The Family Is The School

Where The Roots Of Private Virtue Are Diseased, The Fruit Of Public Probity Cannot But Be Corrupt.

We Stand, As It Were, On The Shore, And See Multitudes Of Our Fellow Beings Struggling In The Water, Stretching Forth Their Arms, Sinking, Drowning, And We Are Powerless To Assist Them.

No One Can Fail To See That The Power Of The Church Among Large Numbers In Many Communities Is Today Diminishing, Or Has Already Ceased.

Ethical Religion Can Be Real Only To Those Who Are Engaged In Ceaseless Efforts At Moral Improvement. By Moving Upward We Acquire Faith In An Upward Movement, Without Limit.

The Human Race May Be Compared To A Writer. At The Outset A Writer Has Often Only A Vague General Notion Of The Plan Of His Work, And Of The Thought He Intends To Elaborate. As He Proceeds, Penetrating His Material, Laboring To Express Himself Fitly, He Lays A Firmer Grasp On His Thought; He Finds Himself. So The Human Race Is Writing Its Story, Finding Itself, Discovering Its Own Underlying Purpose, Revising, Recasting A Tale Pathetic Often, Yet None The Less Sublime.