THE BOOK OF 
 COMFOFLT 
 
 J. fL. MILLER, 
 
 IJ 
 
LIBRARY OF PRINCETON 
 
 JAN 14 2004 
 
 THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 BV 4905 .M55 1912 
 Miller, J. R. 1840-1912 
 The book of comfort 
 
 ^HS 
 
(Cfjc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
DR. J. R. MILLER'S BOOKS 
 
 A Heart Garden 
 Beauty of Every Day 
 Beauty of Self-Control 
 Bethlehem to Olivet 
 Book of Comfort 
 Building of Character 
 Come ye Apart 
 Dr. Miller's Year Book 
 Evening Thoughts 
 Every Day of Life 
 Finding the Way 
 For the Best Things 
 Gate Beautiful 
 Glimpses through Life's 
 
 WlNDOV^'S 
 
 Go Forward 
 
 Golden Gate of Prayer 
 
 Hidden Life 
 
 Joy of Service 
 Joy of the Lord 
 Learning to Love 
 Lesson of Love 
 Making the Most of Life 
 Ministry of Comfort 
 Morning Thoughts 
 Personal Friendships of 
 
 Jesus 
 Silent Times 
 Story of a Busy Life 
 Strength and Beauty 
 Things to Live For 
 Upper Currents 
 When the Song Begins 
 Wider Life 
 Young People's Problems 
 
 BOOKLETS 
 
 Beauty of Kindness 
 Blessing of Cheerfulness 
 By the Still Waters 
 Christmas Making 
 Cure for Care 
 Face of the Master 
 Gentle Heart 
 Girls : Faults and Ideals 
 Glimpses of the Heavenly 
 
 Life 
 Hov^? When? Where? 
 In Perfect Peace 
 Inner Life 
 Loving my Neighbor 
 
 Marriage Altar 
 Mary of Bethany 
 Masters Friendships 
 Secret of Gladness 
 Secrets of Happy Home 
 
 Life 
 Summer Gathering 
 To-day and To-morrow 
 Transfigured Life 
 Turning Northward 
 Unto the Hills 
 Young Men : Faults and 
 
 Ideals 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
2?ciofe of Comfort 
 
 BY 
 
 J. R. MILLER 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 'silent TIMES," "upper CURRENTS," "a HEART GARDEN, 
 
 "the beauty of SELF-CONTROL," ETC. 
 
 LIBRARY OF I'FINCETON 
 
 THEOLOG1CA1,;>EM1NAR1 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1912, 
 By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY. 
 
 Published October, 1912. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The manuscript of ''The Book of Comfort 
 was nearly ready for the press when Dr. 
 Miller was called to his reward, July 2, 1912. 
 He was busy revising some of the chapters not 
 long before his death; the original manuscript 
 is filled with interlineations and corrections in 
 his trembling handwriting; to the last he 
 wished to use his failing strength in perfect- 
 ing the messages that would make his readers 
 better acquainted with the Friend to whom 
 his life was given. 
 
 Every chapter gives hints of the ripening 
 for heaven of a life that had always been so 
 like the life of the Master that a friend said 
 of him: ''The sweetness of his presence in 
 our home was just like what I think the 
 presence of Jesus must have been in the home 
 of Mary and Martha.'' Thus the chapter 
 "When We Are Laid Aside'* was written when 
 [v] 
 
iForetoorb 
 
 the infirmities of years kept him from many 
 of the activities in which he had always de- 
 lighted; while *' The Christian View of Death" 
 was the expression of his own attitude as he 
 waited for the summons of the King. 
 
 It has been a labor of love to complete the 
 preparation for the press of this yearns 
 volume in the series of Dr. Miller*s mar- 
 velously helpful devotional books. 
 
 John T. Faris. 
 Philadelphia, August 6, 1912. 
 
 [vi] 
 
TITLES OF CHAPTERS 
 
 I. Speak Ye Comfortably Page 1 
 
 II. The Ministry of Comfort 13 
 
 III. How Christ Comforts His Friends 23 
 
 IV. Be of Good Cheer 35 
 V. Does God Care ? 45 
 
 VI. "You Will Not Mind the Rough- 
 ness " 57 
 VII. ' ' Why Does No One Ever See God ? " 67 
 VIII. The One Who Stands By 77 
 IX. After Bereavement— What ? 87 
 X. Comfort through Personal Help- 
 fulness 95 
 XL Christ and I Are Friends 105 
 XII. More than Conquerors 117 
 
 XIII. Reaching for the Mountain Splen- 
 
 dors 133 
 
 XIV. Life's Open Doors 145 
 XV. Some Lessons on Spiritual Growth 155 
 
 XVI. The Thanksgiving Lesson 165 
 [vil] 
 
Cities of Chapters; 
 
 XVII. The Indispensable Christ Page 173 
 
 XVIII. In That Which is Least 183 
 
 XIX. The Master and the Children 193 
 
 XX. Portions for Those Who Lack 203 
 
 XXI. Slow and Steady Advance the 
 
 Best 211 
 
 XXII. What to do with our Unequal 
 
 Chance 219 
 
 XXin. " If Two OF You Shall Agree " 227 
 
 XXIV. When We are Laid Aside 237 
 
 XXV. Face to Face with One's Own Life 249 
 
 XXVI. The Meaning of Immortality 257 
 
 XXVII. The Christian View of Death 269 
 
 [ viii ] 
 
^pcafe ge Comfortalilp 
 
Remember, three things come not back; 
 
 The arrow sent upon its track — 
 
 It will not swerve, it will not stay 
 
 Its speed, it flies to wound or slay; 
 
 The spoken word, so soon forgot 
 
 By thee, but it has perished not; 
 
 In other hearts 'tis living still, 
 
 And doing work for good or ill; 
 
 And the lost opportunity 
 
 That Cometh back no more to thee — 
 
 In vain thou weepest, in vain dost yearn. 
 
 Those three will nevermore return. 
 
 From the Arabic. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 ^peafe ge Comfortablp 
 
 HERE is need always for com- 
 fortable words. Always there is 
 sorrow. Everywhere hearts are 
 breaking. There is no one who is 
 not made happier by gentle speech. Yet there 
 is in the world a dearth of comfortable words. 
 Some people scarcely ever speak them. Their 
 tones are harsh. There seems no kindness 
 in their hearts. They are gruif, severe, quer- 
 ulous. Even in the presence of suffering and 
 sorrow they evince no tenderness. 
 
 "Speak ye comfortably" is a divine exhorta- 
 tion. That is the way God wants us to speak 
 to each other. That is the way God himself 
 ever speaks to his children. The Bible is 
 full of comfortable words. We would say 
 that in view of the wickedness of men, their 
 ingratitude, the base return they make for 
 God's goodness, the way they stain the earth 
 with sin, God would be angry with them every 
 [3] 
 
Cije 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 day. But instead of anger, only love is 
 shown. He is ever speaking in words of lov- 
 ing kindness. He maketh his sun to rise on 
 the evil and the good, and sendeth the rain 
 on the just and the unjust. Every message 
 he sends is love. All his thoughts toward his 
 children are peace. The most wonderful ex- 
 pression of his heart toward the world was 
 in the giving of Christ. He was the Word, 
 the revealer of the heart of God. He never 
 spoke so comfortably to men as when he sent 
 his Son. 
 
 Who can measure the comfort that was 
 given to the world in Jesus Christ .^^ Never 
 an unkind word fell from his lips, never a 
 frown was seen on his brow. Think of the 
 comfortable words he spoke in his mother's 
 home. He was a sinless child, never giving 
 way to angry words or violent tempers. His 
 youth and manhood were without a trace of 
 unlovingness. Then we know what he was 
 during his public ministry — having all power, 
 but gentle as a woman; able to call legions 
 of angels to defend himself, but without re- 
 [4] 
 
^peak ge Comfortablp 
 
 sentment, returning only gracious love for 
 cruelty and bitter hate. 
 
 Think of the comfortable words he spoke 
 to the sick who were brought to him for heal- 
 ing, to the mourners sitting beside their dead, 
 to the weary ones who came to him to find the 
 warmth of love in his presence. The minis- 
 try of his gracious words as they were uttered 
 by his lips and fell into sad and discouraged 
 hearts was marvelous in its influence. 
 
 In his life Christ set an example for us. 
 He wants us ever to be speaking comfortable 
 words. We shall not meet a man to-morrow 
 in our going about who will not need the 
 comfortable word that we are able to speak. 
 The gift of speech is marvelous in its possi- 
 bilities. Man is the only one of God's crea- 
 tures to whom this gift is given. This is 
 one of the qualities that makes him Godlike. 
 It is never meant to be perverted — it was 
 intended always to be beautiful and pleasing. 
 Dumbness is very sad — when one cannot 
 speak. But would not one better be dumb 
 than use his divine gift of speech in anger 
 [5] 
 
'^Tfjc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 to hurt others ? Yet how many are those who 
 never speak but to give pain ? The hurt that 
 is done any fairest day by words is incal- 
 culable. War is terrible. Who can describe 
 the ruin wrought by shot and shell rained 
 upon a city of homes, leaving devastation 
 everywhere. Words may not lacerate, mangle 
 like the missiles of war, but they may be 
 almost as deadly in the cruel work they do. 
 God wants us to use our speech to speak only 
 and ever comfortably. 
 
 When this message was first given to the 
 prophets, it had a definite meaning. The 
 people were in sore straits. They were suffer- 
 ing. They were in sorrow because of the 
 judgments visited upon the land and upon 
 the holy city. "Jerusalem lay in ruins, a 
 city through whose breached walls all the 
 winds of heaven blew mournfully across her 
 forsaken floors. And the heart of Jerusalem, 
 which was with her people in exile, was like 
 the city — broken and defenseless. In that 
 far-off, unsympathetic land it lay open to the 
 alien; tyrants forced their idols upon it. the 
 [6] 
 
^peafe ge Comfortablp 
 
 people tortured it with their jests." It was 
 to these people in sorrow and distress that 
 God bade his heralds go with divine comfort. 
 The words were remarkable for their tender- 
 ness. The heralds were to go to carry com- 
 fort to these broken-hearted ones. 
 
