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“What shall I do?” the Low Hampton, New York farmer puzzled. No matter what he did lately, he could get no peace. Sleep lost its restfulness and work its meaning. Wherever he turned, a gentle but firm voice seemed to say, “You must tell the world of its danger!”
“I’m not a preacher,” he countered, unhitching horses from a plow and standing still in the August sun that day in 1831. “I’m slow of speech and haven’t got much learning,” he argued, as though someone were beside him. “I’m not right for the job!” Read More