Missionary Visitor, The (1912) . own in the picture, andwalking by footpaths over cliffs andprecipices, down which one can easily 126 The Missionary Visitor April1912 see death! Imagine yourself in valleysin which the sun shines but four or fivehours per clay, among a people withouta written language, a people whose lan-guage has no words for Christ, resur-rection, atonement, prophet, anointed,etc., etc., but who speak of the SpiritWho, they think, pervades all space, as it. Imagine yourself and family theonly missionaries for 3,000 villages oflost people, many of whom from yearsof contact wit
Missionary Visitor, The (1912) . own in the picture, andwalking by footpaths over cliffs andprecipices, down which one can easily 126 The Missionary Visitor April1912 see death! Imagine yourself in valleysin which the sun shines but four or fivehours per clay, among a people withouta written language, a people whose lan-guage has no words for Christ, resur-rection, atonement, prophet, anointed,etc., etc., but who speak of the SpiritWho, they think, pervades all space, as it. Imagine yourself and family theonly missionaries for 3,000 villages oflost people, many of whom from yearsof contact with Europeans on the hills,know times over more about the Euro-peans than the missionary will knowabout them in his lifetime, perhaps, andyou have an idea of Mr. Greets workand difficulties. In the five years thatthese lone people have worked at Land-our not one of the hill people has ac-cepted Christ as his Savior, and yet thesepeople are full of faith to work on. Tous it seems great unwisdom to try towork without Indian Hill-wood SeUer, Mussoorie, India. Perhaps the following rare experienceof Mr. Greets will be interesting: I had the privilege of attending theTehri forest officer on his journey toRishikesh, the resort of Sadhus, at theplace where the Ganges leaves the , midst great forests, recluses bythe thousand sit contemplating naturesGod—or, as they see it, natures god, asomething rather than a somebody, ornothing or nobody—according to the onewho thinks or thinks that he sit those men, tens of thousands ofthem, all up and down the banks of theriver that is more revered by them thanthe Jordan by the Jews. Many of themare hidden even from each other; alonein patches, gullies, or on secluded hil-locks or steep banks. The Sadhus,whom I had always met in differentparts of India, were most disreputablefellows, beggars in the name of religion,and often the worst of characters. Buthere in Rishikesh, and along the river-course north and south
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