 The words, "Speak ye comfortably," have 
 in them therefore a divine sobbing of love. 
 God cares that men and women and children 
 about us are sad. He knows their distress 
 and pities them. He would have us go out 
 to them in his name, carrying in our hearts 
 and upon our lips the echo of his compassion 
 and yearning. It is our privilege to repre- 
 sent God himself in our relations with people 
 about us. How can the gentleness of God be 
 passed to those who are being hurt by the 
 world's cruelty and unkindness, if not through 
 us, God's children .? Who will carry God's 
 sympathy and impart God's comfort to those 
 who are sorrowing and broken-hearted if we 
 do not? God needs us to be his messengers, 
 his interpreters. If we do not faithfully and 
 truly represent him, how will people in their 
 [7] 
 
<€ht 2^oofe of Comfort 
 
 suffering and distress know his gracious in- 
 terest in them and his compassionate feeHng 
 toward them? If we fail in showing kindness 
 to those who are in need, if we treat them with 
 coldness, withholding our hands from the min- 
 istries of love which we might have performed 
 for them, we are not only robbing them of the 
 blessing which we ought to have given them, 
 but we are also failing to be true to God, 
 are misrepresenting him, giving men false 
 conceptions of his character and his disposi- 
 tion toward them. Men learn what God is 
 and what his attitude toward them is only 
 when his own friends are faithful to all their 
 duties and responsibilities. 
 
 When one in trouble receives no kindness, 
 no help, when one in sorrow receives no sym- 
 pathy and comfort, it is not because God does 
 not care, but because some child of God 
 neglects his duty. A story is told of a child 
 sitting sadly one day on a door-step when a 
 kindly man was passing by. "Are you God ?" 
 the child asked. The man was struck by the 
 strange question. "No," he answered. "I 
 [8] 
 
^peafe ge Comfortablp 
 
 am not God, but God sent me here, I think." 
 "Weren't you a long time coming?" the boy 
 asked. Then he told the passer-by that when 
 his mother had died a little while ago, she 
 told him that God would care for him. The 
 boy had been watching for God to come. Too 
 often not God, but those he sends are long 
 in coming to speak for God or to bring 
 the relief or comfort God sends by them. 
 People in distress, who have learned to be- 
 lieve that God will provide for them, are 
 ofttimes compelled to wait long, until their 
 hearts grow almost faint before the blessing 
 comes. Sometimes they begin to wonder 
 whether after all God really hears prayers 
 and keeps his promises while the delay is not 
 with God, but with us who are so long 
 coming. 
 
 "Speak ye comfortably." We need to train 
 ourselves to remember that we are God's mes- 
 sengers, that it is ours to be attent to any 
 bidding of our Master and to go quickly with 
 any message of relief or cheer, or comfort 
 he gives us to carry. We must not linger or 
 
 [9] 
 
Cije 2?oofe of Cotnfort 
 
 loiter. The need may be urgent. The per- 
 son may be near death. Or the distress may 
 be so keen that it cannot be endured a mo- 
 ment longer. What if the sufferer should 
 die before we reach him.? We are sent to 
 give comfort to one who is in the anguish of 
 bereavement. We hesitate and shrink from 
 carrying our message. Meanwhile the bereft 
 one has come back from the grave to the deso- 
 lated home and the emptiness and silence. 
 God's heart is full of compassion and he has 
 blessed comfort for his child, but there is no 
 one to go with the message. There are Bibles 
 in the sad home, but there is no human mes- 
 senger to speak the comfortable words. It 
 needs a gentle heart to bring in tender and 
 loving words and in warm, throbbing touch 
 the comfort that is needed. We fail God 
 while we do not hasten on his errand to our 
 friend who sits uncomforted in the shadows. 
 We try to excuse ourselves by saying that we 
 ought not to break in on our friend's sorrow, 
 that we should make our condolences formal, 
 that it would be rude and could only add to 
 [10] 
 
^peafe ge Comfortatilp 
 
 the pain if we were to try to speak of the 
 sorrow. This may be true of the world of 
 people in general, but there is always one to 
 whom God gives the message, "Go and speak 
 comfortably," one who w^ill fail God if he does 
 not carry the message, leaving the heart to 
 break when God wanted it to be relieved and 
 comforted. 
 
 [11] 
 
Cije Miniitx^ of Comfort 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 ofttimes that they gave but small help. The 
 burden of sorrow was not lighter after they 
 had gone. No new light broke through the 
 clouds upon those who sorrowed as they 
 listened to the words of their friends. Their 
 hearts were not quieted. They had learned 
 no new song of joy. 
 
 It is worth our while to learn what true 
 comfort is and how we can speak comfortably 
 to others. No ministry is more needed or 
 finds more frequent opportunity for exercise. 
 No men, in any community, become so highly 
 esteemed and loved while the years go by as 
 those who are wise in giving comfort to others. 
 The sad and weary turn to them for cheer 
 and help. They always have a word to give 
 which imparts strength. 
 
 Those who would be wise in comforting 
 must be sympathetic. They must be patient 
 with even the smallest griefs of others. It is 
 not easy for the strong to sympathize with 
 the weak. They cannot understand how little 
 sufferings and troubles, such as those which 
 seem so hard for others to bear, should really 
 [16] 
 
Cfje JfltSinistrp of Comfort 
 
 cause any distress. They are disposed to 
 laugh at the complaints of those who seem to 
 have so little of which to complain. No doubt 
 there are many people who make altogether 
 too much of very small cares and difficulties. 
 They fret over every imaginable incon- 
 venience or discomfort. No matter how well 
 they are, they imagine they have many ills 
 and can never talk to any one without speak- 
 ing of their ailments. They magnify the 
 minutest sufferings and sorrows. It seems to 
 be their natural disposition to think them- 
 selves particularly unfortunate. They find 
 their chief pleasure apparently in having 
 others commiserate them and sympathize with 
 them. 
 
 It is not easy for persons of strong, whole- 
 some spirit, used to look with contempt on 
 little trials and sufferings in their own life, 
 to have patience with those who are really 
 weak and unable to endure, or with those who 
 so magnify their little ills and troubles. But 
 if the strong would become real helpers of 
 the weak, they must learn to be patient with 
 [17] 
 
Cijc 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 every phase of their weakness and to conde- 
 scend to it. Indeed, weakness of this kind 
 needs comfort that will cure it and transform 
 it into manly strength. Sympathy, to be 
 truly rich and adequate, in its helpfulness, 
 must be able to enter into every form of suf- 
 fering, even the smallest, and to listen to 
 every kind of complaining and discontent, to 
 every fear and anxiety, however needless. It 
 was thus that Christ condescended to all 
 human fraility. He never treated any one's 
 trouble, however small, or any one's worry, 
 however groundless, with lightness, as if it 
 were unimportant. He bade to come to him 
 all who were weary, receiving graciously 
 every one who came. He was infinitely 
 strong, but his strength was infinitely gentle 
 to the weakest. Nothing in this world is 
 more beautiful than the sight of a strong man 
 giving his strength to one who is weak, that 
 he may help him also to grow strong. 
 
 Another class who find it hard to sympa- 
 thize with sorrow are those who never have 
 any sorrow of their own. They have been 
 [18] 
 
Cte JfltSiniStrp of Comfort 
 
 reared in sheltered homes, with love and ten- 
 derness all about them. They have never 
 had a want unmet. They have never known 
 hardship. They have never watched by the 
 death-bed of a loved one and there has been 
 no break in their home circle. They have 
 never had a bitter disappointment in their 
 life. What do they know of the experiences 
 of suffering, of pain, of anguish, of struggle, 
 of want, which comes to such multitudes in 
 some form or other in life? These cannot 
 sympathize with their fellows in their trials, 
 in the things that make their life so hard. 
 They do not understand what these expe- 
 riences mean. 
 
 An artist has painted a picture which rep- 
 resents the scene of the crucifixion after 
 it w^as all over. The crowd has gone. The 
 cross is empty. The thorn-crown is lying on 
 a rock, and an angel is looking at it, with his 
 finger touching one of its sharp thorns won- 
 deringly. He is trying to learn wliat pain 
 is. He had beheld the anguish of the Son of 
 God on the cross, and could not understand 
 
 [19] 
 
Cfje 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 the mjstcrj. The angels cannot understand 
 our sufFcring, for they have never suffered. 
 Nor can men who have never had pain or 
 sorrow understand these experiences in us. 
 They may pity us when they see us enduring 
 our sufferings, but they cannot sympathize 
 with us. Before we can be true comforters 
 of others, we must know in our own lives the 
 meaning of the things that give us pain or 
 distress. If we do not, we cannot help them 
 by any words we may say to them. There 
 is nothing in our experience to interpret to 
 us what they are suffering. If we would help 
 those who are in trouble, we must know what 
 comfort really is. Many people do not. 
 Many think that if they weep with those who 
 weep they have comforted them. There is a 
 measure of help in this. It does us good when 
 we are suffering to know that another feels 
 with us. It brings another life into fellow- 
 ship with ours. We are not alone — somebody 
 cares. This makes us stronger to endure. We 
 can bear our pain better if a friend holds 
 our hand. 
 
 [20] 
 
Cfje jfltainistrp of Comfort 
 
 This is the only way some people think of 
 giving comfort. They sit down beside us and 
 listen to our recital of grief. They let us 
 tell it out in all its details. They encourage 
 us to dwell on the painful incidents. They 
 give expression to their pity, entering with 
 us into our suffering as if it were their own. 
 They dwell on the bitterness of our trial, 
 emphasizing its sharpness and poignancy, 
 thus adding to our pain and distress. Then 
 they rise and go their way, leaving us just 
 where they found us when they came in. 
 They have shown their interest in us, their 
 sympathy with us. But they have not given 
 us the best comfort. 
 
