all men inevitably fall.
Whether they be rich or whether they be poor, they are all bound to be
sorrowful. Sooner or later, we are certain to be troubled. And that is
more true today, doubtless, than in any other period in the long history
of this old world.

These sorrowful ones can go unto Bethlehem and look into the cradle and
claim the Child as their God. For every sorrow that has been yours, He
experienced; every grief that you have bowed before, He was forced to
struggle with. Very tender and compassionate is our Lord. I am quite
sure that He notices your bowed head, that He puts His arms across your
shoulders, that He whispers words of comfort into your ear, or that He
gives you the silent sympathy of His presence, that He takes you by the
hand; that whatever action most appeals to you and is best for you He
takes if you wish Him to.

There are many people belonging to you or your family who are far away,
whom you would fain have with you this Christmas morning. Many of them
are fighting manfully in His cause, too. Do not forget that our Lord
came to the family! that He made a family by coming. These far-off loved
ones are doing what we are doing this morning. And there are some you
love who are still farther away. The sound of their earthly voices is
stilled, we may not clasp their hands, we cannot see them any more.
They are gone from the world, but not from our hearts. If they are not
here I think they are with Him. And we may be sure that it is very
pleasant to them where He is. They are not unmindful of our human
regrets and longings, but I think we ought not to be unmindful of their
peaceful joy in His presence.

And so everybody has a right to come to that cradle, the poor, the
humble, the hard workers, the toilers, the wise, the learned, the easy,
the rich, the joyous, the sad, the sorrowful, the bereaved. They may all
look into the manger and see their God.

He came to a family; He made a family. We are all in that family, the
children of the selfsame Father, the sons of the selfsame God, the
brethren of Him of the manger--German and French, English and Austrian,
Italian and Bulgar, Russian and Turk! Ay, and above all and with all
American and Belgian. Sirs, we be, not twelve, but many brethren! What
does that mean?

There is one musical word with, I think, perhaps the ugliest meaning in
the language. It is _rancour_. Let us do away with it, let us put it
aside. If we are poor let us be brethren t