Everyone carries an atmosphere about him. It may be healthful and invigorating, or it may be unwholesome and depressing. It may make a little spot of the world a sweeter, better, safer place to live in or it may make it harder for those to live worthily and beautifully who dwell within its circle.

With all the infinite possibilities of spiritual life before you, do not settle down on a little patch of dusty ground at the mountain's foot in restful content. Be not content until you reach the mountain's summit.

Nothing does so much to help those who suffer as to know that somebody cares.

Disagree with someone on the right and he is likely to think you obtuse, wrong, foolish, a dope. Disagree with someone on the left, and he is more likely to think you selfish, a sell-out, insensitive, possibly evil.

It is supposed by some that religion makes people solemn, takes the sunshine out of their life, the joy out of their heart, the song out of their mouth. But the reverse of this is the truth. No other one in the world has such secrets of joy as has the Christian. Christ teaches his followers to rejoice. He bids them rejoice even in sorrow and trial.

The all-victorious Christ is like a great rock in a weary land, to whose shelter we may flee in every time of sorrow or trial, finding quiet refuge and peace in him.

We have a mission to others--to add to their cheer. This we cannot do unless we have first learned the lesson of cheerfulness ourselves.

This world is not a place merely to live in, nor a place in which to do certain kinds of business it is a great workshop in which to make godly men.

An immortal soul, from its very nature, cannot find what it needs anywhere except in God Himself. True religion begins in the heart. It is not a mere set of rules to be obeyed-an example to be copied. It is Christ coming into the heart and dwelling there.

The truly happiest, sweetest, tenderest homes are not those where there has been no sorrow, but those which have been overshadowed with grief, and where Christ's comfort was accepted. The very memory of the sorrow is a gentle benediction that broods ever over the household, like the afterglow of sunset, like the silence that comes after prayer.