 The w^ord "comfort" is from a root that 
 means to strengthen. In our modern use of 
 the word we have almost dropped this thought 
 of its original sense. But we would better 
 recall it. To comfort is to strengthen. When 
 we would give comfort to others, we are not 
 merely to let them know we are their friends 
 and are sorry for them. Wo are not just 
 to try in some way to alleviate their pain. 
 [21] 
 
Cftc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 It is not enough tliat we in some measure 
 relieve their distress. We arc to seek to have 
 them grow strong so that they can endure the 
 trouble and rejoice in it. 
 
 This should be our aim in our ministry of 
 comfort to others. We have not finished our 
 work w^ith them, therefore, until we have 
 brought them some divine truth which will 
 cast light on their sorrows, which will inspire 
 them with hope and courage. 
 
 The comforter needs gentleness, for a harsh 
 word would make the sorrow deeper. He 
 needs patience, for grief yields slowly even 
 to most faithful love. He needs tenderness 
 like a mother's. God says to his afflicted ones, 
 "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will 
 I comfort thee." A father's comfort is dif- 
 ferent from a mother's, and if we would be 
 like God we must learn from mothers how^ to 
 comfort. He who would give comfort must 
 have faith. He must believe in God, must 
 know him, must be sure of God's love. Then 
 he will know how to sustain with words him 
 that is weary. 
 
 [22] 
 
J^oto €i)vist Comforts ^is iFricnbs 
 
Not so in haste, my heart! 
 
 Have faith in God and wait. 
 Although he lingers long, 
 
 He never comes too late. 
 
 He never comes too late. 
 
 He knov^eth what is best; 
 Vex not thyself in vain; 
 
 Until he cometh, rest. 
 
 Until he cometh, rest. 
 
 Nor grudge the hours that roll; 
 The feet that wait for God 
 
 Are soonest at the goal. 
 
 Are soonest at the goal 
 
 That is not gained by speed; 
 Then hold thee still, my heart. 
 
 For I shall wait his lead. 
 
 Bradford Torrey. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 l^oto Cfjrisit Comforts; #i£( £titnhi 
 
 ]HE little Twenty-third Psalm is 
 the most familiar portion of the 
 Bible and is oftenest read. It 
 has comforted more sorrow than 
 any other composition the world possesses. 
 Next to it the Fourteenth Chapter of John 
 is the best known of all the Scriptures. It 
 is a chapter of comfort. How many tears it 
 has dried ! To how many sorrowing hearts 
 has it brought peace! Its words were first 
 spoken to a company of broken-hearted 
 friends who thought they never could be 
 comforted. It is well to study how Jesus, the 
 truest comforter the world ever has known, 
 consoled his friends. 
 
 Look at the way Jesus comforts his disci- 
 ples. First of all, in that saddest of all hours 
 he bade them not to be troubled. Yet they 
 were about to lose their best friend. How 
 [25] 
 
Ctje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 could they but be troubled? He comes to his 
 friends to-day in their bereavement with 
 the same word: "Let not your heart be 
 troubled." This is not mere professional con- 
 solation. As Jesus saw it that night, there 
 was no reason why the disciples should be 
 troubled. As Jesus sees it, there is no reason 
 why you should be troubled, even though you 
 are watching your dearest friend pass away in 
 what you call death. It is only the earth 
 side of the event that you see, and it seems 
 terrible to you. The friends of Jesus thought 
 they were losing him and for ever. He had 
 been a wonderful friend. He had a rich na- 
 ture, a noble personality, power to love deeply, 
 capacity for unselfish friendship, and was able 
 to inspire us to all worthy life. The disciples 
 thought they were about to lose all that. 
 
 You think you are losing all friendship's 
 best in the departure of your friend. Yet 
 Jesus, looking upon his disciples and looking 
 upon you, bids you not to be troubled. Death 
 is not an experience which harms the believing 
 one who passes through it. The Christian 
 [26] 
 
J^otu Cfjrist Comforts #is; JFricnbS 
 
 mother who died this afternoon is not troubled 
 and in sorrow where she is to-night. Dying 
 has not disturbed her happiness — she never 
 was happier than she is now. Leaving her 
 children behind has not broken her heart nor 
 filled her with distress and anxiety concerning 
 them. As she looks upon them from her new 
 point of view, on death's other side, there is 
 no cause for grief or fear. They are in the 
 divine care which is so loving, so wise, so 
 gentle, and so far-reaching, that she has not 
 a shadow of uncertainty regarding them. 
 The children are in distress because they have 
 lost their mother who has been so much to 
 them. They cannot endure the thought of 
 going on without their mother's love and ten- 
 derness, her guidance and shelter. Yet the 
 Master says to them : "Do not be troubled." 
 He means that if they understood all that has 
 taken place as he understands it, if they knew 
 what dying has meant to their mother, and 
 what the divine love will mean to them in the 
 days to come, they would not be troubled. 
 What seems to them calamity would appear 
 [27] 
 
Cl)c 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 perfect good if they could see it from the 
 heavenly side. 
 
 Jesus told his disciples what they should 
 do. "Believe in God, believe also in me." 
 They could not understand that hour why all 
 was well, why nothing was going wrong, why 
 good would be the outcome of all the things 
 that then seemed so terrible. They could not 
 see how their loss would become gain when it 
 was all wrought out to the end, how what 
 appeared the destruction of their hopes would 
 prove to be the glorious fulfilling of those 
 hopes. Yet they were to believe. That is, 
 they were to commit all the broken things of 
 their hearts that night into God's hands, 
 trust him, and have no fear, no anxiety, no 
 doubt. They themselves could not bring good 
 out of all this evil, but God could, and faith 
 was committing the whole matter to him. 
 
 "Believe in God." Jesus had taught them 
 a new name for God. He was their Father. 
 A whole world of love-thoughts was in that 
 name. The very hairs of their heads were 
 numbered. Not a sparrow could fall to the 
 [28] 
 
^o\3i Cijrifit Comforts; ^ii Stitnhi 
 
 ground without their Father, which meant 
 that the divine care took in all the events of 
 their lives, all the smallest incidents of their 
 affairs. We are to believe absolutely in the 
 love of God, and trust him though we cannot 
 see. We do not need to understand, we do not 
 have to know — the eternal God is caring for 
 us and nothing can ever go wrong in his 
 hands. "Believe in God." 
 
 "Believe also in me." They had been be- 
 lieving in Jesus Christ, thinking that he was 
 their Messiah. "Thou art the Christ," Peter 
 had confessed. But they were now in danger 
 of losing faith in him when they saw him sent 
 to the cross. He called them to keep their 
 faith through the terrible hours just before 
 them. We are always in danger of losing 
 faith in Christ in time of great sorrow or 
 of trouble that sweeps away our hopes. 
 Again and again Christian people in grief 
 and loss are heard asking, "Why does Christ 
 let me suffer thus? If he loves me, how is 
 it that he allows me to be thus troubled?" 
 The trouble is that our vision is short-sighted. 
 
 [29] 
 
fCfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 Wc are impatient and cannot wait. The go- 
 ing away of their Master left the disciples in 
 despair. They thought they were losing him. 
 They did not know that his going away was 
 part of his love for them, its highest expres- 
 sion, that none of the things about him they 
 had believed had failed. We need to con- 
 tinue to believe in Christ though everything 
 seems to have gone from us. His way is 
 always right. One comfort comes through 
 abiding trust in him. 
 
 Jesus went further with his disciples. He 
 told them more. He told them where he was 
 going and what his going away would mean 
 to them. "In my Father's house are many 
 mansions. I go to prepare a place for you." 
 On this earth there is no place so sweet, so 
 sacred, so heart-satisfying as home. It is 
 a place of love. It is a place of confidence. 
 We are sure of home's loved ones. We do 
 not have to be on our guard after we enter 
 our home doors. Home is a refuge in which 
 we are safe from all danger, from injustice, 
 from unkindness. Home is the place where 
 [30] 
 
#otD €i)vi^t Comforte ^ii ifrienbs 
 
 hungry hearts are fed on love's bread. Mrs. 
 Craik, in one of her books, has the fine picture : 
 "Oh, conceive the happiness to know some one 
 dearer to you than your own self, some one 
 breast into which you can pour every thought, 
 every grief, every joy; one person who, if 
 all the rest of the world were to caluminate 
 or forsake you, would never wrong you by 
 a harsh thought or an unjust word; who 
 would cling to you the closer in sickness, in 
 poverty, in care; who would sacrifice all 
 things to you, and for whom you would sac- 
 rifice all; from whom, except by death, night 
 or day, you never can be divided ; whose smile 
 is ever at your hearth ; who has no tears while 
 you are well and happy, and you love the 
 same. Such is marriage," says Mrs. Craik, 
 "if they who marry, have hearts and souls 
 to feel that there is no bond on earth so tender 
 and so sublime." 
 
 This is a glimpse of what ideal home love 
 
 is. We may find the picture partially realized 
 
 in some earthly homes, but in the Father's 
 
 house the realization will be perfect. The 
 
 [31] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 New Testament paints heaven in colors of 
 dazzling splendor, its gates and walls and 
 streets and gardens all of the utmost bril- 
 liance, but no other description means so 
 much to our hearts as that which the Master 
 gives us in these three words. "My Father's 
 house," — Home. One writes: 
 
 "Life changes all our thoughts of heaven: 
 At first, we think of streets of gold, 
 Of gates of pearl and dazzling light. 
 Of shining wings and robes of white. 
 And things all strange to mortal sight. 
 But in the afterward of years 
 It is a more familiar place; 
 A home unhurt by sighs and tears, 
 Where waiteth many a well-known face. 
 With passing months it comes more near; 
 It grows more real day by day — 
 Not strange or cold, but very dear — 
 The glad home-hand, not far away, 
 Where none are sick, or poor, or lone, 
 The place where we shall find our own. 
 And as we think of all we knew 
 Who there have met to part no more. 
 Our longing hearts desire home, too. 
 With all the strife and trouble o'er." 
 
