Beautiful old books that nourish the soul. F.W Boreham. John Oxenham. Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Books to nourish the soul! Manna for the hungry. :)

F.W Boreham

John Oxenham

H.Beecher Stowe

I LOVE to read. I especially love to read OLD books. I enjoy the look and the feel of an old dust jacket and there is something SO special about getting hold of a first edition. I am from the UK originally and there they are many second hand book shops which i could quite easily pass a good few hours in if time allowed. Now that i have three young uns, it is probably a good thing that i am not in easy reach of a good second hand book shop anymore. Now i find my classics on line. And many of them have come to me across the ocean from those yummy book shops i left behind.

Here is a few of my favourites.

F.W Boreham.

He has fast become one of my all time favourite authors. He was born in 1871 in England. He became a Baptist preacher and was one of the last students to be interviewed by Charles Haddon Spurgeon for entry to the Pastors college. He took up his first pastorate in New Zealand at the age of 24 and began to write whilst there. During his life he also moved to Tasmania and then to Australia where he was laid to rest. Boreham writes with a true shepherds heart. His writings are so easy to read and yet so profound in what they reveal. He clearly loved the Lord Jesus with a true humble and child like trust and he reveals a character that truly lived all that he loved.

The titles of his i have include these:

Mountains in the Mist

Here is a taster from the chapter “The minor, minor prophets”.

It was the deliberate opinion of Charley Bates, the pickpocket, that Bill Sykes dog was ‘an out and out Christian’.

‘He wouldn’t so much as bark in a witness box for fear of committing himself; no, not if you tied him up in one and left him there without wittles for a fortnight.’ added the Artful Dodger.

‘He’s an out and out Christian,’ said Charley.

I do not quite understand why i have begun this chapter with Bill Sykes dog. I meant to have written about Balaams ass. I must apologise to my readers for having introduced the wrong animal. But now that we have Bill Sykes dog here, we may aswell have a good look at him. For there is a distinct connexion between the two after all, and personally i always find it more easy to understand the record of the wayward prophet and his eloquent beast when i think of it with the story of Bill Sykes and his dog open before me.

A Reel of Rainbow

Here is a snippet from the chapter ‘Wanted!”

And at this point my mind is switched from these romances in miniature to the greatest romance in miniature that was ever written. And it too, is a story of ‘Wanted, Wanted, Wanted!’. Wanted, a lost sheep. Wanted, a lost coin. Wanted, a lost son.

In these cases, however, i know how it all ended. The shepherd found his wandering sheep, the woman found her missing coin and the father found his prodigal boy. And great was the joy of the finding. The happiest things in the world are the things that are advertised for, the things that somebody misses, the things that somebody wants. Happy sheep to be wanted by such a shepherd. Happy coin to be wanted by such a searcher. Happy son to be wanted by such a father.

That is what won the heart of Rosalie in A Peep Behind the Scenes. She looked wistfully at her picture of the Good Shepherd as it hung in the lumbering old caravan. She read, thousands and thousands of times, the text underneath it: ‘The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost.” And it seemed to her a thing most wonderful that the Shepherd really wanted the sheep, that the Saviour really wanted HER. ‘The Son of Man is come to seek and the save that which is lost.’ They are lost-and missed-and wanted! Happy are they who feel the thrill of that divine appreciation! Happy are they who know there is a Heart that aches for want of them! But happiest they who respond to such a divine longing. It is lovely to be missed, lovely to be wanted; but loveliest of all is the joy of being found!

Rubble and Roseleaves

Here is a snippet from the chapter “Old Photographs”

A picture on the wall is like a window-only more so! A window looks out on a garden or the street; a picture is an opening into infinity. The view from my window is controlled by circumstances. I cannot, for example, live in this Australian home and mine and command from my window a view of the York Minster, the Bridge of Sighs or the Rocky Mountains. And even if i could, the darkness of each night would enfold the pleasing prospect in its sombre and impenetrable veil. But the pictures do for me what windows never could do. By means of the pictures i cut holes in the walls and look out upon any landscape that takes my fancy. And when evening comes, i draw the blinds, illumine the room from within and the panorama that has so delighted me in the day time reveals fresh charms in the softer radiance of the lamps.

The Luggage of Life

A taste from the chapter ‘Sunset on the Sea’

Of all the rites and ordinances of Christian worship the same may be said. Our services and assemblies are intended to be seas of glass, mingled with fire. Solemnity must be there, and dignity; but there must be emotion and deep feeling aswell. Splendid music must be shot through with spiritual praise. Stately eloquence must be glorified by stirring passion. All the externals and ceremonials of worship are in themselves as cold as icicles. The most beautiful and impressive ordinances are simply seas of glass till they are mixed with fire. It is only as they are made luminous with intense spiritual significance that they reveal their glory to the eyes of men. Nothing is more flat, stale and unprofitable as an argument concerning the mere technicalities and externals of an ordinance. Yet nothing is more inflaming to all that is best within us than the actual commemoration of these lovely rites. Baptism, apart from the profound spiritual sanctions with which the Scriptures invest it, is a sea of glass. But with the realization of those inner mysteries and experiences the waters flame and burn.................

You will not be disappointed by any of his titles and there are many to choose from. Most are out of print now, but can be found in second hand stores online.

