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about our trifling business, eating, drinking, sleeping, hoping, marrying, giving in marriage, and finally dying, with no more achieved than when we were born, with the world no better for our lives. But we shall

live for ever in the results of our efforts. . . . I did not make much use of my life before the war," he adds, "but I think I have done so now." Do you understand, my brethren? The young officers who wrote those letters had made the great discovery that a task, however arduous, that is courageously undertaken and faithfully carried through, does bring a great interest and a great happiness into life, and that a man may find contentment, even amid circumstances of horror, when he loyally devotes himself to his appointed duty. And have we not made the same discovery at home? Have we not found ourselves, even when most worn out with war-work, a thousand times healthier and a thousand times happier than in the lazy pre-war days, when we had hardly anything to occupy us? Oh, the boredom of those days! the almost intolerable weariness! You have all, I suppose, read Kipps, by Mr. H. G. Wells, and you will remember the ennui of Kipps in idleness and prosperity. It is summed up in this brief dialogue. “Wonder what I shall do this afternoon,' said Kipps, with his hands deep in his pockets. He pondered and lit a cigarette. Go for a walk, I s'pose,' said Ann. 'I been for a walk this morning.' 'S'pose I must go for another,' he added after an interval." Oh, the boredom of it all! And some of us were just like that.

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We had nothing whatever to do-no business, no employment-and of course we were bored to extinction. But now our country has called us and set us all to work, and we no longer have any time to think about our moods and feelings. We have our definite task to perform, our definite service to render, and both physically and mentally and morally and spiritually we are infinitely the better for it.

And then we have learned another thing. We have learned that if work is to be done, and done on the big scale, we must do it under discipline. We did not understand that at the beginning of the war. In those days all kinds of people volunteered for work, and they all had their preferences as to the work they wished to do, and they all had their theories as to the proper way of doing it, and everybody wanted to be at the head of everything. And then authority came in and sorted those people out. And the lady who had volunteered to manage a private hospital was allotted the humble duty of answering the door or washing the dishes in the kitchen; and the man who had thought himself competent to run a great public department was set down. to tie up parcels or direct envelopes in an office. And the remarkable thing is that, after the first disappointment and annoyance, the majority of people submitted cheerfully to this discipline. They put themselves under orders. They consented without reservation to do what they were told, and at the time when they were told, and in the regulation fashion. And they have

stuck to their work magnificently. Indeed I think that there is nothing finer in the history of the war at home than the dogged persistence with which thousands of men and women have kept on, day after day and month after month, toiling away at menial tasks, plodding conscientiously at uninteresting duties; never resigning, never giving in, never threatening to "down tools," never shirking their work or doing it by fits and starts, but carrying on steadily through good report and evil report, because they were told to carry on, and because for their country's sake they were glad to do as they were ordered. No wonder that with such discipline prodigious tasks have been accomplished! It is obedience that makes work practicable. There is a quaint poem of Rudyard Kipling, called "Mulholland's Contract," which goes to the root of the matter. A rough cattle-boat man, in peril of his life, makes a "contract" with the Almighty that, if he be saved from drowning, he will henceforth obey His orders. After his escape he recollects his vow.

"An' I spoke to God of our Contract, an' He says to my prayer: 'I never puts on My ministers no more than they can bear.

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'So back you go to the cattle-boats an' preach My Gospel there...

They must quit drinkin' an' swearin', they mustn't knife on a blow, 'They must quit gamblin' their wages, and you must preach it so ; 'For now those boats are more like Hell than anything else I know.'

I didn't want to do it, for I knew what I should get,

An' I wanted to preach Religion handsome an' out of the wet,
But the Word of the Lord were lain on me, an' I done what I was

set."

That is it. That is the

Doing what we are set. secret of all good work. "I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it." There, I repeat, is the secret of achievement. So long as each one is intent only on doing the work he likes, or the work which will bring him credit, or the work which he fancies to be worthy of his ability, nothing really great gets done. But when all submit to discipline, and each does the work that is given him to do, and does it with all his might and as perfectly as possible, then everything gets done.

Let us note one last lesson of work that has been taught us by the war. God works with the honest workers. God helps those who help themselves. And He does not help those who are too indolent to help themselves. He does not help the nation that is slothful and self-indulgent and given up to pleasure and neglectful of its duty. You remember, of course, how it was in the early period of the war. We did not want to get to work. We hoped that someone else would do the dirty business for us. We clung to our football and our race-meetings and other amusements, and thought that the work of the war could be done by our gallant army. The French would be there, of course; and the "Russian steam-roller" would sooner or later come along and lay the enemy out flat; and, if the worst came to the worst, why, then Providence would intervene-for is it not the part of Providence to defend the cause of

righteousness? So we thought to get out of the trouble. We expected to be let off with financing the concern and chanting the Te Deum when the war was ended. But then you will also remember how almost everything went wrong. Blunder followed blunder. Disaster succeeded disaster. We squandered men and money and material and opportunities. We suffered reverses, and our Allies suffered reverses, and God-well, God just waited, waited till we should approve ourselves deserving of His succour. And thus we learned at last one more great lesson of the war. God helps men only when they help themselves. He works for them only when they make themselves His co-workers. That is the rigorous condition. When men refuse to work, refuse to make their contribution, refuse to perform their part in the sprit of loyal co-operation, they had better not rely on God, for God will do nothing for them. No. There is no help for the laggard, the lethargic and the lazy. It is toil, it is disciplined energy, it is working out our own salvation, that alone merits the Divine favour which, whether in peace or in war, will carry us through to success and victory. "Do your work," says Emerson," and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce yourself. Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much."

Let me say just one thing in conclusion. We in England are getting through an immense amount of work to-day but there is still more to be done in

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