He Who, With Strong Passions,

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.

There Is A Power In The Soul, Quite Separate From The Intellect, Which Sweeps Away Or Recognizes The Marvelous, By Which God Is Felt. Faith Stands Serenely Far Above The Reach Of The Atheism Of Science. It Does Not Rest On The Wonderful, But On The Eternal Wisdom And Goodness Of God. The Revelation Of The Son Was To Proclaim A Father, Not A Mystery. No Science Can Sweep Away The Everlasting Love Which The Heart Feels, And Which The Intellect Does Not Even Pretend To Judge Or Recognize.

No Man Ever Progressed To Greatness And Goodness But Through Great Mistakes.

In These Two Things The Greatness Of Man Consists, To Have God Dwelling In Us As To Impart His Character To Us, And To Have Him Dwelling In Us, That We Recognize His Presence, And Know That We Are His, And He Is Ours. The One Is Salvation; The Other, The Assurance Of It.

A Silent Man Is Easily Reputed Wise. A Man Who Suffers None To See Him In The Common Jostle And Undress Of Life, Easily Gathers Round Him A Mysterious Veil Of Unknown Sanctity, And Men Honor Him For A Saint. The Unknown Is Always Wonderful.