White hands of the Savior of men;
Held them close to His breast and caressed them;
Put His face down to theirs as in prayer;
Put His cheek to their cheeks; and so blessed them
With baby hands hid in His hair."


And I am certain that last of all I should have heard the voice of the
Master himself saying:

"Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these little
ones, my children, ye have done it unto me."

Thank God for a death like that. One could envy such a passing, a
passing in the service to little children.

I have seen some of the most magnificent episodes of service on the
part of men in France, scenes that have thrilled me to the bone.

I know a Protestant clergyman in France who walked five miles on a
rainy February day to find a rosary for a dying Catholic boy.

I know a Y. M. C. A. secretary who in America is the general secretary
of one of the largest organizations in one of the largest Eastern
cities. He has always had two hobbies: one is seeing men made whole,
and the other has been fighting cigarettes. Never bigger fists or more
determined fists pounded down the walls that were building themselves
up around American youth in the cigarette industry. He was militant
from morning till night in his crusade against cigarettes. Some of his
friends thought he was a fanatic. He even lost friends because of his