[Henry S. Alkire, in the Christian Advocate, Cincinnati, Ohio]

"Love is a very scarce thing, but whatever it touches turns into pure gold." It is "the ladder the angels left swinging from heaven after their tryst on earth; so poor mortals could some sweet time climb up to where the angels went."

Love never destroys, never assassinates. Lust, not love, is a killer. Love preserves and protects the object it worships. Deposit love in God's bank, and you will always have credit there when you pray. He honors the checks on love. ...

Enoch walked with God; and what a reward! When God sees us walking with unfeigned love, our credit will be quickly established with Him. He is Love.

[Alfred M. Landon, as quoted in the Times, St. Petersburg, Florida]

The world, sinking under [its] load of hate—weary and in despair—is turning, always, to the devoted hands of its churches. Their ways are different, but their ideals are alike. ...

It is not a case of invoking divine aid to help any group of individuals win the victory. It is a case of humbly invoking divine aid to achieve the heart's desire of all the common peoples of the world. That desire is peace.

[Rev. F. Sparrow, in the Paignton Observer, Devonshire, England]

My wife had gone out. I knew, as men do know, that she would not soon return. Having the house to myself and a spare hour I thought I might do a little gardening. ...

I had my sheaars and mower and set to work with commendable vigor—for me. I had got so far on with my job when a small boy stood looking over the gate. He eyed me with interest, and now and again I eyed him. He was not specially clean, nor well groomed, and he looked rather hungry.

"Shall I clean up the mess, mister?" he asked.

"Yes, certainly, if you like," I replied.

He did like, and very soon he had the path cleaned of leaves, twigs, and rubbish.

"Are you hungry?" was my query.

"Rather," he said.

"Come in with me and we will see what we can find. I don't like boys hungry, it's not good for them." In he came, quietly, wonderingly.

It was easy to find cake, bananas, and apples, and these were packed in a bag. "Here you are," I said, "eat this"; and giving him a few coppers I had he was ready to go. His eager little face looked up into mine and his hand touched mine:

"Mister?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"You and me be pals now, baint we?"

"Yes, we're pals," I said, and off he went down the rough, rough road, whistling something not unlike the "Lambeth Walk."

I did no more gardening that day. I had had enough. I came straight in and wrote this, for that little fellow had touched the deepest springs of my being. The touch of his hand I still feel, and the eager face I still see. "You and me be pals now." Out of the mouth of babes comes wisdom.

Pals. Sounds like slang, doesn't it? Very well, we will cross it out and substitute "chums," or "mates," or, better still, "friends." The rock bottom of the whole business is that he had helped me and I had helped him; hence we were pals, friends. There we touch the foundation of life. All the sciences, all the theologies, and all the religions cannot give to us a better philosophy than that of friendship, in which we help each other and bear one another's burdens. What say you to that?

Mutual helpfulness creates an atmosphere in which the noblest friendships thrive. It is this the world needs. A friendship that means genuine help, standing by each other, sharing our load, will destroy envy, sweep away suspicion, drive off the imps of hate, and will go far to unite us in one family of unbreakable and lasting affections. A favorite hymn of mine is this:

Some say it can't be done. I say it can. We are here to be pals, chums, mates, friends. I believe in a religion of friendship. I am here, as John Masefield sang, "to brother all the souls of men," to be a friend of the helpless, the defender of the weak, the lover of all, knowing no distinction of class, rank, or position. ... Here then is something we and the church need to take to heart and to live ... out. The church I long for is a church of lovers, of friends, where the rich and poor meet together as a family. Once we get that spirit of palship and mutual helpfulness at work we shall see people flocking to the house of God. Better than preaching is practice. The word for all is, "Love one another as I have loved you." That is the religion of friendship. Let us be pals.

