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ON GROWING OLD:

a. -sermon;

PREACHED IN1 THE

Collegiate- -reformed' dutch church,.. t
At Fifth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street, .r
Ne*w;, York,

•S U N E> A.rVy ' NO VEMBBR lOth, 1889.,

EI3"W^.I4I3 *H- COIE-

PRINTED WJREOUEST. *

NEW YORK:
1 Evenimq Post Job Pr/mtin.o Office, cori. Broadway' and Fulton Street.
*¦*'•¦.' ;.." •'* \" •:'¦'. "¦ ; (Law Telephone sir.) '

ON GROWING OLD:

A. SERMON,

PREACHED IN THE

COLLEGIATE REFORMED DUTCH CHURCH,

At Fifth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street,
New York,

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER lOth, 1889.

*E:D"W"_A_:e.:D b. coe.

PRINTED BY REQUEST.

NEW YORK :
Evening Post Job Printing Office, cor. Broadway and Fulton Street.
(Law Telephone 541.)

On Growing Old,

Zechariah, xiv., 7. — It shall come to pass that at evening time there shall be light.
Many of you were doubtless present at the service which
was held in this place a few evenings since, to celebrate
the fiftieth anniversary of the installation of our beloved
and honored senior Pastor. It was certainly fitting that
an event so unusual as the accomplishment of a pastorate
of fifty years' duration in the service of the same church
and of a career of over sixty years in the ministry of the
Gospel should revive this public and grateful recognition.
The service was, I think, worthy of the occasion. It was
a peculiar pleasure to us who worship here thus to ex
press our respect and affection for the dear and venerable
man, whose benignant and beautiful presence we always
love to see among us. The words that were spoken b)r
those who represented other branches of the Church and
important institutions of religion and philanthropy were
a hearty and well merited tribute to one of so catholic a
spirit and of such wide and varied usefulness. And a still
more impressive and memorable tribute was paid to him
by the presence of so large and distinguished a company,
Note. — This sermon was preached shortly after the service held to commemo
rate the fiftieth anniversary of the installation of the Rev. Dr. Thomas E. Vermilye
as one of the ministers of the Collegiate Church. To that service reference is
made in the opening paragraphs.

4 ON GROWING OLD.
representing our own denomination and many others,
representing various institutions and organizations, and the
Christian public of this and other cities, uniting in a
demonstration of respect and esteem for one whose long
life has been spent in the service of God and of his fel
low-men. It was a noble and in all respects a suitable
ovation to our honored Father and Friend.
It may have caught the attention of some of those who
were then present that the words which I have read as
the text for this morning were quoted in two of the ad
dresses that were made on that occasion : " At evening
time there shall be- light." They seem to be peculiarly
appropriate to a serene Christian old age, like that of
which we then had before us so striking and so charming
an example. And now it is of such an old age and the
way to attain it, that I want to speak this morning, and I
therefore recall again to your minds these ancient words
which are so beautifully descriptive of it.
It is true that in the connection in which they are found
they have nothing to do with old age. They form part of
a highly poetic and somewhat obscure prophecy of the final
deliverance and triumph of the Church of God. The time
will come, the prophet says, when the people of God shall
no longer be shut up in Jerusalem, but the Mount of Olives
shall be cleft in twain, half of it shall be removed toward
the north and half toward the south, and through it shall be
opened " a very great valley " by which they shall go forth
to the ends of the earth ; two perpetual streams of living
water shall flow forth from the Holy City toward the east and
the west; the whole land shall be leveled that the mountain
of the Lord's house may be exalted ; and the Lord shall be
king over all the earth. And the day when all this shall
come to pass shall be no ordinary day. " The light shall

ON GROWING OLD. *5
not be with brightness and with gloom " — with the ordinary
succession of morning and evening ; but " the day shall be
one " — unique in the history of the world ; " which is known
unto the Lord," and to Him alone ; " not day and not
night," but something different from either; "and it shall
come to pass that at evening time," when in the usual
course of nature darkness should set in, " there shall be
light." In this ornate and splendid imagery the prophet
portrays the ultimate triumph of Messiah's Kingdom, for
which, like him, we still hope and wait. But this last trait
of his inspired description has been many times fulfilled in
the personal experience of God's people, as well as in the
history of the Church. It has been light at eventide. At
the moment when it seemed as if overwhelming disaster
was imminent, and the end of all things was near at hand,
there has suddenly come unexpected deliverance. So it was
with Abraham, when the altar was built, and the fire laid,
and the knife lifted to slay his son. Not till then did God
provide the lamb for a burnt-offering. So it was with his
descendants in the land of their oppression, deliverance
coming only when the utmost extremity of suffering had
been reached, so that the saying became a proverb, " When
the straw fails, then comes Moses." So when the Lord
knew that Lazarus whom He loved was sick, He abode
still for two days in the place where He was and spent two
days more on the journey to Bethany, that by a transcen-
dant and conclusive display of His divine power He might
the more signally exhibit the glory of God. And so when
Peter lay in prison, and prayer was unceasingly made to
God for him, it was not till the night preceding the day
appointed for his execution that the iron gate opened before
him of its own accord, and he was given back to the Church
which so urgently needed him. And so it has been a thou-