Perhaps my all time most treasured of Borehams books is the one entitled: ‘The Heavenly Octave”. He writes about the Beatitudes in such a powerful and beautiful way i never come away from reading it without being challenged and stirred on to a closer walk with Jesus.

Another book i have which is now falling apart and i stand in need of a new, old, copy! Bees in Amber written by John Oxenham. This little gem was introduced to me by my Mum. I read from it to my children often and they enjoy hearing it. It is a book of poems. I use the title of one of my favourite poems of his for my email address. ‘Everymaid’. People often ask me if i am a cleaner having that email. Nope! But i have a cleaner working in my heart, sweeping it of all the dust and grime and making it fit for a King.

John Oxenham was a pseudonymn used by William Arthur Dunkerley to publish his poetry. He was born in England in the 1800’s and wrote hymns also. He had 6 children, some of whom also became writers. He travelled to America for a short time but settled in England in the county of Sussex where he became Mayor of Worthing.

Here are some tasters for you.

The Clearer Vision

When, with bowed head

And silent streaming tears

With mingled hopes and fears

To earth we yield our dead;

The saints with clearer sight

Do cry in glad accord

“A soul released from prison

Is risen, is risen-

Is risen to the glory of the Lord”

Weavers All

Warp and woof and tangle

Weavers of webs are we

Living and dying and mightier dead

For the shuttle once sped, is sped...........is sped

Weavers of webs are we

White and black and Hodden-gray

Weavers of webs are we

To every weaver one golden strand

Is given in trust by the Master hand

Weavers of webs are we

And that we weave we know not

Weavers of webs are we

The threads we see, but the pattern is known

To the Master Weaver alone.......alone

Weavers of webs are we

(My kids love to tap their hands to that one as i read it like a train engine chugging along. Poetry can be made great fun!)

Giant Circumstance

Though every nerve be strained

To fine accomplishment

Full oft the life falls spent

Before the prize is gained

And in our discontent

At waste so evident

In doubt and vast discouragement

We wonder what is meant

But tracing back we find

A Power that held the ways

A Mighty Hand, a Master Mind

That all the troubled course defined

And overruled the days

Some call it fate.......some chance

Some Giant circumstance

And some preaching to the sense

Of God within the circumstance

Do call it.......Providence

This book of poems is a real nugget of gold.

The last one for today on my ‘old books’ shelves is the infamous

Uncle Toms Cabin

Harriet Beecher Stowe was born in 1811 and was an author and an abolitionist. She wrote this book depicting slavery in the USA to the great anger of many in the south. However it has lived on both in the UK and the USA to be a tremendous reminder to us of the horrors of slavery and the true freedom found in Christ Jesus.

Here is the part where Uncle Tom was commanded to beat a fellow female slave and refused to do so.

Legree looked stupefied and confounded; but at last burst forth.

“What! Ye blasted black beast. Tell me ye don’t think it right to do what i tell ye! What have any of you cussed cattle to do with whats right? I’ll put a stop to it! Why what do you think ye are? Maybe you think yer a gentleman Master Tom, to be telling your master whats right and what ain’t! So you pretend its wrong to flog the gal!”

“I think so mas’r.” said Tom. “the poor critters sick and feeble; twould be downright cruel and its what i never will do, nor begin to. Mas’r if you mean to kill me, kill me; but as to my raising my hand agin anyone here, i never shall....i’ll die first.”

Tom spoke in a mild voice, but with a decision that could not be mistaken. Legree shook with anger; his greenish eyes glared fiercely and his very whiskers seemed to curl with passion, but like some ferocious beast that plays with its victim before he devours it, he kept back his strong impulse to proceed to immediate violence and broke out into bitter raillery.

“Well, heres a pious dog, at last, let down among us sinners.....a saint, a gentleman, and no lies, to talk to us sinners about our sins! Powerful holy critter he must be! Here you rascal, you make believe to be so pious......didn’t you never hear out of your Bible, “servants obey your masters’?” Ain’t i your master? Didn’t i pay down twelve hundred dollars cash for all there is in your old cussed black shell? Ain’t you mine, now, body and soul?” he said, giving Tom a violent kick with his heavy boot. “tell me!”

In the very depth of physical suffering, bowed by brutal oppression, this question shot a gleam of joy and triumph through Toms soul. He suddenly stretched himself up and looking earnestly to heaven, while the tears and blood that flowed down his face mingled, he exclaimed:

“No, no no! My soul ain’t yours, master! You haven’t bought it......ye can’t buy it! Its been bought and paid for by One thats able to keep it. No matter, no matter, you can’t harm me!”

“i can’t!” said Legree with a sneer. “We’ll see. Here, Sambo! Quimbo! Give this dog such a breakin in as he won’t get over this month!”

The two gigantic negroes that now laid hold of Tom, with fiendish exultation in their faces, might have formed no unapt personification of the powers of darkness. The poor woman screamed with apprehension and all rose, as by general impulse as they dragged him unresisting from the place.

Others on this wonderful part of my library include an old Robinson Crusoe copy. Many of Charles Dickens first editions bought in the UK. An old copy of Pilgrims Progress. And a lovely old copy of War and Peace.

I do own an IPAD and read books on it. But nothing will ever take away from the joy of owning and reading an old if not antique book. Not for me at any rate. And of course the book has to be of value for what is inside those wonderful dust jackets also. I don’t read for the sake of reading. I seek to read what is useful for my soul. These books are all soul food.