[Theodore Rousseau, as quoted in the New York Herald-Tribune, Paris Edition]

The peoples of the world do not want war. ... And in this feeling, this repulsion of the peoples to the idea of war, lies our greatest hope for peace. For although we know that we can only speak to a desperate, brutal aggressor in terms of force—the only words he understands—we know too that the danger of war cannot be removed for all time by the counter measures of force which are necessary for defense, that there can be no lasting security in a world of armed camps.

A settled order—a real peace—can only be built upon spiritual and not material foundations. And it is the strong longing of the peoples of the world for peace that has this spiritual quality; it answers the deepest need of the world today—the spirit which will lead the nations and their rulers to try to be good neighbors to one another, each keeping faith with the others, each thinking not alone of its own possessions, but also of the rights of the others.

[Rev. James E. Freeman, D. D., Bishop of Washington, in the Herald, Calgary, Alberta, Canada]

The parable of the talents indicates clearly the responsibility men have for their gifts. To every man, however poor or rich his conscious possession of talents may be, there is the implied obligation that they were given him for a definite purpose, and that he is accountable for their use. As a matter of fact, their only value is in the liberality with which they are invested for the good of the world in which he lives. We are not accountable for our neighbors' use of his gifts; we are certainly accountable for the use we make of our own.

Some of us may have an inferiority complex and think that what we possess can serve no good or large purpose. This is to take a wrong view of life. We are in a world where each individual has something to give to the good of the whole. We do not make life richer or better by hoarding or withholding our gifts, but by contributing them freely and fully for the good of all. The world in general is advanced through the co-operative spirit. So through all of life it is each and every man according to his ability that makes possible the comfort and satisfaction of society, and creates conditions that contribute to the wealth and weal of the world.

Considered on a higher level, what each one of us possesses of virtue, of qualities of character, has its place and use in making the community in which we live a better and fitter place for our neighbors. We either enrich or impoverish by the consistency or inconsistency with which we live from day to day. It is not a question of what we have of material wealth; it is rather a question of what we ... exemplify of moral worth that makes what we give of value.

["The Homemaker," in the Globe and Mail, Toronto, Ontario, Canada]

We had been talking about kindness, unselfishness, pleasantness, as shown to "our own." This is a beautiful thing, and one that pays rich rewards in peace and happiness—so much so that it is hard to understand why everybody does not practice it, even from purely selfish motives.

But to show kindness to the chance peddler at the door, the passer-by on the street, these "ships that pass in the night"—that is another matter. Yet it is one of the things that many of our neighbors of the page are constantly doing—showing kindness to those who do not know their names, who have no claim upon them, nor any way of returning a favor. This is surely kindness of the most disinterested kind, and if we practice it more and more we will increase that wealth of the spirit which spends itself for no other reward than the joy of giving.

[Henry Geerlings, in the Evening Sentinel, Holland, Michigan]

We may learn the art of moving smoothly with our fellow men in order that we may be the better off, that things may go better for us, and that we may have less trouble in the world. It is possible to be selfishly kind and selfishly serviceable. But that is not the Christian idea of it. Christ [Jesus] would make unselfish people of his followers.

He would have us love our neighbors as ourselves. The Apostle James would have us prove our religion by our good deeds to our brothers. They would have us show to the world that the Christian religion does have a warm heart and a serviceable hand. Religion is not merely a power that relates us to God. It is something that relates us to our fellow men. It teaches us to love them and to see their needs and to do our very best to supply them. That religion that professes to love God and to worship God, and to know God, and to be interested in God, but has no loving and helpful interest in men, is certainly not the religion that Christ [Jesus] taught and lived. He knew God, ... communed with Him constantly, talked about Him familiarly, and yet he loved his fellow men and was constantly seeking for them that he might enlighten them and show his love for them and bring them into better and happier ways of living. ... He looked upon them as brothers, and he mingled with them in a great fellowship. He saw that they needed brothering, and he was a brother to them.

It is my belief that we are making our religion more practical as the years come and go. We are seeing the absolute necessity of making our religion work in a world of need.