ON GROWING OLD.

sand times in the history of the Church and in the personal
lives of those who compose it. When hope has almost died
out, deliverance has come. When the enemies of the faith
have seemed about to triumph, they have been overthrown.
When some great calamity has been impending, it has been
averted. Prayer has been answered when it seemed as if
it could not be answered, and when the night was closing
in, in starless gloom, at evening time there has been light.
Man's extremity has been God's opportunity, and even if it
is not strictly true, either in the physical or in the spiritual
world, that the darkest hour is that which immediately
precedes the dawn, it is certainly true that it is often God's
way sorely to test the faith and patience of His people
before he interposes for their relief. And we may well
pause upon this fact long enough to gather up the lessons
of meek endurance and of unfaltering trust which spring
directly from the prophet's words. It is never too late for
God to exhibit His pity and His power in answer to
prayer, and it is as easy for Him to cause the light to shine
out again from the gathering darkness, as it is to hold the
sun suspended on His word in the noonday sky.
But if this is the primary meaning of the passage, it re
ceives no violence from that natural impulse which leads us
to apply it to what we so often call the evening of life,
when the shadows lengthen along our path, and the hour
draws near when our "hands must be folded and our eyes
closed for the last sleep. No man can tell, of course, how
long his life is to be, or when or how it is to end. It may
be like a day in June, when the sun lingers long above the
horizon and seems reluctant to disappear behind those gates
of amethyst and gold, which finally hide him from our
sight ; when a rich and mellow and tranquil light fills all
the air, and one can hardly tell when the invisible line is

ON GROWING OLl). 1
crossed which divides day from night. And it may be like
a December day, which is gone almost before we realize
that it is here, when the sun is extinguished before it
reaches the meridian, or sets in cold and stormy clouds.
There may be no long and luminous twilight, but the night
comes sharply down before the work of the day is finished.
And then there are lives so brief that we cannot compare
them to a day at all, with its slow approach, its steady and
even march of hours, and its gradual and orderly close.
They are rather like a strain of exquisite music, or like the
flash of a bird's wing across the azure. They pass, and we
awake, and lo ! it was a dream ! So what the length of our
life shall be we cannot tell. To some of us old age has
already come. We are forced to confess it. The keepers
of the house have already begun to tremble, and the strong
men to bow themselves ; the grinders have almost ceased
because they be few, and those that look out of the windows
are darkened ; the daughters of music have been brought
low, the almond tree is in blossom and the grasshopper is a
burden, and desire has failed, and our long home (or rather
our eternal house) is not far off. By signs that cannot be
mistaken, old age has marked us for its own. There are
others, who feel themselves to be rapidly approaching that
last chapter of their earthly history ; and others still who
are just opening the mysterious book of life, and who find
its pages throbbing with an intense and passionate interest.
How far God will suffer us to read on before He closes the
volume for us, it is impossible to say. But whether we
realize that we are actually growing old, or only know that
it is possible that we too may one day be aged men or
women, it is to all of us a matter of importance to consider
how we may grow old beautifully.
For such a thing there certainly is, as a beautiful old age.

