"Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: So, when Persia was dust, all cried: 'To Acropolis! Run, Pheidippides, one race more!'" Take the news to Athens! He takes it, and his great heart bursts with the joy of the news. "Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed." He sealed his message with his death. Now, there is the messenger, and we have to think over the different points about that messenger, to compare our motives to-day with what they are expected to be. (1) Take first of all his realisation that his message was _a matter of life or death_. I wonder whether some of us are slipping away from that--slipping away from the awe of that first sermon, slipping into little moral essays or interminably long discourses? Are we still men with a message? One of the tremendous revelations in London, after twenty-six years of life and work there, is the death-struggle that is going on in every human soul. And even now, as Bishop, I find that every available five minutes is taken up by the needs and struggles of some individual soul in the diocese of London. In your parishes it must be just the same. Upon that message you are going to give on Sunday morning or evening depends perhaps the salvation, or perhaps the condemnation, of some soul. And if we once get into the way of preaching simply interesting lectures--interesting to ourselves--which we have thought out in our studies during the week, we have lost the sense of having a message. One of the most distinguished men then in the Church said to a young preacher sadly: "You seem to preach as if you have something to say, and I only preach because I _must_ say something." Well, if we are drifting into getting up into the pulpit because we must say something, without realising the temptations and struggles of the souls in front of us, we have lost our message; we are no longer messengers. (2) And then, secondly, what about the old keenness? Am I able to say "the old keenness"? One honest brother came to me one Quiet Day and said: "I have never felt keen at all." He could not speak of the old keenness; he had never had it. He wanted it. The keen messenger stands quivering like Pheidippides: "Except for that sparkle, thy name, I had mouldered to ash!" There stands the true messenger quivering with the keenness of his message. What has happened to us if we are no longer keen about our message?