edge, vict'ry, peace;
It makes joy possible, and lessens pain;
From passion's lawless power it wins release,
Confirms the heart, and widens reason's reign,
Makes men like God, whose work can never cease.

Whatever enables man to overcome his inborn love of ease is, in so far,
the source of good. Now, money represents what more than anything else
has this stimulating power. It is the equivalent of what we eat and
drink, of the homes we live in, of the comforts with which we surround
ourselves, of the independence which makes us free to go here or there,
to do this or that,--to spend the winter where orange blossoms perfume
the soft air, and the summer where ocean breezes quicken the pulse of
life. It unlocks for us the treasury of the world, opens to our gaze
whatever is sublime or beautiful; introduces us to the master-minds who
live in their works; it leads us where orators declaim, and singers
thrill the soul with ecstasy. Nay, more, with it we build churches,
endow schools, and provide hospitals and asylums for the weak and
helpless. It is, indeed, like a god of this nether world, holding
dominion over many spheres of life and receiving the heart-worship of
millions.

Yet, if we make money and its equivalents a life-purpose--the aim and
end of our earthly hopes--our service becomes idolatry, and a blight
falls upon the nobler self. Money is the equivalent of what is
venal,--of all that may be bought or sold; but the best, the godlike,
the distinctively human, cannot be bought or sold. A rich man can buy a
wife, but not a woman's love; he can buy books, but not an appreciative
mind; he can buy a pew, but not a pure conscience; he can buy men's
votes and flattery, but not their respect. The money-world is visible,
material, mechanical, external; the world of the soul, of the better
self, is invisible, spiritual, vital. God's kingdom is within. What we
have is not what we are; and the all-important thing is to be, and not
to have. Our possessions belong to us only in a mechanical way. The
poet's soul owns the stars and the moonlit heavens, the mountains and
rivers, the flowers and the birds, more truly than a millionaire owns
his bonds. What I know is mine, and what I love is mine; and as my
knowledge widens and my love deepens, my life is enlarged and
intensified. But, since all human knowledge is imperfect and narrow, the
soul stretches forth the tendrils of faith and hope. Looking upon
shadow