8 ON GROWING OLD.
The evening of life is sometimes the loveliest and most
blessed part of life— when the heat and flurry of youth is
over, when the strain and stress of middle life is past, and
like a ship that has made its voyage successfully, one drops
anchor at last in the safe and sheltered harbor. Then the
violence of passion is subdued, the burden of care and
responsibility and labor is left to others who are younger,
the eager striving for that which is beyond gives place
to the quiet enjoyment of that which is already gained,
the strained and care-worn look vanishes from the face,
which now shines with a soft and tranquil light, and the
voice which was once imperious and commanding is sub
dued to sweeter tones of sympathy and love. The mind
and heart are both at peace — the one from its restless ques
tionings and the other from its eager ambitions. The dis
cipline of sorrow has borne its fruit in a temper of humble
and trustful submission to a higher will, and a broader and
deeper charity has come with its heavenly grace upon the
positive and vehement spirit. That is certainly a beautiful
old age, and there are none of us, probably, who have not
seen examples of it which have exerted a blessed and im
perishable influence upon us. If they have passed from our
homes to the home above, the memory of them is among
our most precious possessions. If they still tarry with us,
we bless God for them, and pray that He will spare, as long
as may be, to us and to our children, their gentle and
gracious presence.
But such is not always the character of old age. One
sometimes grows narrower as he grows older — more stern,
exacting, uncharitable, selfish. The frank generosity of
youth is changed to a grasping and miserly temper. Mis
fortune and disappointment embitter instead of chastening
the spirit. The decay of bodily vigor produces restlessness

ON GROWING OLD. 9
and discontent. One is peevish and complaining and sus
picious and jealous. The habit of command is not willingly
laid aside, though the judgment may have lost its earlier
vigor. There is not " light at eventide," but only a dull
and darkening sky. And such a wearing away of life is
sad to see. There are cases in which we cannot wonder at
it. The wonder is rather that it is not more frequent. It
would seem to be natural that long years of trial, and the
knowledge that all must soon be over, would depress the
mind and sour the temper and make old age a time of gloom.
And the fact that it is so often not that, but a time of seren
ity and cheerfulness, of " sweetness and light,'' seems to
imply that there is a secret of growing old beautifully,
which it is well worth our while to discover, if we can.
I think it is found, in the first place, in frankly accepting
old age when it comes. I freely grant that this is not easy.
It is hard to admit that one's work in the world is nearly
done. It is hard to resign to others the places of honor and
of influence that one has held for many years. It is hard to
accept authority where one has long been used to the exer
cise of it, and to see younger men managing affairs that we
have long been accustomed to direct. It is not pleasant to
realize that the world can get along without us, and that
those whom we have perhaps trained to their work are now
more competent to carry it on than we are ourselves. It is
not easy to resign the admiration and deference which were
shown to us when we were in the full vigor of life, or agree
able to fancy that we can detect a certain element of tolera
tion even in the respectful and affectionate treatment which
we still receive. And, of course, it is not pleasant to feel
the consciousness of failing powers of body or mind, to see
the beautiful bloom of youth lading from the face, and to dis
cover that the body which has so long been our servant no

10 ON GROWING OLD.
longer promptly obeys the still vigorous will. There are
some things connected with the coming on of old age which
no one can perceive without a feeling of sadness.
But, on the other hand, it is of no use to deny any fact-
least of all, the fact that we are growing old. We cannot
alter or even conceal it, and it is worse than in vain to
struggle against it. There are few things sadder, because
more unnatural, than for one to try to keep up the illusion
of youth, when youth has long since been left behind—
to pretend to be standing on the hill-tops of life, when one
is already far down its western slope. The light that
brightens the evening time is not that of gaudy and sput
tering tapers or even that of the brilliant electric arc.
Neither of these can be for a moment mistaken for the soft
radiance of the setting sun. It only makes the closing
years of life harder to bear and robs them of their preculiar
charm, to fight against the order of nature or to murmur
and fret because the tide of time is bearing us on. One
must, first of all, be on good terms with old age, if he hopes
to make it beautiful.
And then it is certainly a great mistake to suppose that
the work of life is done when one has grown old. Its
nature is changed, but it is not finished. The work of life
is never done till life itself is ended. It was only a few days
since that an aged man said to me — a man who, with his
wife, is not only far advanced in years, but has lately been
passing through an experience of great distress : " I some
times wonder why God spares us any longer." 1 replied,
" I know perfectly well why He spares you. There is no
mystery about that. The mystery is only in the suffering
that He has seen fit to send upon you. But He keeps you
here for the sake of the rest of us ; to give us an example of
patience and cheerfulness and unwavering Christian faith."

