able, and call it
their religion.

The love which is so superfine that it can't find a place for its home
in this world is entirely too good for a hearty welcome in the next one.

The reason why the preachers don't have larger congregations must be on
account of their not wanting to call the sinners but the righteous to
repentance, and there is always plenty of room.

In the Light.

Keep in the sunshine, brother!
Walk in the golden light;
The shadows are over yonder,
And there is the night, the Night!

Keep in the sunshine, brother!
It gleams on the grayest slope,
It smiles with the lips of pleasure,
And laughs with the lips of hope.

Keep in the sunshine, brother!
It gladdens the world with light;
The shadows are over yonder,
And there is the night, the Night!

Little Sermons.

However we may measure it, the heart of the world is always greatly
bigger than its head.

Love will stir the heart into laughter when all the gold of Ophir only
brings a snow-storm to life's roses.

That work is only worthy which adds something to the store of things
that contribute multiplied joys to the lives of men.

God loves a mute but kindly tongue six days in the week more than a
yawping mouth of prayer on the seventh day.

Wanted to Hide.

"What art thou, miserable creature!" shouted Pluto in a great rage as he
beheld a shrinking, cowering form, hiding away in the deepest shadows.

"Pardon me, O, god of the realm of darkness," implored the miserable
shade. "I am an ante-election prophecy, and am only trying to hide
myself away and be forgotten forever more!"

"Poor thing, go and sin no more!" replied the king of shadows with a
great pity in his voice. "Thy punishment is, indeed, deserved!" And he
strode away to stir up the animals in another quarter of his dominions.

Little Sermons.

The thankfulness of some people stops in saying grace at the table
before meals.

It isn't always the front seats that are occupied by His humblest
children, when the collection plate gets busy.

The religion that is so brief as to last only a few hours on Sunday can
be at home in a place too warm to cut ice in the great hereafter.

The Sunshine Song.

I.

It's no matter what your sorrows, they will vanish sure and soon
If you'll only use your whistle on the sunshine's golden tune;
And no matter what the weather nor how the tro