On a dark, stormy, night, when the waves rolled like mountains, and not a star was to be seen, a boat, rocking and plunging, neared the Cleveland harbor. “Are you sure this is Cleveland?” asked the captain, seeing only one light from the lighthouse. “Quite sure, Sir,” replied the pilot. “Where are the lower lights?” “Gone out, Sir.” “Can you make the harbor?” “We must, or perish, Sir!” And with a strong hand and a brave heart, the old pilot turned the wheel. But alas, in the darkness he missed the channel, and with a crash upon the rocks the boat was shivered, and many a life lost in a watery grave. Brethren, the Master will take care of the great lighthouse; Let Us Keep the Lower Lights Burning!
—D.L. Moody