ON GROWING OLD. 11
And every one who knows him would, I am sure, have said
just the same thing. I often wish that those who feel that
their work is ended, because they are now able to do so little,
could only realize how much they are doing by simply
being what they are. What a glory and grace would pass
from our life if it were not for the benignant light which
shines upon it from their lovely and serene old age ! It is
even doubtful whether, in the time of their fullest vigor
and activity, they were able to do so much as they are now
doing for the Master and for their fellow-men.
And so of the honor and affection which old age excites
in all but the coarsest and most vulgar minds. It is not, of
course, precisely the same which manly strength and
womanly beauty were wont to command in earlier years.
But there is less of selfishness in it, and more of deep and
genuine homage. It may be confined to a narrower circle,
but it is none the less precious for that. The silent and
loving devotion of the young to the old, which adorns so
many Christian homes, is of far greater value than the ap
plause of admiring assemblies or the crude stare of gaping
crowds. There are thus, as I am sure you will all admit, some
compensations in growing old, and the point that I am urg
ing is, that it is well for those of us who have reached, or
are nearing, that period of life, to take the comfort of
thoughts like these ; to count up their gains instead of fret
ting at their losses ; and not to make the limitations, of
which they are becoming conscious, harder to bear by
struggling against them. One secret of a beautiful old age
is the frank acceptance of it.
Another is found in that to which I have just alluded
— the considerate and honoring love of those among whom
it is spent. It is, of course, of no use to preach about

12 ON GROWING OLD.
this to elderly people. They know more about it than I
can tell them. But it is worth while to remind those who
are young, from the little children upward, how largely
it depends on them to make bright and tranquil the even
ing of life for those whose sun is near its setting. I
should not like to say that disrespect to the aged is a dis
tinctive trait of American character, for that would be
drawing up a harsh indictment against an entire people.
But one can hardly deny that there is often shown by
our jaunty and self-satisfied young men and young wo
men a contemptuous disregard of the opinions, the comfort
and the rights of those who are old, which is a blot on
our manners and is deserving of instant and stern rebuke.
A more unmistakable sign of native coarseness and sel
fishness can scarcely be conceived, and it disgraces forever
ony one who displays it. And so, on the other hand,
hardly anything is more beautiful than the thoughtful and
affectionate courtesy and devotion which it is often in the
power of the young to show toward the aged. It has its
immediate reward in the grace which it adds to old age
itself, and it is sure to be among the things which it will
be most sweet to remember, when those to whom it has
been offered have passed away. That must be a sour and
crabbed nature which does not respond to it, as an aged
tree responds in every shimmering leaf to the warming
touch of the summer sun. If there are any of us to whom
it is still permitted to render such loving ministries to
those on whose heads God has set the silver crown of
)*-ears, let us never forget that the light which cheers the
evening of life is partly that which is reflected from the
loving hearts and faces of those on whom the morning
sun is shining still.
And yet it is not, after all, so much an outward as an

ON GROWING OLD. IS
inward light which makes old age serene and beautiful.
And that must come in great measure through the medium
of memory. Old age lives, largely, in the past. Not
wholly in the past, if it is to retain its fresh and vigorous
life. One of the things which contribute most to this, is
to keep in touch (as the phrase now is) with the actual
on-going life of the world. If it is possible to cling too
long to the outward signs of youth, it is possible also to re
tire too soon and too completely from all knowledge of and
all interest in the things in which one can no longer bear
an active part. This is the way to grow old with needless
rapidity and to bury one's self before one is dead. It is
charming to see in an aged person a living and animated
interest in that which is taking place around him and in
which others are actively concerned. It shows a perennial
youthfulness of spirit, which is not to be confounded with
a fictitious youthfulness of manner or of dress.
But, after all, memory plays a large role in the life of one
who has come to old age. And hence it is that if any man's
old age — yours and mine, for example — is to be serene and
happy, he must be able to look back upon a life that has
been on the whole well spent. It is not necessary that it
should have been free from sorrow. Few long lives are so,
and it is not the memory of even great sorrows which
brings sadness and gloom into the evening of life. God
kindly permits the wounds of the heart to heal with time,
as He hides the gashes and fissures that His storms and
earthquakes make in the surface of the fields with a thick
and delicate net-work of grasses aud flowers. Nor is it
necessary that one should be able to recall triumphant
successes and heroic exploits, though such memories un
doubtedly gladden and glorify the declining days of one
who is able to look back upon them. But to feel that one's
life has been altogether a failure, that he has wasted his