 "My Father's house." That is the place 
 where those we have lost awhile from our 
 [32] 
 
l^otD Cftrist Comforts ^i6 ifrienbg 
 
 earthly homes, falHng asleep in Jesus, are 
 gathering. That is the place to which the 
 angels have carried the babies and the old 
 people, our mothers and fathers and friends 
 who have passed out of our sight. That is 
 the place where the broken Christian life of 
 earth will find its perfectness, "My Father's 
 house," Home. Is there any comfort sweeter 
 than this in the sorrow of our parting from 
 the dear ones who leave us in the experience 
 which we call dying .^^ 
 
 The Master said further in his comforting 
 that he would come and receive his friends 
 to himself. Dying is no accident, therefore. 
 It is merely Christ coming to receive us to 
 himself. Do not think something has gone 
 wrong in the ways of God when you hear that 
 a friend is dead. Your friend passed away 
 the other night. You were expecting that 
 he would be with you for many years. Has 
 Christ any comfort? Yes, in all this exper- 
 ience one of God's plans of love is being ful- 
 filled. The end is home, blessedness. One 
 said, "Yes, but my friend was with me such 
 [33] 
 
'Cfje 2?oofe ot Comfort 
 
 a little while. I could almost wish I had not 
 let my heart fasten its tendrils about the dear 
 life, since so soon it was torn from me." Say 
 it not. It is worth while to love and to let 
 the heart pour out all its sweetness in loving, 
 though it be for a day. 
 
 "Because the rose must fade. 
 Shall I not love the rose? 
 Because the summer shade 
 Passes when winter blows, 
 Shall I not rest me there 
 In the cool air? 
 
 "Because the sunset sky 
 Makes music in my soul. 
 
 Only to fail and die, 
 
 Shall I not take the whole 
 
 Of beauty that it gives 
 
 While yet it lives? 
 
 * * * 
 
 "Ah, yes, because the rose 
 
 Doth fade like sunset skies; 
 
 Because rude winter blows 
 All bare, and music dies — 
 
 Therefore, now is to me 
 
 Eternity." 
 
 [34] 
 
%t of O^oob Ct)cer 
 
Spin cheerfully. 
 
 Nor tearfully, 
 Though wearily you plod; 
 
 Spin carefully, 
 
 Spin prayerfully, 
 But have the thread with God. 
 
 The shuttles of his purpose move 
 
 To carry out his own design; 
 
 Seek not too soon to disapprove 
 
 His work, nor yet assign 
 Dark motives, when, with silent tread. 
 
 You view each sombre fold; 
 For lo! within each darker thread 
 
 There twines a thread of gold. 
 
 Spin cheerfully, 
 
 Not tearfully. 
 He knows the way you plod; 
 
 Spin carefully. 
 
 Spin prayerfully, 
 But leave the thread with God. 
 
 Canadian Home Journal. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 2?e of O^oob Cfjcer 
 
 N the story of his voyage and ship- 
 wreck, we find St. Paul not only 
 cheerful himself, but a giver of 
 cheer to others. The storm had 
 grown fiercer and fiercer. It had simply laid 
 hold of the ship, torn it out of the hands of 
 the officers and seamen, and was forcibly 
 bearing it along in its teeth. There was 
 nobody in command. The record says, "After 
 no long time there beat down from the shore 
 a tempestuous wind, which is called Eura- 
 quilo; and when the ship was caught and 
 could not face the wind, we gave way to it 
 and were driven." No wonder the long hope 
 of being saved was gone. The people on the 
 ship were in despair. 
 
 Then came St. Paul with his inspiring 
 word, "Be of good cheer." That was a splen- 
 did message, and it was not a mere idle or 
 [37] 
 
'Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 empty word. Some people's optimism has 
 no basis. Some people's "Don't worry" is 
 only meaningless talk. But when St. Paul 
 said, "Be of good cheer," he had reasons for 
 saying it. "I beHeve God," he said. And 
 it was not an empty faith he cherished. God 
 had sent an angel to him that night, assuring 
 him of deliverance from the storm, both for 
 himself and for all on the ship. So his words 
 had power over the panic-stricken men on the 
 ship. He besought them to take some food. 
 They had been so terrified that they had eaten 
 almost nothing for fourteen days. He urged 
 them now to eat, and said that not a hair 
 should perish from the head of them. Then, 
 to encourage them by example, he himself 
 took bread, and having thanked God before 
 them all, he broke the bread and began to 
 eat. Then they were all of good cheer, and 
 took some food. 
 
 Note how the one man lifted up a despair- 
 ing company of nearly three hundred men, 
 and gave them cheer. There is no mission of 
 faith and love that is more important and 
 [38] 
 
2?e of O^oob CfjEcr 
 
 Christlikc than that of being encouragers, of 
 giving clieer. Every one needs cheer at some 
 time. Life is hard for many people— ^for 
 some it is hard at all times. Some are always 
 bending under heavy burdens. Some are in 
 storm and darkness many a night. I am not 
 justifying worry. A child of God never 
 should worry. St. Paul said: "Be anxious 
 for nothing." Jesus himself said: "Be not 
 anxious for to-morrow." Discouragement is 
 unbelief, and unbelief is sin. None who love 
 God should ever worry. 
 
 Yet there are many who have burdens, cares, 
 sorrows and trials, who always need encour- 
 agement, and to whom we should ever be 
 saying: "Be of good cheer." There is 
 scarcely a person you will meet to-day or to- 
 morrow who will not be helped on the journey 
 by the hearty word of encouragement which 
 you can so easily give. Jesus told his disci- 
 ples, when he sent them out to preach, not 
 to stop to salute any one by the way. Their 
 mission was urgent, and there was no time 
 to lose in mere courtesies. He did not mean, 
 
 [39] 
 
Cl)c 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 however, to forbid us to show kindness even 
 on our busiest days, or to speak a word to 
 the lowly and suffering ones we meet on the 
 way, even when we are most hurried. 
 
 The example of St. Paul on this ship is full 
 of beautiful and inspiring meaning. We 
 cannot know what those two hundred and 
 seventy-six men would have done if it had 
 not been for his earnest and faithful cheer. 
 There was no other person to say a brave 
 word to them. Think how he lifted them up 
 and made their hearts strong. Let us take 
 the lesson. To-morrow we may be in some 
 panic, may find ourselves in a home of dis- 
 tress, or in the presence of men who are 
 discouraged or cast down. Even if there 
 should be no special trouble, we shall meet 
 people whose hands hang down, whose knees 
 are feeble, to whom no one is giving en- 
 couragement or cheer. 
 
 Have you ever noticed how many people 
 
 were perpetual discouragers? They make 
 
 life harder for every person they meet. They 
 
 tell you you do not look well. They remind 
 
 [40 ] 
 
2^e of <!Boob Cftccr 
 
 you of your paleness or sallowness of com- 
 plexion. If you are sick and they call to see 
 you, they talk ominously of your condition. 
 They seem to think you like that kind of 
 sympathy. When you have had some sorrow 
 or trouble, they appear to think it kind to 
 dwell upon its painful features. They talk 
 pessimistically about your affairs, about re- 
 ligion, about everything. It is hard to speak 
 patiently of this miserable habit of discour- 
 aging others, which is so very common. 
 Thousands of people who love you and mean 
 well by you, unintentionally become hinderers 
 of your progress, dishearteners, and make 
 life harder for you. 
 
 They tell us in mountain regions that ava- 
 lanches are ofttimes hanging poised so deli- 
 cately on the crags that even the reverberation 
 of a whisper on the air may cause them to 
 fall with ruinous effect upon the homes and 
 villages in the valleys. The guides caution 
 tourists at certain points not to speak or 
 sing, lest they cause disaster. There are 
 human lives bearing such burdens of sorrow 
 
 [41] 
 
Cije 2^oofe of Comfort 
 
 and trouble that one disheartening word may 
 bring them despair. We should learn never 
 to give discouragement. It is a crime against 
 humanity. Beware that you never speak 
 dishearteningly to any one. Only love can 
 save the world. No matter how the person 
 may have sinned, only gentleness can save 
 him. 
 
 A newspaper writer makes the sugges- 
 tion that for men like himself some kind 
 of league should be formed by which those 
 who join should bind themselves to say some 
 kind word or do some kind act daily. The 
 editor suggests, however, that only one kind- 
 ness daily is too formal, and altogether too 
 meager. There is need for kindness not once 
 a day to one person, but a thousand times a 
 day, to a thousand persons. There is need 
 for cheer continually. If you can truly say, 
 "I believe God," you cannot but be an en- 
 courager. God himself is a God of cheer. 
 Religion is simply love and kindness. Wash- 
 ington Gladden says that "religion is friend- 
 ship — friendship first with the great Com- 
 [42] 
 
2?c of O^oob Cfjccr 
 
 panion, on the Godward side. Then on the 
 manward side the same is true." To be 
 friends with everybody; to fill every human 
 relation with the spirit of friendship ; is there 
 anything more than this that the wisest and 
 best of men can hope to do? 
 
 So let us seek to make cheer for others 
 wherever we are. You cannot possibly esti- 
 mate the lifting power of such a life as St. 
 Paul's, moving among men. You cannot 
 possibly estimate the lifting power of your 
 own life in the community where you dwell. 
 Let us live so that every one may go away 
 from us heartened and brave. Let our mes- 
 sage ever be, "Be of good cheer, for I believe 
 God." 
 
 "Let us be kind; 
 The way is long and lonely, 
 
 And human hearts are asking for this blessing 
 only — 
 
 That we be kind. 
 
 We cannot know the grief that men may borrow, 
 We cannot see the souls storm-swept by sorrow, 
 But love can shine upon the way to-day, to- 
 morrow — 
 
 Let us be kind. 
 
 [43] 
 
Cfje 25ook of Comfort 
 
 'Let us be kind; 
 
 This is a wealth that has no measure, 
 This is of heaven and earth the highest treasure — 
 Let us be kind. 
 
 A tender word, a smile of love in meeting, 
 A song of hope and victory to those retreating, 
 A glimpse of God and brotherhood while life is 
 fleeting — 
 
 Let us be kind." 
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
J^ots (Bob Care? 
 
