When I say that the religion of girlhood is the religion of Love I mean real love.  Warm, sweet, tender, quick to understand, quick to discern need, tireless in service.  I mean the love that does not wait to be asked to serve, the love that gives because it must give.  When a girl’s religion is filled with this love and rests upon it the girl does not say, “Well, I suppose if I am a Christian I can’t do that.”  The thought in her heart if it were put into words would be, “I wonder if He would want me to do that?” Simple, natural, sincere desire not to do the thing displeasing to One who loves and is loved.

One day I was looking at a deep well, sunk away down in the rocks.  Machinery dragged the water from the earth and machinery turned it into service.  Some days later I saw a mountain spring.  It poured and poured out over the rocks, down the precipice into the brook, on into the river.  It ran as if it were glad to run and would never stop!  Green things grew on every side of it, mosses clung to the rocks it touched, rich grass filled the meadow through which it flowed, birds followed it.  Life and beauty seemed to spring from every place it touched.

When I remembered the well of water deep down in rock, dragged up by machinery it seemed to me like religion, the religion of service through duty, and I knew that it would keep right on serving as long as the machinery worked and would do its part dutifully.

Then I looked again at the spring.  It seemed to me like religion, the religion of love that blessed because it is its nature to bless and poured itself out in service because it must.

It is the religion of love which holds one to the side of the road where need is great, work must be done, perhaps sacrifice made.  That Samaritan who stopped, dismounted, tenderly cared for an injured brother of hated race, lifted him to his own beast, slowly walked beside him to a place where rest and shelter could be provided, knew the love-inspired religion.  The Priest and the Levite were followers of the law, the letter of the law, but they looked upon the man in his need, crossed to the other side and passed by.

The Jericho road is still with us, and the needy who call for help and for justice are upon it, injured in body or soul.  The religion of the letter of the law looks, crosses to the other side, passes by.  On one side of the road Need, on the other side Greed, and Love always where Need is.

The religion of Love follows the road the Founder took, the road that leads to the place of service.  That road may lead to China, it may lead to the islands of the sea.  It took Livingstone to Africa, Dan Crawford to the Bantus for twenty-two years and now is taking him back for the rest of his days.  It took Carey to India, it left Grenfell in Labrador, it led last year’s college girls to every quarter of the globe.  It leads this one down among the dirty, helpless, little children trying to play in