--men of strong nerve, of iron constitution, and
powerful physique. Such men laugh at danger and scorn opposition.
Theirs is the courage of the lion or the bull-dog, and there is no
virtue about it. They cannot help being what they are. (_b_) But
there is another kind of courage which is not so much physical as
_moral_. It has its foundation not in man's bodily constitution so
much as in his higher nature. It draws its power from the invisible.
"Are you not afraid," was a question put by a young and boastful
officer to his companion whose face was blanched and pale, as they
stood together amid the thickly falling shot of a battle-field. "I
_am_ afraid," he replied, "and if you were half as afraid as I am, you
would run." In his case there was little physical courage, but there
was the higher courage drawn from a sense of duty which made him stand
firm as a rock. When our Lord knelt in His mysterious anguish in
Gethsemane, His whole physical nature seemed broken down, "His sweat
was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."
"Suffer," He said, "this cup to pass from me"; and His strength came
from the invisible. "Not my will," He cried, "but thine be done."
With that sublime trust in God strengthening Him, He shrank not back
for a moment; He took the cup and drained it to the dregs. This is the
highest form of courage that there is. The weakest women have
displayed it in face of appalling dangers. It is the courage of the
martyr, the patriot, the reformer. There is a glory and beauty in it
before which all men bow.

There are three chief forms which this moral courage takes in ordinary
life.

_First, there is the courage of our opinions_.--Many people, perhaps
the majority, do not have opinions. They have simply notions,
impressions, sentiments, prejudices, which they have imbibed from
others. They may be said to be like looking-glasses, which have a
shadow of whatever stands before them. So long as they are in company
with a positive person who believes something, they have an opinion.
When he goes the shadow on the looking-glass goes also. They are like
the sand on the seashore--the last person who comes the way makes a
track and the next wave washes it away and leaves the sand ready for
another impression. How many are there who, when any important
question comes up, have no opinion about it, until they read their
paper or hear what other people are saying. There is no sort of
c