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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2018 with funding from 
 Columbia University Libraries 
 
 https://archive.org/details/davidadayheroofmOOgund 
 
NO. 163. 
 
 DAVID A. DAY, D. D. 
 
 THE HERO OF MUHLENBERG. 
 
 By Sarah I. Van Gundy. 
 
 In the first year of the stirring decade that 
 marks the middle of our century, the life of which 
 this is to be a loving sketch was begun. 
 
 A little late it was to win the military fame that 
 has been the pride of our nation to the present 
 day, but just in time to kindle a boy’s military 
 enthusiasm and to develop a nobler heroism—to 
 tune to martial strains a life spent on a larger 
 battle field from which the victor has but now re¬ 
 tired. 
 
 Dike the ruddy Hebrew youth of long ago, this 
 boy David was a country lad. As the Judean shep¬ 
 herd found in the simplicity of his life, strength 
 of body and a fine independence of spirit, the 
 David of our sketch, in a boyhood by no means 
 care free, found many of the blessed influences 
 that molded his after life. Here were the ele¬ 
 ments that give sturdiness and individuality. 
 
Living much in the open air, nature gave herself 
 to him in all the sweetness of her power,—the 
 hills ennobled him, the meadows enriched, the 
 stars gave him their calm, and the streams were 
 his vision of peace. 
 
 But there is another side to this, childhood 
 picture, fruitful, too, we know in later years, but 
 bitter to the yearning heart of a child. He was 
 often alone and lonely. It makes the tears start 
 even now to hear that on his last visit to America, 
 Dr. Day said to a friend that, “as a friendless and 
 neglected boy, he had more than once cried him¬ 
 self to sleep because no one cared for him.” He 
 had a great longing for some good person to say 
 a sympathetic word to him. What return he 
 made a selfish world for these unhappy child 
 moments his whole life testifies. No soul in need 
 ever came near that sympathetic nature w T ho was 
 not uplifted and enriched, not alone because he 
 had known need himself, but because that fine 
 personality was filled with the spirit of Him who 
 without a place to lay his head called the weary 
 ones to come to Him and find rest. 
 
 In another way, the boyhood of David Day was 
 like that of David, the Shepherd of Judah. Into 
 the quiet oi his life came early the excitement of 
 
 2 
 
war. Rumors of invasion, and even sounds of 
 battle reached liis home in Southern Pennsylvania. 
 Like the other boy, he was eager to be near, and 
 found employment in care of government horses 
 at Harrisburg. Then, during the last year of 
 the war, J.ie enlisted, serving eight months, and 
 receiving an honorable discharge. 
 
 The close of the war marks distinctly the step 
 from boyhood to 3 7 outh. Here is the part of this 
 beautiful life upon which we should like most to 
 linger—those days of growth, when the traits 
 that made the man, our missionary hero, were 
 clearly marked in the frank, earnest, fun-loving, 
 pure tongued boy, eager to read, longing to ac¬ 
 quire and to excel, making friendships that were 
 to last while life lasted, one m whom teachers 
 and friends even then saw signs of pre-eminence 
 among his fellows. 
 
 It was the usual round of country life, farm 
 work in summer, school in winter, and a term’s 
 teaching before going away for more advanced 
 study. During this period came the first call to 
 disciplesliip—the “Follow Me” which, answered 
 in the ardor of youth, led to one consecration 
 upon another, until he had preached to the utter- 
 
most parts of the earth, knowing always whose 
 was the presence that w T ent with him. 
 
 Schoolmates have written most tenderly of the 
 years spent at Selins’ Grove, in Missionary Insti¬ 
 tute. The boyhood story of cheerful self-denial, 
 of untiring energy and keen interest is repeated 
 and intensified by the man’s determination, first 
 to preach, second to offer himself for foreign 
 mission work. 
 
 When he is ready, the work is waiting—not ex¬ 
 actly w T hat he expected, for he had the India field 
 in mind, but he was ready to undertake what the 
 church thought his duty, and June, 1874, found 
 him and his bride alone, in Muhlenberg Mission, 
 Africa. From this point the work of one brave 
 and efficient missionary cannot be mentioned 
 without including the other. Mrs. Day’s call, to 
 work w'as no less distinct than that of her hus¬ 
 band—her love for him and devotion to the w r ork 
 for which they both gave their lives can scarcely 
 be distinguished. 
 
