house, an' clean yer shed,
An' clean yer barn in ev'ry part;
But brush the cobwebs from yer head,
An' sweep the snow-banks from yer heart!
(Text.)
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Each great European cathedral has its regular corps of repairers—architects, engineers, masons, carpenters, every man a master of his craft. The work of renovation goes on at all seasons; crumbling stones must be replaced, fresh cement supplied, broken parts mended; there is always something needing to be done. The inexperienced traveler is at first much annoyed by the sight of the stagings and scaffoldings from which cathedral walls seem never wholly free. "When," he exclaims, "shall I at last find a façade which is not in the process of repair?" But with larger knowledge and more careful thought his feelings change.
The flimsy, unsightly framework clinging to the ancient gray stone no longer seems a blemish, but a true adornment, since it eloquently tells of the reverent, affectionate care which faithfully preserves for the future these "poems in stone" handed down from the mighty past.—"Monday Club, Sermons on the International Sunday-school Lessons for 1904."
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RENUNCIATION
Dr. R. F. Horton, in the Christian Endeavor World, tells this incident concerning a wedding where he officiated:
A very little man had brought to the altar
a very big bride, who, moreover, was attired
in purple, and certainly bore a formidable
aspect.
Whether the situation affected the bridegroom, or in a dreamy reminiscence his mind wandered back to childhood and the catechism when, on the mention of the world and the flesh and the devil, he promised to have nothing to do with them, I can not say. But sure enough, when I put to him the crucial question, "Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" the answer came, low but clear, "I renounce them all!" It was with some compunction that I said to him, "You must say, 'I will.'"
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RENUNCIATION, COMPLETE
There is an ancient legend of a devout man
who had, among many other virtues, the
gift of healing, unto whom divers made resort
for cure; among the rest one Chromatius,
being sick, sent for him. Being come, he
told of his sickness, and desired that he
might have the benefit of cure as others had
before him. "I can not do it," said the devout
person, "till thou hast beaten all the
idols and images in thy house to pieces."
"That shall be done," said Chromatius.
"Here, take my keys, and where you find any
images let them be defaced," which was done
accordingly. To prayer went the holy man,
but no cure was wrought. "Oh!" saith
Chromatius, "I am as sick as ever. I am
very sick and weak!" "It can not be otherwise,"
replied the holy man; "nor can I help
it, for certainly there is one idol more in
your house undiscovered, and that must be
defaced, too." "True," said Chromatius.
"There is so, indeed; there is one all of
beaten gold. It cost two hundred pounds.
I would fain have saved it, but here, take
my keys again. You shall find it locked up
