Such a preacher was this beautiful man that the old Book calls Barnabas. When he was at Antioch and saw the great opportunities in that popular city for a great work, and having a modest approval of himself or his ability to carry on that work, he went, as we learn in Acts 11th chapter 25th and 26th verses, to Tarshish to seek out Saul, and when he found him he brought him to Antioch. He now puts Paul in the foreground.
This is always the mark of a noble soul. Some men don't like it when others come in who outshine them in point of popularity, but it made no difference with Barnabas. He remained the same beautiful, humble Christlike spirit, and he was willing to keep himself out of sight and to bring others into the spotlight, if only the cause of righteousness might be advanced, and Christ magnified among men.
Barnabas breathed the same spirit as is seen in a little poem touching the first sermon delivered by Professor Elmslie, of London, England, that noble Scotchman that went to his reward a few years ago. Here is the poem as we find it and the little history in connection with its publication: He was to preach his first sermon in the parish of Rayne. His mother was anxious to hear her boy preach for the first time, but being unable to attend, she wrote to a friend to hear him, and to tell her frankly how the boy did. The answer was returned but was never heard of by him until a few days before his death. His sister, finding it among his mother's papers, read it to him. It was this:
He held the lamp of truth that day
So low that none could miss the way;
And yet so high to bring in sight,
That picture fair -- the world's great light.
That gazing up the lamp between
The hand that held it scarce was seen. He held the pitcher, stooping low,
To lips of little ones below.
Then raised it to the weary saint,
And bade him drink when sick and faint.
They drank the pitcher thus between
The hand that held it scarce was seen. He blew the trumpet soft and clear,
That trembling sinners need not fear.
And then with louder note, and bold
To raze the walls of Satan's hold,
The trumpet coming thus between
The hand that held it scarce was seen. But when the Captain says, "Well done,
Thou good and faithful servant, come,"
Lay down the pitcher and the lamp,
Lay down the trumpet, leave the camp,
The weary hand will then he seen
Clasped in those pierced ones-naught between.
Robinson, Reuben A. (Bud). The Collected Works of 'Uncle Bud' Robinson