In the bitter waves of woe. 
 
 Beaten and tossed about 
 By the sullen winds that blow 
 
 From the desolate shores of doubt 
 Where the anchors that faith has cast 
 
 Are dragging in the gale, 
 I am quietly holding fast 
 
 To the things that cannot fail. 
 
 And fierce though the fiends may fight, 
 
 And long though the angels hide, 
 I know that truth and right 
 
 Have the universe on their side; 
 And that somewhere beyond the stars 
 
 Is a love that it better than fate. 
 When the night unlocks her bars 
 
 I shall see Him — and I will wait. 
 
 Washington Gladden. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 J^oeg O^ob Care? 
 
 BOUT the beginning of this cen- 
 tury an unbeUever was reported 
 to have said that the mission of 
 the twentieth century would be 
 to discover God, and when God should be 
 discovered, it would be found that he does 
 not care. It would be a bitter sorrow for 
 the world if this prophecy were to come true. 
 Into countless homes and hearts it would 
 bring the darkness of despair. 
 
 The secret of hope in believing souls every- 
 where is that God does care. This is the one 
 great truth that God has been striving 
 through all the generations to have men be- 
 lieve. This is the whole gospel of redemption. 
 The Bible presents it on its every page. It 
 is the message that Christ came into the world 
 to declare — that God loves all men, every 
 man. The world's condemning unbelief has 
 [47] 
 
CJje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 always been its refusal to believe that God 
 cares. 
 
 But does God really care? Is there any- 
 where an ear that hears the world's cries of 
 pain and gives attention to them? Is there 
 anywhere a heart that is touched by the 
 world's sorrows, that feels with those who 
 suffer, and that desires to give help and com- 
 fort, care? The veriest stranger when he is 
 passing along the street and sees one suffer- 
 ing, in pain or distress, cares, pities him? 
 A tender-hearted man feels even with a beast, 
 or a bird that has been hurt. Some great 
 calamity occurs, — the destruction of a city 
 by an earthquake, a volcanic eruption pour- 
 ing its lava streams over homes and villages, 
 an explosion in a colliery, burying hundreds 
 of miners, and a wave of pain sweeps over 
 the world. Human hearts are sensitive to 
 every shade of need and experience in others. 
 When we see crape on a door, telling us that 
 there is death within, that a family is mourn- 
 ing, though they be utter strangers to us, our 
 hearts are touched, we walk softly, laughter 
 [48] 
 
Bota <l5ob Care? 
 
 is hushed, loud speech is restrained, we speak 
 more quietly. We care. Is God less com- 
 passionate than men are? 
 
 Some one tells us that God's care is general, 
 not individual. All things in creation and 
 providence are planned for the good of the 
 race. The movements of the earth are so 
 guided as to bring day and night, the seasons 
 in their order, cold and heat, winds and tides 
 and all the changes which bring health, com- 
 fort and fruitfulness. God is good to all. 
 "He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the 
 good, and sendeth rain on the just and the 
 unjust." Nature is ready with gentle service 
 in all its attributes and forces. But it is the 
 same to all. There is no love in all this, no 
 care for any individual, no discrimination. 
 The providence of God is kindly, benevolent, 
 helpful, but is no more so to the weak than 
 to the strong, to the sick than to the well, to 
 the distressed and broken-hearted than to the 
 happy and rejoicing. There seems to be no 
 special divine tenderness shown among the 
 homes of a town to a home where there is 
 
 [49] 
 
Cfte 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 suffering, or where there is great need or 
 bitter sorrow. 
 
 Life appears no more kindly to tlie blind 
 man, to the cripple, to the helpless, to the bed- 
 ridden, than to those who have the use of all 
 their powers and faculties and are well and 
 strong. 
 
 Is there ever in God any discrimination? 
 Does he care for us as we care for each other? 
 Does he give personal thought to any of us, — 
 to 3'ou, to me, — according to our condition? 
 Does pain or trouble in us cause pity in his 
 heart? Does God care? Does he see the 
 individual in the crowd? When you are 
 passing through some great trouble, endur- 
 ing pain or adversity, does God know it and 
 does he care? Does he have any thought or 
 feeling for you different from that which he 
 has for the person living in the house next to 
 yours who has no trouble, no suffering? 
 
 We know how it is with our human friends. 
 Love discriminates. Its Interest in us is sym- 
 pathetic and varies with our condition and our 
 need. When we are happy, without painful 
 [50] 
 
W>oti a5ob Care? 
 
 condition, our friends love us, but feel no 
 anxiety concerning us. To-morrow we are 
 sick or are suffering from some painful acci- 
 dent, or enduring some loss. Then they love 
 us no more than before, but their hearts are 
 rent with sympathy. That is what it means 
 to care. 
 
 Is there any such experience as this in 
 God.'' When we suffer does he suffer too.^* 
 Does he know that we are in any particular 
 need, and is his feeling toward us affected by 
 our experience.'* A mother was speaking to a 
 trusted friend about her daughter. The child 
 had had a bitter sorrow, a sore disappoint- 
 ment. She had not spoken of it to her 
 mother, but was enduring it herself, bravely 
 and quietly, trying to be strong and cheerful. 
 Yet the mother knew just what her daughter 
 was passing through. Her love for her child 
 entered into and shared all the child's ex- 
 periences. The mother cared. 
 
 Is there ever anything like this in the heart 
 of God as he looks upon his children and 
 knows that they are suffering? In one of 
 [51] 
 
Ct)e 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 the Psalms the poet says: "I am poor and 
 needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me." 
 There was wonderful comfort in this assur- 
 ance. For a man, one man, in the great world 
 of millions, — poor, needy, surrounded by 
 enemies and dangers, and with no human 
 friend or helper, to be able to say : "Yet the 
 Lord thinketh upon me," was to find marvel- 
 ous strength. But was the needy and be- 
 leaguered soul justified in its confidence.^ Was 
 it indeed true that the great God in heaven 
 thought upon his servant on the earth in 
 his loneliness and suffering? Or was it only 
 a fancied assurance, with which to comfort 
 himself .? Did God really care for him? And 
 does God care for us and think upon us when 
 we are poor and needy? 
 
 When we turn to the Bible we find on 
 every page the revelation that God does 
 care. The Old Testament is full of luminous 
 illustrations of the truth. A great crime has 
 been committed, a brother slain by a brother, 
 and God cares. A woman is in distress be- 
 cause she has been cast out ; heaven cares. 
 [52] 
 
Poeg OJob Care? 
 
 "The Lord hath heard thy affliction," was the 
 message sent to comfort her. All the Bible 
 story shines with records of like divine care. 
 The Psalms likewise are full of assurances of 
 God's personal interest in men. Christ 
 teaches the same truth. He speaks over and 
 over of the Father's thought and care. He 
 told his disciples that God clothes the grass- 
 blades and the lilies, amid all his care of the 
 worlds finds time to attend to the feeding of 
 the birds, and in all the events of the universe 
 notes the fall of a little sparrow. He as- 
 sured them further that the very hairs of their 
 heads are all numbered, meaning that God 
 personally cares for all the minutest affairs 
 of our lives. 
 
 Not only did Christ teach that God cares 
 for his children, but that he cares for them 
 as individuals. His love is not merely a 
 diffused kindly sentiment of interest in the 
 whole human family, but it is personal and 
 individual as the love of a mother for each 
 one of her children. The Shepherd calleth 
 his sheep by name. St. Paul took the love 
 [53] 
 
<^i)t ^ook of Comfort 
 
 of Christ to himself as if he were the only 
 one Christ loved. "He loved me and gave 
 himself up for me." 
 
 Grod's love is personal. His heart lays 
 hold upon each life. He cares for us, for me. 
 He enters into all our individual experiences. 
 If we suffer, he suffers. In a remarkable 
 passage in the Old Testament, the writer, 
 speaking of the love of God for his people, 
 says: "In all their affliction he was afflicted 
 and the angel of his presence saved them; 
 in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; 
 and he bare them, and carried them all the 
 days of old." How could the care of God 
 for his children be expressed in plainer or 
 more positive way? In their afflictions he was 
 afflicted. When they suffered he suffered. 
 In their sorrows he sorrowed. We know how 
 Jesus entered into all the experiences of his 
 disciples. Their life was his. It is the same 
 to-day. In heaven he is touched with the 
 feeling of his people's infirmities. If you 
 are weak, the burden of your weakness presses 
 upon him. If you are hurt, the hurt is felt 
 [ 54 ] 
 
Poes; OJob Care? 
 
 by him. If 3'ou are wronged he endures the 
 wrong. There is no experience of your life 
 that he does not share. Whatever your need, 
 your trial, your perplexity, your struggle 
 may be, you may be sure that he knows and 
 cares and that when you come to him with it, 
 he will take time amid all his infinite affairs 
 to help you as if he had nothing else in all 
 the world to do. 
 
 "Among so many, can he care? 
 
 Can special love be everpvhere?" 
 
 I asked. My soul bethought itself of thit,, — 
 
 *'In just that very place of his 
 
 Where he hath put and keepeth you, 
 
 God hath no other thing to do." 
 
 God cares. His love for each one of us 
 is so deep, so personal, so tender, that he 
 shares our every pain, every distress, every 
 struggle. "Like as a father piticth his 
 children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear 
 him." God is our Father and his care is 
 gentler tlian a human father's as his love 
 exceeds human love. Much human care has 
 no power to help, but when God cares he 
 
 [55] 
 
(Cfje 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 helps omnipotently. Jesus said that when 
 his friends would leave him alone, yet he would 
 not be alone — "because the Father is with 
 me." When human friendship comes not 
 with any relief, then God will come. When no 
 one in all the world cares, then God cares. 
 
 [56] 
 
"iou Win ^ot Mint tfje 
 Clougfjnesis!" 
 
Grumble? No; what's th« good? 
 If it availed, I would; 
 But it doesn't a bit — 
 Not it. 
 
 Laugh? Yes; why not? 
 'Tis better than crying a lot; 
 We were made to be glad, 
 Not sad. 
 
