sand times
hath she encouraged heroism in poet and parent. Ten thousand times
hath she been an inspiration to reformers and martyrs! Love and
fidelity have embalmed her deed and lent her immortality. In the very
center of the world's civilization stands her monument. For her Arc de
Triomphe has been built in the human heart. Her monument does not
appeal to the eye; it is not carved in stone; yet it is more permanent
than gold, and her fame outshines all flashing jewels. While love and
admiration endure the story of her humble fidelity shall abide
indestructible!

The great Italian first noted that thrice only did Christ stretch forth
his hand to build a monument, and each time it was to immortalize a
deed of humble fidelity. Once a disciple gave a cup of cold water to
one of God's little ones, and won thereby imperishable renown. Once a
woman broke an alabaster box for her master, and, lo! her deed has been
like a broken vase, whose perfume has exhaled for two thousand years,
and shall go on diffusing sweetness to the end of time. Last of all,
after the rich men of Alexandria had cast their rattling gold into the
brazen treasury, a poor widow cast a speck of dust called two mites,
and, lo! this humble deed gave her enduring recollection.

It seems that immortal renown is achieved not so much by the solitary
deed of greatness as by humble fidelity to life's details, and that
modest Christian living that regards small deeds and minor duties.
Ours is a world in which life's most perfect gifts and sweetest
blessings are little things. Take away love, daily work, sweet sleep,
and palaces become prisons and gold seems contemptible. The classic
poet tells of Kind [Transcriber's note: King?] Midas, to whom was
offered whatsoever he wished, and whose avarice led him to choose the
golden touch. But lo! his blessing became a curse. Rising to dress he
found himself shivering in a coat with threads of gold. Going into his
garden he stooped to breathe the perfume of the roses, and, lo! the
dewy petals became yellow points that pierced his face. Breakfasting,
the bread became metal in his mouth. Lifting a goblet the water became
a solid mass. Swinging his little daughter in his arms one kiss turned
the sweet child into a cold statue. A single hour availed to drive
happiness from Midas' heart. In an agony of despair he besought the
gods for simple things. He asked for one cup of cold water, one
cluster of fruit an