Life and beauty seemed to spring from every place it touched.

When I remembered the well of water deep down in rock, dragged up by
machinery it seemed to me like religion, the religion of service through
duty, and I knew that it would keep right on serving as long as the
machinery worked and would do its part dutifully.

Then I looked again at the spring. It seemed to me like religion, the
religion of love that blessed because it is its nature to bless and
poured itself out in service because it must.

It is the religion of love which holds one to the side of the road where
need is great, work must be done, perhaps sacrifice made. That Samaritan
who stopped, dismounted, tenderly cared for an injured brother of hated
race, lifted him to his own beast, slowly walked beside him to a place
where rest and shelter could be provided, knew the love-inspired
religion. The Priest and the Levite were followers of the law, the
letter of the law, but they looked upon the man in his need, crossed to
the other side and _passed by_.

The Jericho road is still with us, and the needy who call for help and
for justice are upon it, injured in body or soul. The religion of the
letter of the law looks, crosses to the other side, passes by. On one
side of the road Need, on the other side Greed, and Love always where
Need is.

The religion of Love follows the road the Founder took, the road that
leads to the place of service. That road may lead to China, it may lead
to the islands of the sea. It took Livingstone to Africa, Dan Crawford
to the Bantus for twenty-two years and now is taking him back for the