 Sing? Why, yes, to be sure. 
 We shall better endure 
 If the heart's full of song 
 All day long. 
 
 Love? Yes, unceasingly, 
 Ever increasingly ; 
 Friends' burdens wearing 
 Their sorrows sharing; 
 
 Their happiness making, 
 
 For pattern taking 
 
 The One above, 
 
 Who is love. , , , ^ 
 
 Motherhood. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 "iou Win Ji^ot Minh ti)t 
 
 OMETIMES there is inscrutable 
 mystery in tlie hard experiences 
 through which good people are 
 led. A few years ago a happy 
 young couple came from the mairiage altar, 
 full of hope and joy. Their home was bright 
 with love. A year later a baby came and 
 was welcomed with great gladness. From the 
 beginning, however, the little one was a suf- 
 ferer. She was taken to one of the best 
 physicians in the land. After careful ex- 
 amination, his decision was that her condition 
 is absolutely hopeless. Till that moment the 
 mother had still hoped that her child might 
 sometime be cured. Now she understands that 
 how long soever she may live, she will never 
 be any better. 
 
 "What shall T do.^" was the mother's ques- 
 tion when a friend listened to the story of the 
 
 [59] 
 
'Clje 2^oofe of Comfort 
 
 visit to the great doctor. "What can I do? 
 How can God help me?" 
 
 What comfort can we give to such motliers 
 as this? First, we can assure them that 
 their child is quite as dear to God as if she 
 were strong and bright. The weakest and 
 most helpless are nearest to him. God is 
 like a mother in his tenderness and in his 
 yearning love for those who are suffering. 
 This child has his gentlest sympathy. Then 
 some day, too, she will be well. Her con- 
 dition is only for earth. Heaven is the place 
 where earth's arrested growths will reach per- 
 fection, where earth's blighted things will 
 blossom into full beauty. This child will not 
 be sick, nor blind, nor imperfect there. The 
 hopelessness of her condition is only for the 
 present life. Some day the mother's dreams 
 of beauty for her, not realized here, will all 
 be fulfilled, and her prayer for her child's 
 health will be answered. 
 
 But meanwhile? Yes, it is hard to look 
 upon the child's condition, so pathetic, so 
 pitiful, and to remember the great doctor's 
 [60] 
 
words: "Absolutely hopeless!" Is there any 
 comfort for this condition? Can this mother 
 say that God is leading her in the path of 
 life? Is this experience of suffering part of 
 that path? Does God know about the long 
 struggle of this mother? Does he know what 
 the doctor said? Yes, he knows all. Has he 
 then no power to do anything? Yes, he has 
 all power. Why, then, does he not cure this 
 child? 
 
 We may not try to answer. We do not 
 know God's reasons. Yet we know it is all 
 right. What good can possibly come from 
 this child's condition and from the continua- 
 tion of this painful condition year after year? 
 We do not know. Perhaps it is that the child 
 may be prepared for a mission in glory which 
 shall surpass in splendor the mission of any 
 child that is well and joyous here. Or per- 
 haps it is for the sake of the mother and 
 father, who are being led through these 
 years of anguish, disappointment and sorrow. 
 Many people suffer for the sake of others, 
 and we know at least that these parents are 
 [61] 
 
(Ctje 2^ook of Comfort 
 
 receiving a training in unselfishness, in gentle- 
 ness, in patience, in trust. Perhaps this 
 painful experience in their child is to make 
 them richer-hearted. The disciples asked the 
 Master for whose sin it was, the blind man's, 
 or his parents', that the man was born blind. 
 "Neither; no one's sin," Jesus replied, "but 
 that the works of God might be done in this 
 man." May it not be that this child's suffer- 
 ing finds its justification in the ministry of 
 love it has called out in the father and 
 mother? They are being prepared for a 
 blessed service to other suffering ones. Per- 
 haps in the other life they will learn that 
 they owe to their child's suffering much of 
 the beauty of Christ that will then be theirs. 
 
 In one of the lace shops of Brussels there 
 are certain rooms devoted to the spinning of 
 the finest and most delicate lace patterns. 
 The rooms are left altogether dark save for 
 the light that comes from one very small 
 window. There is only one spinner in each 
 room, and he sits where a narrow stream of 
 light falls from the window directly upon 
 [62] 
 
^t Jpinbins tfje aougtnegsi 
 
 the threads he is weaving. "Thus," says the 
 guide, "do we secure our choicest products. 
 The lace is always more delicately and beauti- 
 fully woven when the worker himself sits in 
 the dark and only his pattern is in the light." 
 May it not be the same with us in our 
 weaving? Sometimes we must work in the 
 dark. We cannot see or understand what 
 we are doing. We cannot discover any pos- 
 sible good in our painful experience. Yet, if 
 only we are faithful and fail not, we shall 
 some day learn that the most exquisite work 
 of our Hfe was done in those very days. Let 
 us never be afraid, however great our suf- 
 ferings, however dark life is. Let us go on 
 in faith and love, never doubting, not even 
 asking why, bearing our pain and learning 
 to sing while we suffer. God is watching and 
 he will bring good and beauty out of all our 
 suffering. 
 
 We must remember that it is "the path of 
 
 life" that God is showing us. He never leads 
 
 us in any other path. If we are prompted 
 
 to go in some evil way, we may be sure it 
 
 [63] 
 
Cljt 25oob of Comfort 
 
 is not God's way for us. He leads us only 
 in paths of life. They may be steep and 
 rough, but the end will be blessed and glori- 
 ous, and in our joy we will forget the briers 
 and thorns on the way. 
 
 'Oh, you will not mind the roughness nor the steep- 
 ness of the way, 
 
 Nor the chill, unrested morning, nor the searness of 
 the day; 
 
 And you will not take a turning to the left or to 
 the right. 
 
 But go straight ahead, nor tremble at the coming 
 of the night. 
 
 For the road leads home." 
 
 There are days when you do not know what 
 to do. You have perplexities, doubts, un- 
 certainties. You lie awake half the night 
 wondering what you ought to do. Something 
 has gone wrong in your affairs, in your re- 
 lations with a friend, in your home life. Or, 
 one near to you is suffering and you want to 
 help, but you do not know what to do. Your 
 days are full of questions. Instead of vexing 
 yourself, iust go to Him who is infinitely 
 [64] 
 
wise and say : "Show mc tlic path," and He 
 will. 
 
 There is something else. It is told of Saint 
 Wenceslaus, king of Bohemia, that he was one 
 night going to prayer in a distant church, 
 barefoot, over the snow and ice, and his 
 servant, Podavivus, following him, imitating 
 his master's devotion, grew faint. "Follow 
 me," said the king; "set thy feet in the prints 
 of mine." That is what our Master says 
 when we grow weary in the hard way, when 
 the thorns pierce our feet, or when the path 
 grows rough or steep: "Follow me. Put 
 your feet into my footprints. It is but a 
 little way home." 
 
 [65] 
 
"W\ip Pocsf Mo ^nt Cbcr ^cc 
 aBob?" 
 
"Lonely! And what of that? 
 Some must he lonely; 'tis not given to all 
 To feel a heart responsive rise and fall, — 
 To blend another life into its own; 
 Work may he done in loneliness ; work on! 
 
 "Dark! Well, and what of that? 
 Didst fondly dream the sun would never set? 
 Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet; 
 Learn thou to walk hy faith and not by sight; 
 Thy steps will guided be, and guided right." 
 
^=^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 a5ob?" 
 
 HERE are many sincere Chris- 
 tians who are longing for clearer 
 revealings of God. An earnest 
 young Christian wrote to her 
 pastor : "I find myself ever asking, as I read 
 the New Testament, 'These things are very 
 beautiful, but do we know that they are 
 true?' " Several years since a writer told of 
 two girls who were overheard one evening 
 talking as if in perplexity, and one of 
 them said: "Yes, but why has no one 
 ever seen God? " This was all that was 
 heard of the conversation, but that single 
 sentence revealed the questioner's state of 
 mind. Evidently she had been talking 
 about the apparent unreality of spiritual 
 things. Why had nobody ever seen God? 
 She had heard a great deal about God, about 
 his love, his care, his interest in human lives, 
 [69] 
 
Clje 2?oafe of Comfort 
 
 his kindness. But she had never had a 
 ghmpse of him. How could she know that all 
 she had heard about him was true.? How 
 could she know that the things of Christian 
 faith and hope were real.'' 
 
 Such questions will arise with all who think. 
 Does God indeed love me? If he does, why 
 must I suffer so? If he does, how can I 
 explain all the accidents, calamities, and 
 troubles of life.? It is not surprising if 
 sometimes we cannot understand the mys- 
 teries of Christian faith. All life is full 
 of things we cannot comprehend. Can 
 you understand how, on the bushes in your 
 garden, which in March were bare and briery, 
 there are coming masses of glorious roses.? In 
 the most common things there is mystery. A 
 great botanist said that there was enough 
 mystery in a handful of moss to give one a 
 lifetime's study. There really are but few 
 things we can understand. How do your eyes 
 see.? How do your ears hear.? How does 
 your mind think.? Shall we refuse to believe 
 these things because we cannot explain them? 
 [70] 
 
" Wi)v Bot6 ^0 l^nt ^tt <aob ? " 
 
 We have read how the cry of the wireless 
 went out from the wrecked ship, and was 
 heard far and wide over the sea — a prayer of 
 distress — and how help came swiftly. No 
 one doubts this pathetic experience of the 
 sea. Why, then, should we doubt that when 
 a mother sat by her suffering child the other 
 night, and pleaded with God, her prayer 
 reached the ears of her Heavenly Father .'' 
 Why do we question that God loves us, when 
 we believe that our human friends love us? 
 You cannot see the love in your friend's heart 
 any more than you can see the love in God's 
 heart. You say that your friend is true, is 
 patient, is kind, that he is a tower of strength 
 to you; but you cannot see these qualities in 
 him. Your friend is much out of your sight, 
 and you cannot set spies on him to know that 
 he is always faithful. Yet you never doubt 
 him. How can you not in like manner believe 
 in the love of God, which you cannot see? 
 
