me to an end. What destiny awaits the book
to which our evening thoughts have been given? That is a path not
open to our tread. The cloudy curtain screens the threshold of it.
Still we may listen and imagine that we hear sounds. What if such
a voice as this were to come to us from the distance of a hundred
years hence--a voice tinged with sadness, and carrying just the
least suggestion of reproach? "Our fathers," the voice says,
"in the last quarter of the last century, forfeited a golden
opportunity. It was a time of reconstruction in the State, social
life was taking on the form it was destined long to retain, a great
war had come to an end and its results were being registered, all
things were fluent. Moreover, there happened, just then, to be an
almost unparalleled lull in the strife of religious parties; men
were more disposed than usual to agree; the interest in liturgical
research was at its greatest, and scholars knew and cared more
than they have ever done since about the history and the structure
of forms of prayer. Nevertheless, timid councils prevailed; nothing
was done with a view to better adapting the system to the needs of
society, and the hope that the Church might cease to wear the
dimensions of a sect, and might become the chosen home of a great
people, died unrealized. We struggle on, a half-hearted company,
and try to live upon the high traditions, the sweet memories of our
past."

God forbid, my friends, that the dismal prophecy come true! We will
not believe it. But what, you ask, is the pathway to any such
betterment as I have ventured roughly to sketch to-night? I will
not attempt to map it, but I feel very confident which way it
does not run. I am sure it does not run through the region of
disaffection, complaint, threatening, restlessness, petulance,
or secession. Mere fretfulness never carries its points. No, the
true way to better things is always to begin by holding on manfully
to that which we already are convinced is good. The best restorers
of old fabrics are those who work with affectionate loyalty as
nearly as possible on the lines of the first builders, averse to
any change which is made merely for change's sake, not so anxious
to modernize as to restore, and yet always awake to the fact that
what they have been set to do is to make the building once more what
it was first meant to be, a practicable shelter.

THE OUTCOME OF REVISION--A SERMON[98]

" . . . We are the serva