Our loving Lord is not just present, but nearer than the thought can imagine - so near that a whisper can reach Him.

Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow, Thou art the Lord who soothed the furious sea, What matters beating wind and tossing billow If only we are in the boat with Thee? Hold us quiet through the age-long minute While Thou art silent and the wind is shrill : Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, are in it; Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?

If the praise of others elates me and their blame depresses me; if I cannot rest under misunderstandin g without defending myself; if I love to be loved more than to love, to be served more than to serve, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

Now you are deep in what seems to me a peculiarly selfless service. The spiritual training of children must be that. You work for the years you will not see. You work for the Invisible all the time, but you work for the Eternal. So it is all worthwhile.

I don't wonder apostolic miracles have died. Apostolic living certainly has.

Every work undertaken in obedienced to a divine command, whether the work be that form of conflict with the powers of darkness that we call prayer, or whether it be the action that follows, leads sooner or later to a new demand on personal devotion to our Lord Jesus Christ.

The night I sailed for China, March 3, 1893, my life, on the human side, was broken, and it never was mended again. But He has been enough.