 A sorrow breaks in upon you. You can- 
 not understand it. We would be far happier 
 sometimes if we did not try to understand 
 [71] 
 
•^fje 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 things. Sir Robertson Nicoll says: "There 
 are some very devout people who know far 
 too much. They can explain the whole secret 
 and purpose of pain, evil, and death in the 
 world. They prate about the mystery of 
 things as if they were God's spies. It is far 
 humbler and more Christian to admit that 
 we do not fully discern a reason and method 
 in this long, slow tragedy of human ex- 
 istence." 
 
 But really God does show himself to us, 
 and we do see him oftener than we think. 
 There is a picture of Augustine and his 
 mother which represents them looking up to 
 heaven with deep earnestness and longing. 
 One is saying: "If God would only speak to 
 us!" The other replies: "Perhaps he is 
 speaking to us, and we do not hear his voice !" 
 Philip said to Jesus: "Lord, show us the 
 Father;" and have you noticed what Jesus 
 said to him in reply? "Have I been so long 
 time with you, and hast thou not known 
 me? He that has seen me hath seen the 
 Father." What Philip had in mind when he 
 [72] 
 
" Wi)P S>ocs ^0 <Ont ^tt <8ob ? " 
 
 said: "Show us the Father," was sonic out- 
 shining of majesty and splendor, a thcophany, 
 a transfiguration. That was the way he 
 tliought God must appear. When Jesus said : 
 "He that hatli seen me hath seen the Father," 
 he referred to his common, daily life with his 
 disciples, not to his miracles. Only a small 
 proportion of the things Jesus did were un- 
 usual, supernatural. Ninety-nine hundredths 
 of his acts were simple, common things, that 
 did not need deity to perform. He wrought 
 only one recorded miracle in the Bethany 
 home, but in his frequent visits, — sitting with 
 the family by the hearth, or at the table, talk- 
 ing with them in tlie evening, walking with 
 them in the garden, showing them the gentle 
 things of friendship, — there were a thousand 
 kindly words and acts which made his name 
 forever sacred to them. 
 
 It was so in all Christ's life. There were 
 a few miracles, showing divine power; there 
 were countless revealings of gentleness, sym- 
 pathy, thoughtfulness, encouragement, which 
 were as full of God as the miracles. It was 
 [73] 
 
'Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 chiefly to this part of his life that Jesus re- 
 ferred when he said to Philip : "He that hath 
 seen me hath seen the Father." His miracles 
 awed them. Mary could not have sat at his 
 feet and listened calmly if he had appeared 
 transfigured. John could not have leaned on 
 his breast restfully and quietly, if super- 
 natural glory had been shining in his face. 
 God is love, and wherever there is love, God 
 is revealing himself. Jesus showed the dis- 
 ciples the Father in all the sweetness and 
 compassion that they saw in him continually. 
 Do we not see him in like ways? Does he 
 not reveal himself to us in a thousand fa- 
 miliar things that we do not think of at all 
 as divine revealings ? A writer says that most 
 men are religious when they look upon the 
 faces of their dead babies. The materialism 
 which at other times infects them with doubts 
 of God and immortality drops from them in 
 this hushed hour. 
 
 "There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard 
 Would scarce stay a child in his race; 
 But to me and my thought it is wider 
 Than the star-sown vague of Space." 
 
 [74] 
 
" Wi)v ^ots Mo O^ne ^ee d^oh ? " 
 
 People see God only in the unusual. "If 
 we could see miracles," they say, "we would 
 believe." But the common things are likewise 
 full of God. Moses saw God in one bush that 
 burned and was not consumed. Yet God is 
 as really in every bush in the woods for those 
 who have eyes to see as he was in a special 
 way in that little acacia at Horeb. 
 
 Have you never seen God.? If you think 
 of God as only burning majesty, shining 
 glory, you will answer: "No, I never saw 
 God." But splendor, Sinai clouds, and flam- 
 ing fires are not God. You have seen God 
 a thousand times in love, in peace, in goodness, 
 in comfort. You see him daily in providential 
 care, in the sweet things of your home, in 
 friendships, in the beauty of little children. 
 You have been receiving blessings all your life 
 in manifold ways. Do not call it chance, 
 luck, or good fortune. The heart-hungry 
 girl asked : "Why has no one ever seen God?" 
 Yet she had seen God every day, every hour 
 of her life, in the goodness and mercy which 
 had followed her from her infancy. 
 [75] 
 
(^fje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 You have seen God a thousand times. You 
 were in danger, and there came a mysterious 
 protection which sheltered you from harm. 
 You called it chance; it was God. You had 
 a great sorrow which you thought you could 
 not possibly endure, and there came into your 
 heart a strange, sweet comfort. You thought 
 a friend brought it ; but God sent the friend. 
 There was a tangle in your affairs which 
 seemed about to wreck everything, and then 
 in an inexplicable way it was all straightened 
 out by invisible hands. The hands were God's. 
 Your years have been full of wonderful prov- 
 idences, strange guidances, gentle comforts, 
 answered prayers, sweet friendships, surprises 
 of goodness, help, and care. All your life 
 you have been seeing God. Do not question 
 it, but rejoice In the vision, that you may see 
 him still more. 
 
 [76] 
 
<€i)t O^ne Wi)o ^tanbs 2?p 
 
"Let nothing disturb thee 
 JSothing affright thee; 
 All things are passing; 
 God never changeth; 
 Patient endurance 
 AUaineth to all things; 
 Who God possesseth 
 In nothing is wanting. 
 Alone God sufficeth." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Cf)c <f^nt Wi)0 ^tanbsi 2?p 
 
 ESUS spoke to his disciples of the 
 Holy Spirit as the Paraclete. 
 The word used in our translation 
 is Comforter. 
 We think of a comforter as one who gives 
 consolation in trouble. There is much sorrow 
 in the world, and there is always need of those 
 who understand the art of comforting. There 
 is constant need for true comforters. Barna- 
 bas is called, in the Common Version of the 
 Bible, a "son of consolation." No doubt he 
 was a sunshiny man. No other one can be a 
 consoler. When Barnabas went into a sick 
 room, we are quite sure his presence was a 
 benediction. It is a great thing to be the 
 son or daughter of consolation. Christ him- 
 self was a wonderful comforter. The Holy 
 Spirit is a comforter. He brings the gentle- 
 ness and healing of divine love to hurt hearts. 
 But the best scholars agree that "com- 
 
 [79] 
 
Cf)c 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 forter" is not the word which most adequately 
 gives the sense of the original word which our 
 Lord used. It is Paraclete. It is used only 
 a few times and only by John. In the Fourth 
 Gospel it is translated Comforter. Then, in 
 John's First Epistle, it is translated Advo- 
 cate. Advocate is perhaps the more accurate 
 translation — not merely a comforter who con- 
 soles us in trouble, and makes us stronger to 
 endure sorrow, but one who stands for us. 
 The word Advocate means one who stands 
 by ; strictly, one called to the side of another. 
 The thought "stands by" is very sug- 
 gestive. This is one of the best definitions of 
 a friend. He must be one who always stands 
 by. He may not always be close to you, 
 always manifesting affection in some practical 
 way, always speaking words of cheer. He 
 may be miles away in space, but you know 
 that he is always true to you, your real friend, 
 wherever he may be. He always stands by 
 you. He may not be able to do many things 
 for you. Indeed it is but little that a friend, 
 even your best friend, really can do at any 
 [80] 
 
'Cljc O^ne t©t)o ^tanbg 2?p 
 
 time for jou. He cannot lift away your load. 
 Each one must bear his own burden, meet his 
 own life's questions, make his own decisions, 
 endure his own troubles, fight his own battles, 
 accept his own rcsj^onsibilities. The office of 
 a friend is not to make life easy for you. 
 
 But he always stands by you. If ever you 
 need him in any way and turn to him, he will 
 not fail 3^ou nor disappoint you. If you do 
 not see him for years, nor even hear from him, 
 and if you then should go to him with some 
 appeal, you will find him unchanged, the same 
 stanch, strong, faithful friend as always. 
 Though your circumstances have changed, 
 from wealth to poverty, from popular favor 
 to obscurity, from strength to weakness, still 
 your friend is the same, stands by you as he 
 did before, meets you with the old cordiality, 
 the old kindness, the old helpfulness. Your 
 friend is one who stands by you through 
 everything. Such a friend the Holy Spirit is. 
 
 Jesus said the Father would give "another 
 Comforter," that is, one like himself. He 
 was an advocate for his disciples, who always 
 [81] 
 
Ci)c 2?oob ot Comfort 
 
 stood by them, their comrade, their defender, 
 their shelter in danger. His friendship was 
 unchanged through the years. His disciples 
 failed him, grieved him, disappointed him, but 
 when they came back to him they found him 
 the same, waiting to receive them. 
 
 Jesus said they would receive another com- 
 forter when he was gone. He was not really 
 going away from them. They would not see 
 any face, would not feel any hand, but he 
 would be there, as he always had been — ever 
 standing by. They would lose nothing by his 
 going away. In the Paraclete he would still 
 be with them and would still be their Com- 
 forter, their Comrade. Think what it was 
 to them to have Jesus for a personal friend. 
 There never was such another Friend. Think 
 of his gentleness, his tenderness, his sympathy, 
 his kindness, the inspiration of his love. 
 Think of the shelter he was to them, the 
 strength, the encouragement. Then remem- 
 ber what he said — that the Holy Spirit would 
 be "another Comforter," one like himself, and 
 that it would be more to them to have the 
 [82] 
 
f^tje a^nt W\)o ^tanbg 25p 
 
 Spirit for their friend than if Jesus had 
 stayed with them. He is everything to us 
 which Jesus was to his personal friends. He 
 is our Advocate. He ahvays stands by, and 
 for us. 
 
