'What am I?' you say. 'I am a fisherman, a strong active man, accustomed
to toil and danger.' 'I am a mother, with a large family of little ones,
working hard from morning till night.' 'I am a schoolboy, learning the
lessons which are to fit me to make my way in the world.' 'I am a busy
merchant, toiling hard to make money, and obliged to come to this quiet
place to recruit my wearied energies.' 'I am an artist, with great
ambition of future success.' 'I am an old man, who has weathered many a
storm, but my work is done now; I am too old to fish, too tired to
toil.' 'I am a gentleman of no occupation, idling comfortably through a
busy world.' 'I'--and here he glanced at his own little Jack in the
stern of the old boat--'I am a tiny child, with an unknown life all
before me.'

'Dear friends, such are some of your answers to my question. Can I find,
do you think, one answer, one description, which will suit you
all--fishermen, mothers, boys and girls, artists, merchants, gentlemen,
the old man and the little child? Yes, I can. If I could hand you each a
piece of paper and a pencil this day, there is one description of
yourself which each of you might write, one occupation which would
include you all, the old, the young, the rich and the poor. Each of you,
without exception, might write this--_I am a servant_.

'I, the speaker, am a servant; you who listen, all of you, are
servants.'

'Well, I don't know how he is going to make that out,' I said to myself.
'I thought he was going to say we were all sinners, and _that_, I
suppose, we are, but _servants_! I do not believe I am anybody's
servant.'