God secures for us our happiness, not through speech about the heavens and firmament, but through the comfort that comes through speech over little things.  He feeds the birds, adorns the lily, clothes the grass, numbers man’s troubles.  He is the Shepherd seeking the one sheep, the father waiting for the lost son.  His kingdom is a little leaven working in the world’s meal, His truth being no larger than a grain of mustard-seed.  Above each little one bows some guardian angel beholding the face of its heavenly Father.  And He who unites grains of sand for making planets and rays of light for glorious suns, and blades of grass for the solid splendor of field and pasture and drops of water for the ocean that blesses every continent with its dew and rain, teaches us also that great principles will organize the little words, little prayers, little aspirations and little services into the full-orbed splendor of an enduring character and an immortal fame.

Happily none need journey far nor search long for opportunities of humble fidelity.  Into our midst come each year thousands of boys who are strangers in the great city.  Passing along the streets these lonely lads behold each horse having some friendly hand to care for it.  Yea! each sleek dog hath some owner’s name engraven on the collar for the neck.  But for the youth, weeks pass by, and no face lifts a friendly smile, no hand is outstretched in gentle kindness, and oft the thought is bitter:  “No man careth for my soul.”  The youth who sits in the seat beside you asks only that the leaflet be shared in brotherliness, and you may lift upon the discouraged one a smile that saith; “Once the battle went sore with me, also, but be of good cheer, you shall overcome.”  Such friendliness is the two mites that buy enduring rembrance.  For if each must fight his own battles, face for himself the spectres of doubt, and slay them; if each must be his own surgeon and draw the iron from the soul, still sympathy is a precious boon, and it is given to man to give the cup of tenderness to the warrior sorely wounded in life’s battle.  In ancient times when men’s cabins were built on the edge of the wilderness, not yet cleared of wild beasts, sometimes the little ones wandered from the path and were lost in the forest, until the cry of terror revealed the awful danger that threatened and caused the mother to speed forth with winged feet and lift her body as a shield against the enemy.  Daily these scenes are re-enacted, not in songs and dramas, but through the work of those who rescue the city’s children from squalor, filth and sin.  What redemptions’ man’s little deeds do bring!