I. In the first place, I want you to look upon Vashti the queen.  A blue ribbon, rayed with white, drawn around her forehead, indicated her queenly position.  It was no small honor to be queen in such a realm as that.  Hark to the rustle of her robes!  See the blaze of her jewels!  And yet, my friends, it is not necessary to have place and regal robe in order to be queenly.  When I see a woman with stout faith in God, putting her foot upon all meanness and selfishness and godless display, going right forward to serve Christ and the race by a grand and a glorious service, I say:  “That woman is a queen,” and the ranks of heaven look over the battlements upon the coronation; and whether she comes up from the shanty on the commons or the mansion of the fashionable square, I greet her with the shout, “All hail, Queen Vashti!”

What glory was there on the brow of Mary of Scotland, or Elizabeth of England, or Margaret of France, or Catherine of Russia, compared with the worth of some of our Christian mothers, many of them gone into glory?—­or of that woman mentioned in the Scriptures, who put her all into the Lord’s treasury?—­or of Jephtha’s daughter, who made a demonstration of unselfish patriotism?—­or of Abigail, who rescued the herds and flocks of her husband?—­or of Ruth, who toiled under a tropical sun for poor, old, helpless Naomi?—­or of Florence Nightingale, who went at midnight to stanch the battle wounds of the Crimea?—­or of Mrs. Adoniram Judson, who kindled the lights of salvation amid the darkness of Burmah?—­or of Mrs. Hemans, who poured out her holy soul in words which will forever be associated with hunter’s horn, and captive’s chain, and bridal hour, and lute’s throb, and curfew’s knell at the dying day?—­and scores and hundreds of women, unknown on earth, who have given water to the thirsty, and bread to the hungry, and medicine to the sick, and smiles to the discouraged—­their footsteps heard along dark lane and in government hospital, and in almshouse corridor, and by prison gate?  There may be no royal robe—­there may be no palatial surroundings.  She does not need them; for all charitable men will unite with the crackling lips of fever-struck hospital and plague-blotched lazaretto in greeting her as she passes:  “Hail!  Hail!  Queen Vashti!”

II.  Again, I want you to consider Vashti the veiled.  Had she appeared before Ahasuerus and his court on that day with her face uncovered she would have shocked all the delicacies of Oriental society, and the very men who in their intoxication demanded that she come, in their sober moments would have despised her.  As some flowers seem to thrive best in the dark lane and in the shadow, and where the sun does not seem to reach them, so God appoints to most womanly natures a retiring and unobtrusive spirit.