Chapter D: S. Warner. B. E. Warren (2)

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.

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.

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.