hrough
eternity, and that message grips me, I am a poor preacher if I fail
with it to grip and move other men. I fear we have lost our boldness.
I am a minister of the glorious Gospel of the grace of God and I have a
right to demand a hearing and to give my message, not because of what I
am myself--God forbid--but because of what my Savior is. Some of us
have lost our passion for souls; we mourn over it, we know that when we
once had this it was the secret of a successful ministry. It is not
wrong for me to say to you this morning that to the minister without a
message, to the minister who has lost his holy boldness, to the
minister who has anything less than a burning passion for souls, God
cannot give his vision.

III

I know that I have your deepest sympathy in the longing which I now
express for this great gathering--namely, that God would give to us a
vision.

First: As to what the Bible really is. One of my friends told me the
other day of a blind girl who could not read because she had been too
busy and somehow had not thought that she could use the raised letters
which have been such a boon to God's blind children. I am told she
learned that she might read while on these grounds last summer. It was
made possible later on for her to have a teacher and she began to study
little books until she could read quite fluently. One day unknown to
her there was brought into her home a Bible with raised letters and
without telling what the book was it was opened at the fourteenth
chapter of John and she was bidden to read in it. She had no sooner
touched the page, her fingers enabling her to read, "Let not your heart
be troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me," than with radiant
face she exclaimed, "Why this is God's Word; the very touch of it is
different." I would that we might have this vision.

Second: I wish that we might have a vision of Christ. He is the
chiefest among ten thousand, and the one altogether lovely. He is a
mighty Savior and a mighty helper. I cannot bring him a burden too
great, nor talk to him about a trial too insignificant. Oh, that we
might see him as he is!

And finally, I wish that we might know what service is, for knowing
this we would be instant in season and out of season. Some years ago
Fannie Crosby, the blind hymn writer, was speaking in one of the
missions in New York City. Suddenly she stopped and said, "I wonder if
there is not some wandering boy in this