Toil is the golden key which God gave the human race, that it might find escape from the self-inflicted slavery of sin. “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread” was not a curse pronounced by an offended Deity, but Love’s whispered secret of escape from harm. Standing amid the wreck of a sin-torn paradise, man looked through the open archway of these six words--“In the sweat of thy face”--and saw the possibilities of a world-wide Eden. Beholding the fruit begin to fail, and the greensward become tangled with brush and bramble, Fear said: “You shall die of hunger.” “In the sweat of thy face” revealed broad acres filled with health-giving ripening grain and orchards laden with luscious fruit. Beholding the lakes become stagnant, and the river beds becoming dry and parched, Fear said: “You shall perish of thirst.” “In the sweat of thy face” revealed vineyards adrip with purple wine, and desert lands abloom with beauty because man would learn to train the mountain streams to follow where he led. Yea, more, “In the sweat of thy face” opened a pathway through which Hope ran to find salvation from the deadly power of sin. Coming back, with face aglow, that bright clad Angel bade man first to give his strength in building an altar on which to offer heartfelt thanks to God, who had made the human hand with which to toil and rebuild paradise. Happy and fortunate is the man who learns to do his daily stint of work with a cheerful heart. To him shall be the joy of understanding that the ordinary duties of life are not burdens sent to crush him to earth, but blessings through which he is to work out his own salvation. Behold how man’s labors have redeemed the world from barrenness. Soft, yielding swamps have become hard-paved streets of famous cities, over which the unappreciative multitudes walk or ride in perfect comfort. Where once the heated winds blew the drifting sands to-day the gentle zephyrs fan the rich, green meadows. Where once the untrained, tangled vines broke down the struggling tree upon which they clung, the vineyards yield their purple clusters, and the orchards give forth their wealth of sweet and luscious fruit. Where once the wild weeds threw their choking pollen to the wind, the aster, rose, and proud chrysanthemum wave upon graceful stems and toss their pretty petals to and fro. Where once the savage stretched his tents of skins, brown-stone mansions lift their open portals in invitation to the weary sons of toil. By the sweat of man’s brow, by the toiling of the multitudes, we are saved from desolation and made to dwell securely among the gardens.