There are three classes in the Christian life; the men of the wing, the men of the couch, and the men of the road.

The first are those who fly before; they are the pioneers of progress; they are in advance of their fellows.

The second are those who stand still, or rather lie still; they are the invalids of the human race—they come not to minister but to be ministered unto.

The third are those who follow; they are the ambulance corps of humanity; they are the sacrificial souls that come on behind. I think with John that these last are the most beautiful souls of all. They are lovely in their unobtrusiveness; they do not wish to lead, choosing rather to be in the rear; they come forward only when others are driven backward. They want no glory from the battle, no wreath for the victory, no honorable mention among the heroes. They seek the wounded, the dying, the dead; they anoint for life’s burial; they bring spices for the crucified; they give the cup of cold water; they wash the soiled feet. They break the fall of Adam; of Magdalene. They take in Saul of Tarsus after he becomes blind. They are attracted by defects; they are lured by every form of helplessness.

They come out to meet the shadows: they go in the track not of the lark, but of the nightingale; they follow the Lamb.

Give me the trouble without the glitter, O Lord! Let others lead! I am content to follow. Help me to serve Thee in the background! Is it not written they that tarry at home divide the spoil? I cannot fight Thy battles, but I can nurse Thy wounded. I cannot repel Thy foes, but I can repair Thy fortress. I cannot conduct Thy marches, but I can succor those who have fainted by the way.

Write my name amongst those who follow Thee!

O Captain of my Salvation, put me with the ambulance corps! GEORGE MATHESON

What though the hindmost place is thine, And thou art in the rear? This need not cause thy heart a pang, Nor cost thine eye a tear.

The post of duty is the place Where oft the Captain shows His face.

All cannot charge or lead the van, All can be brave and true; And where the Captain’s standards wave There’s work for all to do; And work from which thou may’st not flee, Which must be done, and done by thee.

Among the stragglers, faint and few, Thou dost thy march pursue; This need not make thy heart to droop, The weak may yet be true; Through many a dark and stormy day The Captain thus holds on His way.