No Piled-up Wealth, No Social Station, No

No More Duty Can Be Urged Upon Those Who Are Entering The Great Theater Of Life Than Simple Loyalty To Their Best Convictions.

The Temptation Is Not Here, Where You Are Reading About It Or Praying About It. It Is Down In Your Shop, Among Bales And Boxes, Ten-penny Nails, And Sand-paper.

It Is The Veiled Angel Of Sorrow Who Plucks Away One Thing And Another That Bound Us Here In Ease And Security, And, In The Vanishing Of These Dear Objects, Indicates The True Home Of Our Affections And Our Peace.

Profaneness Is A Brutal Vice. He Who Indulges In It Is No Gentleman.

Down Below All The Crust Of Human Conceptions, Of Human Ideas, Christ Sank An Artesian Well Into A Source Of Happiness So Pure And Blessed That Even Yet The World Does Not Believe In It.