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THIS OLD BOY HAD NO TEXT
But He Preached a Fine Sermon in the Methodist Church
Rev. John McAlpine, of Bedford, Ohio is Proud to Have Been Born Under the Union Jack
[Welland Telegraph, 10 August 1906]
The holding of Old Boy services in the Methodist Church was an idea well conceived and well carried out. Universal interest was manifested and two excellent sermons were heard by congregations, large despite the intense heat of the day. The preachers were both ex-Wellanders. In the morning Rev. John McAlpine of Bedford, Ohio, occupied the pulpit and in the evening Rev. Sam M. Gilchriese of Cheboygan, Michigan, was the preacher.
Mr. McAlpine, who is a son of A.J. McAlpine, is a well-known and much esteemed ex-Wellander. He is a pleasing speaker and now and then his remarks are illuminated with touches of humor that sound almost Irish. “You will pardon me,” he said, “if I do not take a text this morning and if I do not stick to it.”
Mr. McAlpine began his textless sermon by a direct reference to the occasion. “We are as glad to be home,” he said, “as you are to have us home, and to all these responses of welcome in the houses and on the streets we can only say we are glad to be here. I have been casting about for a text for this morning’s sermon and I thought the Prodigal’s return would do, but then I feared you would take it as a joke. It was a merry homecoming just the same. Then I thought I would merely tell you of the things which have influenced my life and of all the old boys who have gone into the world. I want to speak to you out my heart. The text most on my mind, and yet I am not giving it to you as a text, is this. In my Father’s house there are many mansions.
I am glad that I was born under the Union Jack. In that city of Cleveland when I see the Bohemians, Italians, and Slavs, I feel glad that I was born of the Anglo-Saxon tongue and that there courses through my veins the blood of the German, English and Scotch people. I am glad of the home ties and the local environment that I enjoyed in Welland. There is no place that will ever become more dear to a man than his home town, wander where he will.
“Breathes there a man with soul so dead
Who never to himself has said,
As home his footsteps he had turned
From wandering on a foreign strand,
This is my own, my native land.
If such there be go mark him well.
For him no minstrel raptures swell.
High though his title, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles power and self,
The wretch concentered all in self
Doubly dying should go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung
Unwept, unhonored and unsung.”
The word home shall ever have its charm. It will always leave its influence. We come home after years of absence and realize the permanence of home ties.”
Mr. McAlpine went on to speak of his school days. He recalled his struggles with Squire Hellems and the multiplication table in the old brick school now used as a Y.M.C.A. He spoke of other teachers, Mrs. Ferguson and Robert Grant. The names brought memories to many hearts. He felt that he should pay his tribute of regard to these men and women of his school days who had had such an influence on his life.
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