get ahead today there is no earthly reason why they should hope to do that at a later day-yet they ignore that knowledge.

What is the important thing in education? It is imagination. That, to all brain work, is what rain and sunlight are to flowers.

Without imagination everything is barren.

A house without Shakespeare, the Bible, a good dictionary and a good encyclopædia is like a machine shop without tools, or, worse like a restaurant without food.

Of all life's tragedies the most cruel is the mother's good-by to a dead child. Simple faith has mercifully softened the blow for so many millions of mothers.

"Like sheep they are laid in the grave; death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over them in the morning; and their beauty shall consume in the grave from their dwelling."

THE great mystery of our brief life is death.

History is a long procession of human beings reaching thousands of years back-an endless procession arriving on earth, active, hating, loving, accumulating, striving for a moment, then going back into the earth.

In the sight of Time our lives are as brief as the light that a firefly shows on a Summer night. Each has one spark of life that goes, then death, and the mystery of the unknown.

How rarely human beings discuss death, how rarely they think of it, how little the mind dwells upon one great fact that confronts all of us-death and the end, and darkness.

A few fear death-cannot bear to think, or talk of it. A great majority forget it, ignore it. Even the old look upon death as a distant, far-off thing, with scarcely any real meaning for them.

Yet death is, in reality, the only absolute certainty, "the rest is silence."

Certainly this long sleep, night that ends our earthly

get ahead today there is no earthly reason why they should hope to do that at a later day—yet they ignore that knowledge.

What is the important thing in education? It is imagination. That, to all brain work, is what rain and sunlight are to flowers.

Without imagination everything is barren.

A house without Shakespeare, the Bible, a good dictionary and a good encyclopædia is like a machine shop without tools, or, worse like a restaurant without food.

Of all life's tragedies the most cruel is the mother's good-by to a dead child. Simple faith has mercifully softened the blow for so many millions of mothers.

"Like sheep they are laid in the grave; death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over them in the morning; and their beauty shall consume in the grave from their dwelling."

THE great mystery of our brief life is death.

History is a long procession of human beings reaching thousands of years back-an endless procession arriving on earth, active, hating, loving, accumulating, striving for a moment, then going back into the earth.

In the sight of Time our lives are as brief as the light that a firefly shows on a Summer night. Each has one spark of life that goes, then death, and the mystery of the unknown.

How rarely human beings discuss death, how rarely they think of it, how little the mind dwells upon one great fact that confronts all of us-death and the end, and darkness.

A few fear death-cannot bear to think, or talk of it. A great majority forget it, ignore it. Even the old look upon death as a distant, far-off thing, with scarcely any real meaning for them.

Yet death is, in reality, the only absolute certainty, "the rest is silence."

Certainly this long sleep, night that ends our earthly

parture, may well be discussed often.

A beautiful painting by an English artist, "The Unknown Land," illustrates death in its most tragic, dreadful and cruel form-the taking of a young child from the mother.

Of all suffering, none has equaled that of the mothers. that have put their young children into the grave. Millions of mothers go through that agony upon this earth every year. Every child's death is a fearful tragedy, a spiritual crucifixion. Only the mother of a child knows what it really is.

When you think of the death of children and the suffering of mothers, the apparent frightful injustice, the cutting off of young lives, tender flowers that have scarcely begun their existence, you appreciate above all the wonderful power of religion, the consolation of faith.

A cold-blooded English philosopher, asked what he thought about God and a Creative power, replied, "I have no need of that hypothesis." He was wrong. Nearer to the truth was the saying of the cynical Frenchman: "If there had been no God, it would have been necessary to invent one."

The world would indeed have been a black and dreary place for humanity, and for the mothers whose children are taken from them, but for faith, and the hope that faith gives.

Those that have fed the earth's population have been benefactors of men, and benefactors also those that clothed their fellows, taught them, protected them from