 It is no light thing now to undertake missionary 
 work in Liberia, but twenty-five years ago the 
 prospect was much less cheerful. For all who 
 come after, Dr. and Mrs. Day have cleared the 
 way, and they did it so uncomplainingly, with 
 
 4 
 
* such devoted zeal, that they kept the dark things 
 out of our thoughts. They so filled our minds 
 with the needs of the mission—the schools, the 
 coffee plantation, the steamboat, industrial train¬ 
 ing, plans for enlargement, pictures of the home 
 life they were giving the African boys and girls, 
 their belief in the possibilities of the Dark Conti¬ 
 nent, all that made the daily round of that 
 crowded, self-forgetful life of theirs for more 
 than twenty years, that it was only when the 
 tidings reached the church at home of the failing 
 health of recruits sent out, or the oft-repeated 
 story of the burial service in the mission church 
 and another grave in the little cemetery, when 
 the sweet children were with beautiful patience 
 and trust laid to rest, and still the brave hearts 
 wrote home, “Beloved, it is well ! God’s ways are 
 always right,”—only then we understood what 
 they endured for the Gospel’s sake, and thanked 
 God for the strength they gave us. 
 
 The history of these long, crowded years is our 
 church’s most familiar possession. Every boy 
 and girl knows of it. Farthest from home, 
 Muhlenberg Mission was brought nearest to our 
 hearts by the heart of a great man—great in 
 heart, head and hand. He was counsellor, friend 
 
 5 
 
and father to the dark people of the West Coast, 
 and his plans for Africa’s redemption were so far 
 reaching that it will be many years before our 
 mission work outgrows his ideas. It ought not be 
 long before his spirit, finding its way to onr 
 hearts, prompts us to send such aid as shall bring 
 about the enlargements for which he longed. 
 
 After that last visit home in 1893, the sympathy 
 of all who knew Muhlenberg Mission was ten¬ 
 derly with Dr. Day. Mrs. Day’s long struggle 
 with African fever, the journey home, and her 
 death, brave and sweet as her life had been, 
 while Dr. Day stood by his lonely duty in the 
 African field, mark these Christian heroes as in¬ 
 finitely beyond those of battle field stor}^. 
 
 Several years more of patient work, and Dr. 
 Day cheerily welcomed the ardent young workers 
 to the field, none too soon, for his health was 
 sadly broken. How anxious we were to hear 
 that he had yielded to persuasion and sought rest 
 in another climate, how glad that one who is now 
 patiently and cheerfully keeping on with the work 
 he left behind was by him to comfort him through 
 the days and nights of suffering. We awaited 
 the home coming, hoping that for long years the 
 strong heart might be spared to strengthen the 
 
 6 
 
church. But there came anxious tidings, and we 
 waited ; then, one day out from New York—the 
 end. 
 
 During those last days of suffering, mingled by 
 delirium, were the thoughts of the mission’s 
 needs and the boyhood memories of warfare. 
 “Close up the ranks,” he repeated, “Close up the 
 ranks.” 
 
 Not many days after this, his young countrymen 
 were girding themselves for warfare—a manly 
 contest—but it was a call to higher patriotism that 
 formed the last message of this man of God to 
 the youth of to-day—a call to fill up and close up 
 the ranks until all the kingdoms of earth have 
 become the kingdoms of our Lord, Christ Jesus. 
 
 The brave soldier’s triumph has come. Thus 
 John Bunyan described it : 
 
 “After this it was noised about that Mr. Valiant- 
 for-Trutli was taken with a summons. When he 
 understood it he called for his friends and told 
 them of it. Then, said he, T am going to my 
 Father’s ; and though with great difficulty I got 
 hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the 
 trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My 
 sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my 
 pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that 
 
 7 
 
can get tliem. My marks and scars I carry with 
 me. to be a witness for me that I have fought His 
 battles, who will now be a rewarder. ’ When the 
 day that he must go hence was come many ac¬ 
 companied him to the river side, into which, as 
 he went, he said : 
 
 “ ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ and as he went 
 down deeper he said, ‘Grave where is thy vic¬ 
 tory ?’ 
 
 “So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded 
 for him on the other side.” 
 
 Published by the General Literature Committee 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Woman's Home and Foreign Missionary Society of 
 the Lutheran Church 
 
 (General Synod,) 
 
 2319 Maryland Ave., Baltimore, M d. 
 
 1899. 
 
 8 CENTS EACH. 
 
 25 CENTS A DOZEN. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
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