All Prayers Die In The Air Which

The Savage Prays To A Stone That He Calls A God, While The Christian Prays To A God He Calls A Spirit, And The Prayers Of Both Are Equally Useful.

For Ages, A Deadly Conflict Has Been Waged Between A Few Brave Men And Women Of Thought And Genius Upon The One Side, And The Great Ignorant Religious Mass On The Other. This Is The War Between Science And Faith. The Few Have Appealed To Reason, To Honor, To Law, To Freedom, To The Known, And To Happiness Here In This World. The Many Have Appealed To Prejudice, To Fear, To Miracle, To Slavery, To The Unknown, And To Misery Hereafter. The Few Have Said "think" The Many Have Said "believe!"

The Record Of A Generous Life Runs Like A Vine Around The Memory Of Our Dead, And Every Sweet Unselfish Act Is Now A Perfumed Flower.

Who Can Over Estimate The Progress Of The World If All The Money Wasted In Superstition Could Be Used To Enlighten, Elevate And Civilize Mankind?

The Old Man Has Been Long At The Fair. He Is Acquainted With The Jugglers At The Booths. His Curiosity Has Been Satisfied. He No Longer Cares For The Exceptional, The Monstrous, The Marvelous And Deformed. He Looks Through And Beyond The Gilding, The Glitter And Gloss, Not Only Of Things, But Of Conduct, Of Manners, Theories, Religions And Philosophies. He Sees Clearer. The Light No Longer Shines In His Eyes.