“I speak to you to-day in the name of my Lord and Master.  It is impossible for me to believe that if that Christ of God were standing here this morning he would advise the licensing of this corruption as the most feasible or expedient method of dealing with it.  I cannot imagine him using the argument that the saloon must be licensed for the revenue that may be gained from it to support the school system.  I cannot imagine Christ taking any other position before the whisky power than that of uncompromising condemnation.  He would say it was evil and only evil, and therefore to be opposed by every legal and moral restriction that society could rear against it.  In his name, speaking as I believe he would speak if he were here this moment, I solemnly declare the necessity on the part of every disciple of Christ in every church in Milton of placing himself decidedly and persistently and at once in open battle against the saloon until it is destroyed, until its power in business, politics, and society is a thing of the past, until we have rid ourselves of the foul vapor which has so many years trailed its slimy folds through our homes and our schools.

“Citizens, Christians, church-members, I call on you to-day to take up arms against the common foe of that we hold dear in church, home, and state.  I know there are honest business men who have long writhed in secret at the ignominy of the halter about their necks by which they have been led.  There are citizens who have the best interests of the community at heart who have hung their heads in shame of American politics, seeing this brutal whisky element dictating the government of the towns, and parcelling out their patronage and managing their funds and enormous stealings of the people’s money.  I know there are church-members who have felt in their hearts the deep shame of bowing the knee to this rum god in order to make advancement in political life.  And I call on all these to-day to rise with me and begin a fight against the entire saloon business and whisky rule in Milton until by the help of the Lord of hosts we have gotten us the victory.  Men, women, brothers, sisters in the great family of God on earth, will you sit tamely down and worship the great beast of this country!  Will you not rather gird your swords upon your thighs and go out to battle against this blasphemous Philistine who has defied the armies of the living God?  I have spoken my message.  Let us ask the wisdom and power of the Divine to help us.”

Philip’s prayer was almost painful in its intensity of feeling and expression.  The audience sat in deathly silence, and when he pronounced the amen of the benediction it was several moments before any one stirred to leave the church.

Philip went home completely exhausted.  He had put into his sermon all of himself and had called up all his reserve power—­a thing he was not often guilty of doing, and for which he condemned himself on this occasion.  But it was past, and he could not recall it.  He was not concerned as to the results of his sermon.  He had long believed that if he spoke the message God gave him he was not to grow anxious over the outcome of it.