Recognizing the responsibility of men of leisure and wealth, John Ruskin said:  “Shall one by breadth and sweep of sight gather some branch of the commerce of the country into one great cobweb of which he is himself to be the master spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes?” Shall the industrial or political giant say:  “Here is the power in my hand; weakness owes me a debt?  Build a mound here for me to be throned upon.  Come, weave tapestries for my feet that I may tread in silk and purple; dance before me that I may be glad, and sing sweetly to me that I may slumber.  So shall I live in joy and die in honor.”  Rather than such an honorable death, it were better that the day perish wherein such strength was born.  Rather let the great mind become also the great heart, and stretch out his scepter over the heads of the common people that stoop to its waving.  “Let me help you subdue the obstacle that baffled our fathers, and put away the plagues that consume our children.  Let us together water these dry places; plow these desert moons; carry this food to those who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry this life to those who are in death.”

Superiority is to make erring men unerring and slow minds swift.  Then, indeed, comes the better day—­pray God it be not far off—­when strength uses its wealth as the net of the sacred fisher to gather souls of men out of the deep.

In overplus of strength we have the measure of a man’s greatness.  Soul-power is resource for finding and feeding the hidden springs of life and thought in others.  Not all have the same capacity.  The Lord of the vineyard still sends into the white fields ten-talent men, two-talent men and one-talent men.  Each hath his own task, and each must grasp the handle of his own being.  Genius is widely distributed.  Not many Platos—­only one, and then a thousand lesser minds look up to him and learn to think.  Not many Dantes—­one, and a thousand poets tune their lyres to his and catch its notes.  Not many Raphaels—­one, and a thousand aspiring artists look up to him and are lifted by the look.  Not many royal hearts—­great magazines of kindness.  Few are great in heart-power, effulging all sweet and generous qualities.  Happy the community blessed with, a few great hearts and a few great minds.  One such will civilize a whole community.

Classic literature charmed our childhood with the story of an Arabian sheik.  He dwelt in an oasis near the edge of the desert.  Wealth was his, with flocks and herds and wedges of gold.  One night sleep forsook his couch.  Yet the gurgle of falling water was in his ear.  The odors of the vineyard were in his nostril; and to-morrow his servants would begin to gather the abundant harvest.  Ten miles away ran the track of the caravan where his herdsmen had found a traveler dead from the fierce