Religion Is Using Everything For God.

Many Men Want Wealth,--not A Competence Alone, But A Live-story Competence. Everything Subserves This; And Religion They Would Like As A Sort Of Lightning-rod To Their Houses, To Ward Off By And By The Bolts Of Divine Wrath.

The Indolent Mind Is Not Empty, But Full Of Vermin.

Now Comes The Mystery.

If One Should Give Me A Dish Of Sand, And Tell Me There Were Particles Of Iron In It, I Might Look For Them With My Eyes, And Search For Them With My Clumsy Fingers, And Be Unable To Detect Them; But Let Me Take A Magnet And Sweep Through It, And How Would It Draw To Itself The Almost Invisible Particles By The Mere Power Of Attraction. The Unthankful Heart, Like My Finger In The Sand, Discovers No Mercies; But Let The Thankful Heart Sweep Through The Day, And As The Magnet Finds The Iron, So It Will Find, In Every Hour, Some Heavenly Blessings.

Sorrows Are Gardeners: They Plant Flowers Along Waste Places, And Teach Vines To Cover Barren Heaps.