The young man said, "What lack I yet?" A great many say, What lack I yet? but there is an increasing number who know what is lacking in their enjoyment of life; and just what the young man refused to do, growing thousands are consenting to do-descending to live with men on terms of friendship and fellowship.

Let me ask you to note in a few words two consequences of this social discontent. The first is in the field of religion. We all know religion is changing. It is not changing, however, because men are bad, but because they are better. The direction in which it is changing is in that of larger sympathies, is it not? The old religious ideas were exclusive, shutting out— you are not good enough to come. The new religion is inclusive-I want everybody to share what I share. Our splendid Teutonic ancestor, when they were about to baptize him, said, as he stood on the edge of the baptistry, "Where are my ancestors, my father and mother, my grandfather and my people?" The priest said, "They are in hell." "Then," said he, drawing his bear skin robe about him, "I will go with my people." There is loyalty to your kin and your common humanity-"I will go with my people."

A ship is sinking in mid ocean. There are only enough boats to save a few. Now what shall we say of a man who declares, I am going to be saved anyway; I don't care for the women and children. Why, that man ought to be drowned ten fathoms deep by his fellowmen and passengers! But when the Birkenhead went down with six hundred soldiers coming back with their wives and children, after their long service in Northeastern India, the drum beat and the men stood in order, and it was found that there was just room for the women, and not one man of the six hundred broke ranks. The ship settled down so that the water was up to the rail, and still the drum beat. As the water

came up the drummer lifted the drum higher and higher. The life-boat put off, and the six hundred men went down with the ship. Not one man so anxious for his own salvation that he would steal the place that belonged to the women and children.

This is the inclusiveness of the new religion. Let us have heaven for all, or else join with the majority. If the most of the folks are not there I, for one, want to go where they are. "I am for Noble Aureole, O God," says one in Browning's Paracelsus. "I am for Noble Aureole. I am upon his side come weal or woe; reward him or I waive reward. Find place for him, or he shall be king elsewhere and I his slave forever. There are two of us." That is the cry of the new faith and I believe it is a valid cry. And it is a good cry, it is born out of God's own thought of sympathy, the social sentiment.

Passing this, however, I touch a phase of the social life. This social sentiment is asserting itself in many ways. Right under the shadow of Westminster Abbey is a plat of land almost priceless now in its value. Years and years ago a shoemaker, who owned it, gave it to the childrens' hospital, out of his love for little children. Pounding away upon his lap-stone, despised by those who passed him by, as he thought, "after I go there will be something for those who are in want." Six hundred pounds a year for little children. Years have passed by, and the wealth of banks can not buy that land, and its priceless rental is expended for thousands of children, all because one man would not be saved alone, and life meant to him something more than amassing a fortune.

This is developing into a passion now. It is like the old crusade, more and more come into it. I will not enjoy this civilzation alone, that is the thought of it. There are two of us. Where shall I begin to tell the

story? Every union of mankind which is for mutual help, is but the assertion of the social sentiment. I could get on alone; I will not get on alone. I will get on so that my neighbors shall share what I enjoy. The trades-unions are based unconsciously on this. Every brotherhood of men and women is based on this social sentiment. We stand together; we are based in the community of our relationships, in the fellowships of humanity, in touching hand to hand. I will take a

little less comfort for one, and more comfort for all; the larger average, if the level is less.

How many a man leaves the New England hills and goes to New York or Boston, and makes his fortune there; he is tired of his narrow and mean life. By and by fortune has come to him; leisure has come; the social sentiment begins to work within him; "what lack I yet?" At first it is dull and undefined. By and by his thoughts go back. All the narrowness and meanness of the old place is gone. How good the

water he drank from the spring! How sweet the apples he ate from the tree! He goes back there for a vacation, renews some old relationships of his boyhood, sits in the old church pew once again, forgets the sermon in going back in memory over the scenes of the past. Then he begins to make beautiful the town. His love pours itself in a refluent tide. He wants to make the town beautiful out of gratitude. Their lives were narrow, he was not mistaken. Why not make men out of the boys there by giving them a good time? That is not an uncommon thing. All through the New England villages the sons go back again to make beautiful the old homstead, or hearthstone, or the town in which they lived.

Charity is changing. It used to be pity. It is not pity now. It is the equalization of opportunity. The new religion takes the social as well as the individual

into its life. Here are employers enlarging the life of their employees, giving them a larger share in the product of labor. All ameliorations of condition, all schemes of association in which members share benefits, spring out of this thought.

There came to this country, not many years ago, a boy who went into a butcher shop; and from being a butcher he became a large packer of meats in Milwaukee. He had a certain taste for that which was beautiful. He had an aim, something toward which he could work. Thirty or forty years he kept his secret, only told his wife. No little children played about their house. He never told his plan, but a purpose was in his mind. One by one wonderfully beautiful pictures came to that house. It was a poor house. Five thousand dollars would build a great deal better house than he has lived in for twenty years, and than he lives in now. Last year his dream came true. He built an art gallery at an expense of a hundred thousand dollars. He put into it all the pictures he had in his house, and there are over a hundred thousand dollars worth. He put a hundred thousand dollars with it in order to keep it up and enrich it in time to come. The social sentiment-think of it! What poetry there was in that man's heart! What a spring of social life has kept bubbling there. No one but his wife ever knew it for thirty or forty years. God knew it and watched over it; it welled up, and at last it came forth; and now as long as the world stands, that spring of the beautiful will go out to nourish the lives of those who are sad and sorrowful.

Shall we die of starvation because we will not be friendly and social and helpful and love one another? It is a mighty tide that is rolling in upon us. The new triumphs of our civilization are going to be conquests of misery, trouble and sickness; colleges, schools of

technology, play-grounds for children-all these things are going to come. Men are thinking about them more than they are thinking about who is going to be President of the United States. It will come; it must come-come as the tide rolls in; because the great Atlantic rolls behind," throbbing responsive to the far-off orbs." What lack I yet? I ask each of you. There is a look of discontent on some of your faces; a lack of happiness in your lives; of freshness in the water you drink; of sweetness and relish in the food you eat. What do you lack? What does any man lack! Contact and touch; reciprocity of men, helping others, ministering to others; and that is what you lacktouch and response with the great human tides that come and go. This is life and here is happiness. This is the secret of it.

I knew one man who found his life by having pity for a horse on a cold day, whose blanket had fallen down under his fore feet. He lifted it up and put it in its place again. On another he found the incheck too tight, and he loosened it. And when he once got started that way, the whole universe could not stop that man from being a christian; because he was borne. on the great tide of the social sentiment.

So amidst this splendid organization of power of the nineteenth century, let us hail the coming of the rising tide of the social sentiment. Life comes full circle. "God and my neighbor" is the watch word of the new religion in social as well as in spiritual life.

Make us to

And now, let Thy blessing be upon us. think of our true value to ourselves, to each other, and to Thee. What we may be, that we shall be; over whatsoever obstructions we may stumble, at some time