“Let scoffers laugh and say our work is vain,
And mocking ask, Where is our gain?
Such scoffers die, and are forgot;
Work done for God, it dieth not.”
THE age in which we live is to a great extent an age of idolatry in the form of hero-worship, True it is, we do not worship images carved out of fragrant wood, or cut out of blocks of marble. We do not worship the sun, moon, or stars; ours is a worship of power, intellect, genius. Unfortunately in this nineteenth century, we fear, too many of the heroes of whom our poets sing, and our historians write, and who receive the world's loudest acclamations, are not the men enshrouded with the spirit of love, gentleness, and peace, but men who go forth with drawn swords, deluging nations with blood, and carrying in their path devastation, misery, and desolation. Do not let us be misunderstood. Wellington may be the hero of a Waterloo; Faraday may carry the palm for science; Milton shall have the honor of his "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained;" Turner shall stand forth in the pages of history as the benefactor to his country by his works of Art; the steam engine carries with its modern appliances and gigantic and stupendous facilities the names of a Watt and a Stephenson; these men nobly and deservedly won the laurels that they wore, and with which their names are embalmed and held in grateful remembrance. But there are heroes "of whom the world was not worthy," and it is of such an one I am wistful to speak in these pages—one who could say with a worthy Servant of God of days gone by:—
“I live for those that love me,
For those that know me true,
For the heaven that smiles above me,
And waits my coming too....
For the cause that lacks assistance,
For the wrongs that need resistance,
For the future in the distance,
For the good that I can do.”
This is the spirit displayed and the example set forth in the life of the hero of these pages. He, by a loving disposition, a holy example, a hallowed influence, an untiring zeal, an indomitable courage, an unwavering perseverance, a strong yet childlike faith in God, really became a hero in his Master's mission field.
Without laying ourselves open to a charge of undue flattery we can truly say that such a testimony is the heritage of John G. Paton, the self-sacrificing missionary to the New Hebrides.
Before commencing our narrative we pause here to ask, What is the secret? What is the mainspring of this man's successes, of his triumphs over difficulties, and of the glorious consummation of his most cherished hopes, after more than thirty years of a checkered and perilous career?
We get the answer to these questions, we get the problem solved, and the secret made manifest in the answer given him by his parents, when he consulted them in reference to accepting the proffered post of difficulty and danger. Listen! as this Zechariah and Elizabeth speak: "We have long since given thee away to the Lord, and in this matter also would leave thee to God's disposal.”
Surely there comes a voice from these saintly parents echoing the strains of their great Master's declaration, who had spoken long while before them, "I come to seek and to save them which were lost." Love, rich boundless love, constrains J. G. Paton to leave father and mother and friends for His sake.
Here was the motive power that prompted, here was the constraining influence that compelled, here was the mighty lever that was to lift, here was the strength that was to subvert, here was the love that was to win. Yes, round and about his pathway, directing his every step, controlling his every action, there shone as a halo of glory, a power that was divine, a love that was of God, a sympathy begotten of Jesus Christ, a spirit given him by the Holy Ghost. Clothed in this raiment, our hero, laying his sacrifice upon the altar, went forth from that sanctified home, into the wild, uncivilized wastes of the New Hebrides, carrying with him the benediction of his godly parents seeking "seals for his ministry, souls for his hire." And he found them.