I once heard a story of a poor and not over-wise--as the world counts wisdom--Highlander. I think he was a shepherd, he lived where there were only a few huts widely scattered over the bleak hillsides, and no church was within the reach of the inhabitants of these. God's Spirit moved strongly in the lonely heart, and he determined that a place of worship should be built. Every time he came home to his cot, he brought as many stones as he could collect whilst out, and he placed them in a heap not far from his own door. Those who knew him and who passed that way jeered and laughed at what the simple, loving fellow called his church building. The heap grew, though very slowly; for many years the shepherd's work went on, that work which was called by the neighbours his "folly." But one day a rich stranger travelling by that lonely and unused way noticed the heap and asked what it meant. On hearing its history, his heart was warmed by the flame of love in that of the poor cotter, and he caused a good building--where divine service was soon held weekly--to be placed on the spot, using up in it, let us hope, those stones which were truly its foundation. I know, myself, a lovely church, not far from Ehrenbreitstein on the Rhine, which was built only from stones brought by loving hands to ground chosen by the village pastor. The building took very many years, but it stands there now complete, a monument of the free-will offerings and labour of poor working folks. We do not all need to think of building churches, but the stories are typical. We are all either building, or--awful thought--pulling down the good work of others. As the Book says, "Every wise woman buildeth her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands." Our power to work increases by use. Many of the world's greatest books have been written by busy men. How often, too, one hears it said that if you want anything special done you must ask a busy man or woman to do it. That barren fig-tree to which our Lord directed the attention of His followers is a by-word and a proverb for all ages. Persistent industry it is that meets with the reward. An abiding sense of duty we need. Yet all of us have our times of depression, of weakness, and days when aspiration and hope seem dead within us. Then let us try to cast ourselves on Him whose joy, "the joy of the Lord," may become our strength. One of our poets says-- "We cannot kindle when we will The fire that in the heart resides; The spirit moveth, and is still, In mystery the soul abides; Yet tasks in hours of insight willed May be in hours of gloom fulfilled." It is these two last lines I would beg you to take to heart.