It Is More True To Say That

A Life Of Prayer Is A Life Whose Litanies Are Ever Fresh Acts Of Self-devoting Love.

Every Day His Servants Are Dying Modestly And Peacefully--not A Word Of Victory On Their Lips; But Christ's Deep Triumph In Their Hearts--watching The Slow Progress Of Their Own Decay, And Yet So Far Emancipated From Personal Anxiety That They Are Still Able To Think And Plan For Others, Not Knowing That They Are Doing Any Great Thing. They Die, And The World Hears Nothing Of Them; And Yet Theirs Was The Completest Victory. They Came To The Battle Field, The Field To Which They Had Been Looking Forward All Their Lives, And The Enemy Was Not To Be Found. There Was No Foe To Fight With.

Cold Hearts Are Not Anxious Enough To Doubt. Men Who Love Will Have Their Misgivings At Times; That Is Not The Evil. But The Evil Is, When Men Go On In That Languid, Doubting Way, Content To Doubt, Proud Of Their Doubts, Morbidly Glad To Talk About Them, Liking The Romantic Gloom Of Twilight, Without The Manliness To Say,--i Must And Will Know The Truth. That Did Not John. Brethren, John Appealed To Christ.

The Only Revenge Which Is Essentially Christian Is That Of Retaliating By Forgiveness.

There Is A Divine Depth In Silence. We Meet God Alone.