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- Hello, Boys! - 11/13 -

He will teach the religion of love and beauty In field or factory, mine or mart, While He tells the world of the larger part And the wider life that is yet to be When spirit is free, Brother, my Brother.

When spirit is free, then where will it go, Brother, O Brother? Its uttermost summit no man may know, For it goes up to God in His holy Tower To gather more knowledge and force and power; Like a ray of the sun it shall shine again To brighten new planets and races of men. Life had no beginning, life has no end, Brother and friend - Brother, my Brother.


You who are loudly crying out for peace, You who are wanting love to vanquish hate, How is it in the four walls of your home The while you wait?

Do those who form your household welcome your approach in the morning As the earth welcomes the presence of dawn, Or do they dread your coming lest you censure and complain? Do you begin the day with praise to God for each blessing you possess, and do you speak frequent words of commendation to those about you? Do those you claim to love often hear you talking in love's language, Or is your softest tone and your sweetest speech saved for the sometime guest, While the harsh voice and the sharp retort are used with those you love the best?

You who are praying for the Christ's return And for the coming of the Promised Day, How is it in the four walls of your home The while you pray?

Are you trying to make your home a reflection of what you believe heaven will be? Unless you are you will never find heaven anywhere; The foundations of our heavenly mansions must first be built on earth. Unless you are striving to put in use some of the angelic virtues here and now, No angelhood will be accorded you hereafter.

Unless you are illustrating your desire for peace by a peaceful, love-ruled home, You have no right to clamour for a cessation of hostilities among nations; Nations are only chains of individuals. When each individual expresses nothing but love and peace in his daily life, there will be no more war.

You who are loudly crying out for peace, You who are wanting love to vanquish hate, How is it in the four walls of your home The while you wait?


For the courage which comes when we call, While troubles like hailstones fall; For the help that is somehow nigh, In the deepest night when we cry; For the path that is certainly shown When we pray in the dark alone, Let us give thanks.

For the knowledge we gain if we wait And bear all the buffets of fate; For the vision that beautifies sight If we look under wrong for the right; For the gleam of the ultimate goal That shines on each reverent soul: Let us give thanks.

For the consciousness stirring in creeds That love is the thing the world needs; For the cry of the travailing earth That is giving a new faith birth; For the God we are learning to find In the heart and the soul and the mind: Let us give thanks.

For the growth of the spirit through pain, Like a plant in the soil and the rain; For the dropping of needless things Which the sword of a sorrow brings; For the meaning and purpose of life Which dawns on us out of the strife: Let us give thanks.

For the solace that comes to our grief In knowing earth's season is brief; For the certitude given by faith Of the continents out beyond death; For the glorious thought that each day Is speeding us the reward away: Let us give thanks.


'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?' Yes, sir--yes, sir: three bags full.'

'I don't want any New Thought,' said he, 'Or any Theosophy, for, you see, The faith I learned at my mother's knee Is good enough for me. Of course, I'm a wee bit broader than she, Hearing one sermon where she heard three, And I read my paper on Sunday, instead Of the Bible only. My mother said I was a black sheep, when she saw I strayed a trifle away from the law, And didn't think every one left in the lurch Who happened to go to a different church; But, still, in the main, her creed is mine, And I don't want anything more divine.' Yet his mother's mother was more austere; She taught her children a creed of fear, And she called them 'black sheep' when, with a shock, She saw them straying away from the flock, Just far enough To get around places they thought too rough, Like infant damnation and endless hell.

But his mother's mother's mother would tell How her mother thought it was God's sweet will To punish and torture a heretic till They drove out the devil that made him dare Think for himself in the matter of prayer And faith and salvation. So we see how it is If we look back over the centuries - The creeds men learned at their mother's knee When Salem witches were hanged to a tree, And the pious dames flocked thither to see, Are not deemed Christian or holy to-day; And the bold black sheep who went straying away From rut-worn paths in their search for God, And leaped over the fence into pastures broad, Are the great trail-makers for mortal souls, Leading the race up to higher goals And a larger religion; where man must find God dwelling ever within his mind, Christ in his conduct, and heaven in his thought, And hell but the places where love is not. A mighty religion that makes this earth But the cradle that fits us for death's new birth And the life beyond it, that is so near Its echoes may reach to the listening ear.

'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?' 'Yes, sir--yes, sir: a whole world full.'


Little by little and one by one, Out of the ether, were worlds created; Star and planet and sea and sun, All in the nebulous Nothing waited Till the Nameless One Who has many a name Called them to being and forth they came.

All things mighty and all things small, Stone and flower and sentient being, Each is an answer to that one call, A part of Himself that His will is freeing - Freeing to go on the long, long way That winds back home at the end of the day.

Little by little does mortal man Build his castles for joy and glory, And one by one time shatters each plan And lowers his palaces, story by story-

Hello, Boys! - 11/13

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