Whatever Touches The Nerves Of Motive, Whatever

The Golden Age Is Not In The Past, But In The Future; Not In The Origin Of Human Experience, But In Its Consummate Flower; Not Opening In Eden, But Out From Gethsemane.

Man Was Sent Into The World To Be A Growing And Exhaustless Force. The World Was Spread Out Around Him To Be Seized And Conquered. Realms Of Infinite Truth Burst Open Above Him, Inviting Him To Tread Those Shining Coasts Along Which Newton Dropped His Plummet, And Herschel Sailed,--a Columbus Of The Skies.

Death Makes A Beautiful Appeal To Charity. When We Look Upon The Dead Form, So Composed And Still, The Kindness And The Love That Are In Us All Come Forth.

The Temptation Is Not Here, Where You Are Reading About It Or Praying About It. It Is Down In Your Shop, Among Bales And Boxes, Ten-penny Nails, And Sand-paper.

Break Up The Institution Of The Family, Deny The Inviolability Of Its Relations, And In A Little While There Would Not Be Any Humanity.