14 ON GROWING OLD.
strength, his time, his opportunity, that he has lived in a
wholly selfish and sordid way and has done little or nothing
for God or man — that is to sit down at eventide with the
light that is in him as darkness itself. There are many mo
tives by which we are prompted to right and earnest living.
That which I now urge is one of the lowest. But it is at
least worth while to remember, that however it may be
with the world to come, there is prepared for many men a
judgment-day in the present world, and they themselves
are to act as judges. It is that period of life, when, having
finished their work, they look back upon it as memory
brings it before their view. And few things can be sadder
than to see, when it cannot be altered, that it has all been
in vain. If you want your last days to be beautiful, make
the present day beautiful. If you desire to be able to look
back over your life with any degree of satisfaction, do your
work well as you go along. Tears shed by and by will not
wash out failures made now. When you are old and gray-
headed you cannot undo what you are doing now. A life
devoted to the service of God and to the service of your
fellow-men out of love to God, is the only kind of life which
you will rejoice to recall, when you stand among the evening
shadows. Not what you have gained or what you have
enjoyed, but what you have done or have not done will
make that hour bright or dark.
And yet in all this there would be little comfort for most
of us, if it were not for one other thing. Who of us has
lived, or is now living, such a life that he can look back upon
it with much satisfaction ? It may not be an absolute failure.
It may not be wholly selfish or worldly. We have honestly
desired, and honestly tried, to do our duty to God and to
our fellow-men. But how sadly we have come short
of our duty ! How little we have accomplished ! Might
we not almost as well have made no effort ? Oh, that we

ON GROWING OLD. 15
could live our lives over again ! There is little to cheer us,
little to brighten our eventide, in the memory of opportun
ities neglected, of duties left undone, of privileges unused,
of a high ideal so miserably missed. That is surely a very
common feeling among even the best of men, as they look
backward over their earthly lives. And so I must add that
the evening of life will be full of self-reproach and bitter
humiliation, if one has no hope in the forgiving mercy and
grace of God. It will not perhaps seem to you a fanciful
figure, if I say that the light of memory is very much like
that of the electric point. It is very brilliant and very pene
trating, but it is ill-diffused. It brings out certain objects with
startling distinctness, but it leaves others in profoundest
shadow. It has no warmth or glow whatever, and it dazzles
you at one moment and the next moment leaves you in dark
ness. So it is with memory. Better, almost, no light at all than
its flashing and misleading ray ! No ; the light that fills the
evening of life with a soft and mellow glory is that sense
of God's love in the believing soul, which enables one to
recall even the failures and sins of the past without dismay,
in the assurance that they are covered by that infinite grace
which was manifested in Jesus Christ. There is nothing
else — no outward circumstance of love or of honor, no
memory of brave or heroic deeds — which can illumine the
soul, as it draws near the end of its mortal career, like
this tranquilizing and uplifting faith. Men may be calm
and cheerful without it, dismissing from their minds what
ever disturbs their repose, and shutting their eyes to facts
which it is not agreeable to face ; but the peace which passes
the world's understanding, and which the world can neither
give nor take away, belongs only to one whose soul rests
upon the promises of God, who believes that his errors and
sins are forgiven him for the sake of Christ's sufferings and
death, and who knows himself to be safe in the strong arms

16 ON GROWING OLD.
of that divine, redeeming love. If you want to know the
secret of the beautiful serenity which you have sometimes
seen on the face of the aged Christian, that is it. He knows
the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.
There is but one thing more ; what else can there be ex
cept the expectation of the life to come? The earthly life
is still real and dear, but it is fading away, as the shores of
one's native land sink slowly out of sight as his ship forges
onward into the open sea. But one who knows himself to
be God's child, enfolded in the Father's love, is never out
of sight of land. He can discern before him a fairer country,
even an heavenly, which is not very far off, and to which
he is drawing nearer every day. It has been growing more
real to him year by year, as those whom he has loved have
gone thither before him, until on its silent and shining shore
there are many now who await his coming. Sometimes
it seems as if the beauty that is on his face were reflected
from that which our dimmer eyes cannot perceive : as if
the light which brightens the close of his earthly day shone
on him out of the open and waiting heavens, whose golden
threshold his feet have almost touched. However it be, we
know that it is the vision of the city above which consoles
and inspires him as he moves onward toward it, and by and
by it will indeed be " light about him,'' when he passes out
of the earthly shadows into the immortal day.
My friends, I do not wish to exaggerate anything, but I
simply say that there is not now, and never has been, a
power on earth which could give to old age such a heav
enly beauty as this, but the gospel of Christ. If you and
I accept it and live by it, it will matter very little where,
or when, or how we may end our days ; to us also the
words of the promise will be fulfilled, that " at evening
time there shall be light," May God grant it to us all!