The greatest heroes of the world are not those extolled in song or glorified with monuments and statues. They are the undiscovered ones who in tears and darkness lived their uttermost for the accomplishments of lofty purposes and failed utterly just before the triumph came. All town-sites look alike on the map. A claim in the run is worth two in the lottery. One contest beats a fire, and two are worse than a ship-wreck. A stake on a home-stead is more valuable than a palace on an Indian allotment. As smoke to the eyes and vinegar to the teeth, so is a contest to the poor man seeking a home. Little Sermons. Eloquent sermons never saved a sin-sick soul. Hate would narrow heaven to a one man's closet. Charity is the first lesson in the school of righteousness. The religion that feeds only the heart can never hope to save hungry souls. If you shake hands with sin as you leave it, you will find it at the station to meet you when the train stops. In April Days. The budding trees Perfume the breeze With breath of blossomed mysteries, And soft winds play By grassy way Through every laughing April day! Suns rosy rise Through turquoise skies, And life looks out through tender eyes; While cloudlets lift Through rent and rift, Where floating islands drive and drift. Clear waters sing From stream and spring, With music in their murmuring, And where they drip, With thirsty sip A lonely violet lifts its lip. The balmy croons Of tender tunes Sing through the drowsy afternoons, And faint perfumes Of bursting blooms Haunt all the aisles of dying glooms! And dreams arise Of perfect skies And all the worlds of prophets wise, And tender hands Whose fond commands Lead fast and far through Love's sweet lands. And bending low We fondly know The love-songs of the Long Ago, So sweet and fair With raptures rare, And lips of welcome waiting there. O, fields afar, Whose echoes are Soft whispers flung from sun and star, Still faint and dim I hear your hymn Across the wide horizon's rim! Little Sermons. Drowning men were never rescued by eloquent preachers who stand on the shore and shout at them how to swim. The church that brings shadows to this world hangs no sunshine o'er the portals of the next. The noblest ambition of good men is to pluck the thorns from among the roses of upright living. Without Embarassment. (John D. Rockefeller has recently offered the Congregational Missionary Society $100,000; after much discussion, they have decided to take the money.)