have not committed--and
liked it! But now I have ceased to be a fiddler and have become a
citizen, and I am going to try to be a real good spoke in the wheel of
progress. I can't express it very well, but I am going to try to link
up with the people next me and help them along. Perhaps you know what
I mean--I think it is called team-play."

When the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa were burning, the main switch
which controlled the lighting was turned off by mistake and the whole
place was plunged into darkness, and this added greatly to the horror
and danger. The switch was down a long passage through which the smoke
was rolling, and it seemed impossible for any one to make the journey
and return. Then the people who were there formed a chain, by holding
each other's hands--a great human chain. So that the one who went
ahead felt the sustaining power of the one who came behind him. If he
stumbled and fell, the man behind him helped him to his feet and
encouraged him to go on. In this way the switch was reached, the light
was turned on, and many lives were saved.

Over the world to-day roll great billows of hatred and
misunderstanding, which have darkened the whole face of the earth. We
believe that there is a switch if we could get to it, but the smoke
blinds us and we are choked with our tears. Perhaps if we join hands
all of us will be able to do what a few of us could never do. This
reaching-out of feeble human hands, this new compelling force which is
going to bind us all together, this deep desire for cohesion which
swells in our hearts and casts out all smallness and all
self-seeking--this is what we mean when we speak of the Next of Kin.
It is not a physical relationship, but the great spiritual bond which
unites all those whose hearts have grown more tender by sorrow, and
whose spiritual eyes are not dimmed, but washed clearer by their
tears!

Sing a song of hearts grown tender,
With the sorrow and the pain;
Sorrow is a great old mender,
Love can give,--and give again.
Love's a prodigal old spender,--
And the jolliest old lender,
For he never turns away
Any one who comes to borrow,
If they say their stock is slender,
And they're sorely pressed by sorrow!
Never has been known to say,--
"We are short ourselves to-day,--
Can't you come again to-morrow?"
That has never been Love's way!
And he's rich beyond all telling,
Love divine all love excelling!