Carlyle, in the closing chapters of his "French Revolution," says that thought is stronger than artillery parks and at last moulds the world like soft clay, and then he adds that back of thought is love. Carlyle is right. Love is the greatest power in the world. The nations that are dead boasted that people bowed before their flag; let us not be content until our flag represents sentiments so high and holy that the oppressed of every land will turn their faces toward that flag and thank God that it stands for self-government and for the rights of man.
The enlightened conscience of our nation should proclaim as the country's creed that "righteousness exalteth a nation" and that justice is a nation's surest defense. If there ever was a nation it is ours—if there ever was a time it is now—to put God's truth to a test. With an ocean rolling on either side and a mountain range along either coast that all the armies of the world could never climb we ought not to be afraid to trust in "the wisdom of doing right."
Our government, conceived in liberty and purchased with blood, can be preserved only by constant vigilance. May we guard it as our children's richest legacy, for what shall it profit our nation if it shall gain the whole world and lose "the spirit that prizes liberty as the heritage of all men in all lands everywhere"?
VII
THREE PRICELESS GIFTS
The Bible differs from all other books in that it never wears out. Other books are read and laid aside, but the Bible is a constant companion. No matter how often we read it or how familiar we become with it, some new truth is likely to spring out at us from its pages whenever we open it, or some old truth will impress us as it never did before. Every Christian can give illustrations of this. Permit me to refer briefly to four. My first religious address, "The Prince of Peace," was the outgrowth of a chance rereading of a passage in Isaiah. This I have referred to in my lecture entitled "His Government and Peace."
The argument presented in my lecture on the Bible, in which I defend the inspiration of the Book of Books, was the outgrowth of a chance rereading of Elijah's prayer test. I was preparing an address for the celebration of the Tercentenary of the King James' Translation when, on the train, I turned by chance to Elijah's challenge to the prophets of Baal. It suggested to me what I regard as an unanswerable argument, namely, a challenge to those who reject the Bible to put their theory to the test and produce a book, the equal of the Bible, or admit one of two alternatives, either that the Bible comes from a source higher than man or that man has so degenerated that less can be expected of him now than nineteen hundred years ago.
In preparing a Sunday-school lesson on Abraham's faith I was so impressed with the influence of faith on the life of the patriarch and, through him, on the world, that I prepared a college address on "Faith," a part of which I have reproduced in my lecture on "The Spoken Word."
It was a chance rereading of an extract from the account of the Ten Lepers which led me to prepare the lecture reproduced in this chapter. The subject to which I invite your attention is as important to-day as it was when the Master laid emphasis upon it. As He approached a certain village ten lepers met Him; they recognized Him and cried out, "Jesus, Master, have mercy upon us." He healed them; when they found that they had been made whole, one of them turned back and, falling on his face at Jesus' feet, poured forth his heart in grateful thanks. Christ, noticing the absence of the others, inquired, "Were there not ten cleansed, but where are the nine?" This simple question has come echoing down through nineteen centuries, the most stinging rebuke ever uttered against the sin of ingratitude. If the lepers had been afflicted with a disease easily cured, they might have said, "Any one could have healed us," but only Christ could restore them to health, and yet, when they had received of His cleansing power, they apparently felt no sense of obligation; at least, they expressed no gratitude.
Some one has described ingratitude as a meaner sin than revenge—the explanation being that revenge is repayment of evil with evil, while ingratitude is repayment of good with evil. If you visit revenge upon one, it is because he has injured you first and the law takes notice of provocation. Ingratitude is lack of appreciation of a favour shown; it is indifference to a kindness done.