ture, not through striking,
dramatic acts, but through myriads of unnumbered and unnoticed deeds.

Even the heroes dying upon the battlefield ask not for Plato nor Bacon,
but for a cup of cold water. To Benedict Arnold, dying in his garret,
came a physician, who said, "Is there anything you wish?" and heard
this answer; "Only a friend." Traitors sometimes each of us also.
Traitors to our deepest convictions and our highest ideals, and in the
hours when the fever of discontent burns fiercely within us, and the
mind seems half-delirious in its trouble, we also ask for a friend
bringing a mite of sympathy and a cup of cold water. Let us confess
it--we are all famishing for love and the kind word that says: "In
your Gethsemane you are not alone."

God secures for us our happiness, not through speech about the heavens
and firmament, but through the comfort that comes through speech over
little things. He feeds the birds, adorns the lily, clothes the grass,
numbers man's troubles. He is the Shepherd seeking the one sheep, the
father waiting for the lost son. His kingdom is a little leaven
working in the world's meal, His truth being no larger than a grain of
mustard-seed. Above each little one bows some guardian angel beholding
the face of its heavenly Father. And He who unites grains of sand for
making planets and rays of light for glorious suns, and blades of grass
for the solid splendor of field and pasture and drops of water for the
ocean that blesses every continent with its dew and rain, teaches us
also that great principles will organize the little words, little
prayers, little aspirations and little services into the full-orbed
splendor of an enduring character and an immortal fame.

Happily none need journey far nor search long for opportunities of
humble fidelity. Into our midst come each year thousands of boys who
are strangers in the great city. Passing along the streets these
lonely lads behold each horse having some friendly hand to care for it.
Yea! each sleek dog hath some owner's name engraven on the collar for
the neck. But for the youth, weeks pass by, and no face lifts a
friendly smile, no hand is outstretched in gentle kindness, and oft the
thought is bitter: "No man careth for my soul." The youth who sits in
the seat beside you asks only that the leaflet be shared in
brotherliness, and you may lift upon the discouraged one a smile that
saith; "Once the battle went sore with me, also, but b