Witness the lonely lamp of Erasmus, the cell of Galileo, the dying bed of Pascal, the scaffold of Sidney--all fighters for truth against the masses who cannot think for themselves.
Truth was, indeed, a potent factor in civilisation.

If only all truth-lovers could feel bound together by the sacred ties of fraternal good-will, independent yet acknowledging the sovereignty of Omnipotence, succeeding ages could but add a new lustre to their present resplendent glory.
Truth, triumphant out of oppression, is a tear falling on the world's cold cheek to make it burn forever.

Why fear the revelation of truth?
Greece had her Athens and her Corinth, but where is Greece to-day?
Rome, too, Imperial Rome, with all her pomp and polish! They were, but they are not--for want of Truth.

But might not we hope for a land where Truth would reign--from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the lakes of the frozen North to the ever-tepid waters of the sunny South?
Truth is the grand motor-power which, like a giant engine, has rolled the car of civilisation out from the maze of antiquity where it now waits to be freighted with the precious fruits of living genius.
The young man's final flight was observed by Aunt Bell to impress visibly even the bishop--a personage whom she had begun to suspect was the least bit cynical, perhaps from having listened to many first sermons.
"Standing one day," it began, "near the summit of one of the grand old Rocky Mountains that in primeval ages was elevated from ocean's depths and now towers its snow-capped peak heavenward touching the azure blue, I witnessed a scene which, for beauty of illustration of the thought in hand, the world cannot surpass.

Placing my feet upon a solid rock, I saw, far down in the valley below, the tempest gathering.