Goethe tells us that Luther was the architect of modern German language and literature, and stamped himself into the whole national life.  The Germany of the Kaiser is simply Martin Luther written large in fifty millions of men.  But what made Luther?  There was some hidden energy and spirit within him!  What was this spirit in him?  The spirit of beauty turned a lump of mud into that Grecian face about which Keats wrote his poem.  The spirit of truth changes a little ink into a beautiful song.  The spirit of strength and beauty in an architect changes a pile of bricks into a house or cathedral or gallery.  And the thought of our unwearied God changed the collier’s son into the great German emancipator.  But over against this man, who never knew despondency, after his vision hour, stands another German.  He, too, was a philosopher, clothed with ample power, and blest with opportunity.  But he did evil in his life, and then the heart lost its faith, and hope utterly perished.  The more he loved pleasure and pursued self, the more cynical and bitter he became.  Pessimism set a cold, hard stamp upon his face, and marred his beauty.  Cynicism lies like a black mark across his pages.  At last, in his bitterness, the philosopher tells us the whole universe is a mirage, and that yonder summer-making sun is a bubble that repeats its iridescent tints in the colors of the rainbow.  Despair ate out his heart.  He became the most miserable of men, and knew no freedom from sorrow and pain.  And lo, now the man’s philosophy has perished like a bubble, his influence has utterly disappeared, for his books are unread, while only an occasional scholar chances upon his name, tho the great summer-making sun still shines on and Luther’s eternal God fainteth not, neither is weary.

Are you weak, oh, patriot?  Remember God is strong.  Do your days of service seem short, until your life is scarcely longer than the flower that blooms to-day and is gone tomorrow?  God is eternal, and He will take care of your work.  Are you sick with hope long deferred?  Hope thou in God; He shall yet send succor.  Have troubles driven happiness from thee, as the hawk drives the young lark or nightingale from its nest?  Return unto thy rest, troubled heart, for the Lord will deal bountifully with thee.  Are you anxious for your children?  God will bring the child back from the far country.  For the child hath wandered far, the golden thread spun in a mother’s heart is an unbroken thread that will draw him home!  For things that distress you to-day, you shall thank God to-morrow.  Nothing shall break the golden chain that binds you to God’s throne.  Are you hopeless and despondent because of your fainting strength?  Remember that the antidote for despondency is the thought of the unwearied God who is doing the best He can for you, and whose ceaseless care neither slumbers nor sleeps.