practice. It was our Master's self-immolation, his life-giving love, healing both mind and body, that raised the deadened conscience, paralyzed by inactive faith, to a quickened sense of mortal's necessities, — and God's power and purpose to supply them. It was, in the words of the Psalmist, He “who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases.”
Rome's fallen fanes and silent Aventine is glory's tomb; her pomp and power lie low in dust. Our land, more favored, had its Pilgrim Fathers. On shores of solitude, at Plymouth Rock, they planted a nation's heart, — the rights of conscience, imperishable glory. No dream of avarice or ambition broke their exalted purpose, theirs was the wish to reign in hope's reality — the realm of Love.
Christian Scientists, you have planted your standard on the rock of Christ, the true, the spiritual idea, — the chief corner-stone in the house of our God. And our Master said: “The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner.” If you are less appreciated to-day than your forefathers, wait — for if you are as devout as they, and more scientific, as progress certainly demands, your plant is immortal. Let us rejoice that chill vicissitudes have not withheld the timely shelter of this house, which descended like day-spring from on high.
Divine presence, breathe Thou Thy blessing on every heart in this house. Speak out, O soul! This is the newborn of Spirit, this is His redeemed; this. His beloved. May the kingdom of God within you, — with you alway, —
