I Am Not Aware That Payment, Or

In The Four Hundred And Thirteenth Year Of The Christian Era, Some Three Hundred Miles Above Alexandria, The Young Monk Philammon Was Sitting On The Edge Of A Low Range Of Inland Cliffs, Crested With Drifting Sand.

He Was One Of Those Men Who Possess Almost Every Gift, Except The Gift Of The Power To Use Them.

Nothing Like One Honest Look, One Honest Thought Of Christ Upon His Cross. That Tells Us How Much He Has Been Through, How Much He Endured, How Much He Conquered, How Much God Loved Us, Who Spared Not His Only Begotten Son, But Freely Gave Him For Us. Dare We Doubt Such A God? Dare We Murmur Against Such A God?

Pray Over Every Truth; For Though The Renewed Heart Is Not "desperately Wicked," It Is Quite Deceitful Enough To Become So, If God Be Forgotten A Moment.

My Friends, Let Us Try To Follow The Saviour's Steps; Let Us Remember All Day Long What It Is To Be Men; That It Is To Have Every One Whom We Meet For Our Brother In The Sight Of God; That It Is This, Never To Meet Anyone, However Bad He May Be, For Whom We Cannot Say: "christ Died For That Man, And Christ Cares For Him Still. He Is Precious In God's Eyes, And He Shall Be Precious In Mine Also".