autiful all the days, that she would never be ashamed for
her Master to come in without warning to be her guest. That is, when
we present ourselves to God as a living sacrifice, we are to be God's
in every part and in every phase of our life, wherever we go, whatever
we do.

"I cannot be of any use," says one. "I cannot talk in meetings. I
cannot pray in public. I have no gift for visiting the sick. There is
nothing I can do for Christ."

Well, if Christian service were all talking and praying in meetings,
and visiting the sick, it would be discouraging to such talentless
people. But are our tongues the only faculties we can use for Christ?
There are ways in which even silent people can belong to God and be a
blessing in the world. A star does not talk, but its calm, steady beam
shines down continually out of the sky, and is a benediction to many.
A flower cannot sing bird-songs, but its sweet beauty and gentle
fragrance make it a blessing wherever it is seen. Be like a star in
your peaceful shining, and many will thank God for your life. Be like
the flower in your pure beauty and in the influence of your unselfish
spirit, and you may do more to bless the world than many who talk
incessantly. The living sacrifice does not always mean active work.
It may mean the patient endurance of a wrong, the quiet bearing of a
pain, cheerful acquiescence in a disappointment.

"Noble deeds are held in honor;
But the wide world sadly needs
Hearts of patience to unravel
The worth of common deeds."

There are some people who think it impossible in their narrow sphere
and in their uncongenial circumstances to live so as to win God's favor
or be blessings in the world. But there is no doubt that many of the
most beautiful lives of earth, in Heaven's sight, are those that are
lived in what seem the most unfavorable conditions. A visitor to
Amsterdam wished to hear the wonderful music of the chimes of St.
Nicholas, and went up into the tower of the church to hear it. There
he found a man with wooden gloves on his hands, pounding on a keyboard.
All he could hear was the clanging of the keys when struck by the
wooden gloves, and the harsh, deafening noise of the bells close over
his head. He wondered why people talked of the marvellous chimes of
St. Nicholas. To his ear there was no music in them, nothing but
terrible clatter and clanging. Yet, all the while, there floated out
over and beyond the city the most