 We speak of the love of the Father. We 
 are his children. He comforts us with his 
 wonderful tenderness. We talk and sing of 
 the love of Christ. We do not speak or sing 
 so much of the love of the Spirit. Yet the 
 Spirit's love is just as wonderful as the 
 Father's or the Son's. For one thing, he loves 
 us enough to come and live in our hearts. 
 Does that seem a little thing.'' We speak a 
 great deal, especially at Christmas time, of 
 the condescension of the eternal Son of God 
 in coming to earth, to be born in a stable 
 and cradled in a manger. Is it a less won- 
 derful condescension for the Holy Spirit to 
 make your heart his home, to be born there, 
 to live there as your Guest.? Think what a 
 place a human heart is. Think of the unholy 
 thoughts and desires, the impure things, the 
 unlovingness, the jealousy, the bitterness, the 
 [83] 
 
Cfje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 hate, all the sin of our hearts. Then think 
 of the love of the Spirit that makes him 
 willing to live in such a place, in order to 
 cleanse us and make us good and holy. 
 
 The love of the Spirit is shown in his 
 wondrous patience with us in all our sinful- 
 ness, while he lives in us and deals with us 
 in the culturing of our Christian life. We 
 speak of the patient love of Christ with his 
 disciples the three years he was with them, 
 having them in his family, at his table, en- 
 during their ignorance, their dullness, their 
 narrowness, their petty strifes, their unfaith- 
 fulness. It was a marvelous love that never 
 grew weary of them, that loved on in spite 
 of all that so tried his love, and endured the 
 hate of men, their plottings, their treacheries. 
 We never can understand the depth of the 
 love of Christ in enduring all that he en- 
 dured in saving the world. But think also 
 of the love of the Holy Spirit in what he 
 suffers in his work with us. 
 
 A young Christian had a friend whom she 
 had long loved deeply. She had regarded this 
 
 [84] 
 
Cfje <2^nc W\)o ^tanbg 2?p 
 
 friend as like an angel in the truth and beauty 
 of her life. She never had had a shadow of 
 doubt concerning her. Then she learned that 
 this girl had been leading a double life for 
 years. The discovery appalled her. At first 
 she refused to believe it, but the evidence 
 was so unmistakable that she could not but be- 
 lieve it, and it almost killed her. She wrote: 
 "I understand now a little of the bitter sorrow 
 of my Saviour in Gethsemane, as he drank 
 the cup of his people's sins." If a human 
 friend can be broken-hearted over the sin of 
 a friend, how the Holy Spirit must suffer 
 in his cherishing of us, in his wondrous brood- 
 ing over us. How he must grieve when we 
 fall into sin! 
 
 [85] 
 
Mittv 2?ereabcmcnt-l©i)at? 
 
"I lift my head and walk my icays 
 
 Before the world icithout a tear, 
 And bravely unto those I meet 
 
 I smile a message of good cheer; 
 I give my lips to laugh and song, 
 
 And somehow get me through each day, 
 But oh, the tremble in my heart 
 
 Since she has gone away! 
 
 "Her feet had known the stinging thorns. 
 
 Her eyes the blistering tears; 
 Bent were her shoulders with the weight 
 
 And sorrow of the years; 
 The lines were deep upon her brow, 
 
 Her hair was thin and gray; 
 And oh. the tremble in my heart 
 
 Since she has gone away! 
 
 "I am not sorry; I am glad; 
 
 I would not have her here again; 
 God gave her strength life's bitter cup 
 
 Unto the bitterest dreg to drain; 
 I will not have less strength than she, 
 
 I proudly tread my stony way; 
 But oh, the tremble in my heart 
 
 Since she has gone away!" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Hftcr 2?erEabement-t©J)at? 
 
 IL^ «^ ^ 
 
 HERE is something in bereave- 
 ment which makes it mean a great 
 deal in a woman's life. It is a 
 sore disappointment. Dreams of 
 love's happiness are shattered. The beauty 
 which had only begun to be realized in her 
 home, in her wedded joy, in her social life, in 
 the development of her plans and hopes is 
 suddenly left to wither. Very great is the 
 sorrow when one of two lovers is taken and 
 the other left. Widowhood is very desolate 
 and lonely. When she has been a wife only 
 a brief time, there is special loneliness in her 
 case. 
 
 The experience is particularly perplexing 
 and trying. For one thing, she has probably 
 had no training in the affairs of life. She 
 has never learned self-reliance. Her husband, 
 in the gentleness of his manly love, has sought 
 to spare her from everything hard and rough. 
 
 [89] 
 
Cf)e 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 He has never permitted her even to know of 
 the struggles and perplexities of his daily 
 business life. He has sought to carry 
 home in the evening only the bright 
 things, the cheerful things, with not a 
 breath of anything that would give pain. 
 He has not permitted his wife to know the 
 smallest things of business. She had no bank 
 account. She did not know how to write a 
 check. She never knew how much money she 
 might properly spend in a month. She had 
 no more idea of business than a child. The 
 day after her husband's funeral she saw her- 
 self utterly unprepared for the duties and 
 responsibilities which she found suddenly de- 
 volving upon her. 
 
 Just how shall she meet her perplexities. 
 She is a Christian. She knows that her 
 husband was God's child, and she is com- 
 forted by the thought that he is not dead, 
 but has only passed into the immortal life. 
 She is comforted also in her own grief by the 
 truth of the divine love, that her sorrow was 
 no accident, that her bereavement was not 
 
 [90] 
 
after 2?ereal)ement-t©i)at ? 
 
 the plan of God to break up the goodness and 
 beauty of her life, that nothing has really 
 gone wrong in the plan of Christ for her. 
 But the question presses itself upon her mind 
 — I am sure it has done so a thousand times — 
 How am I to go on in this broken life of 
 mine? What am I to do in my shattering 
 and bereavement? Her life is not finished. 
 She is only a girl in years. She may live — 
 she probably wall live — forty years or more. 
 What does Christ want her to do with her life? 
 What does he want her to do with the broken 
 dreams that lie shattered about her feet? 
 
 These questions and questions like these 
 are coming to her every day and every night. 
 This is the deeper meaning of her sorrow. 
 Sometimes women in her position see no 
 brightness, find no hope, think the story all 
 written out to the finis, their dream only shat- 
 tered, and sink away into despair. But that is 
 not the way to meet a sorrow like this. The 
 story of her life is not finished. God's plan for 
 her was not spoiled when her sorrow came 
 and interrupted everything, leaving her in 
 [91] 
 
'Cije 2?oob of Comfort 
 
 darkness. The sorrow was only an accident 
 in the plan. It was not a surprise to God, 
 and his plan for her life runs on to the end 
 of her jears. What the remainder of the 
 plan is she does not know for the present. 
 She must not know. It is not best that she 
 should know. Her faith must not fail, she 
 must not despair. She must go on in trust 
 and confidence. 
 
 What then is her part.? First, faith in 
 Christ. Believe that all these broken things 
 are in his hands. Let her remember what 
 he said after the miracle of the loaves — 
 "Gather up the broken pieces that remain, 
 that nothing be lost." That is what he is 
 saying to her to-day. Let her gather up the 
 broken pieces from this miracle of love and 
 happiness. Let nothing she has had these 
 days of joy, of blessing, of experience, be lost. 
 Let her keep all the fragments. 
 
 The next thing is for her to recommit her 
 life, with its grief, its disappointments, its 
 desolation, its broken things, all to Christ. 
 She must not herself undertake to rebuild it. 
 
 [92] 
 
after 25ereabement--l©f)at ? 
 
 She must not make plans of licr own for the 
 years to come. She never needed Christ more 
 than she needs him now, and will need him in 
 the days and the months before her. Slie 
 must let him lead her, let him plan for her, 
 mark out the way. He nmst build the life 
 for her. He must have much of the love she 
 has to give. 
 
 Bereavement is common. No family long 
 misses a break in its circle. Let the break 
 be met with courage ! Courage and unselfish- 
 ness are developed by great sorrow or suffer- 
 ing. In times of overwhelming danger and 
 disaster people rise to unusual heroism. 
 George Kennan tells of the remarkable exhi- 
 bition of courage and generous characteristics 
 shown by the people of San Francisco during 
 the great earthquake and fire. The behavior 
 of the population after the disaster impressed 
 those who witnessed it. One thoughtful and 
 undemonstrative man said he was glad he had 
 lived to see the things that happened the first 
 ten days after the great catastrophe. Those 
 days were the best and most inspiriting, he 
 [93] 
 
CJje 25ook of Comfort 
 
 said, of all his life. Religious people talked 
 about the kingdom of heaven. "Cowardice, 
 selfishness, greed, and all the baser emotions 
 and impulses of human character practically 
 disappeared in the tremendous strain of that 
 experience, and courage, fortitude, sympathy, 
 generality, and unbounded self-sacrifice took 
 their places. Men became and for a short 
 time continued to be all that we may suppose 
 the Creator intended them to be, and it was 
 a splendid and inspiring thing to witness. 
 
 A like display of the finer and nobler qual- 
 ities of human nature was witnessed that 
 terrible night on the sea when the Titanic 
 went down. The majority of the passengers 
 and crew behaved with the most remarkable 
 courage, and the most noble unselfishness. 
 
 Let God — through your bereavement — 
 bring out the finer and nobler qualities in 
 you. 
 
 [94. ] 
 
Comfort tfjrougf) Pergonal ^tlp 
 
"When I have time, so many things I'll do 
 To make life happier and more fair 
 For those whose lives are crowded now with care; 
 I'll help to lift them from their low despair — 
 When I have time!" 
 
 "When I have time, the friend I love so well 
 Shall know no m,ore these weary toiling days; 
 I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always, 
 And cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise — 
 When I have time!" 
 
 When you have time, the friend you hold so dear 
 May he beyond the reach of all your sweet intent; 
 May never know that you so kindly m,eant 
 To fill her life with sweet content — 
 When you had time! 
 
 Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer wait 
 To scatter loving smiles and words of cheer 
 To those around, whose lives are noio so dear; 
 They may not heed you in the coming year — 
 Now is the time! 
 
^ ^JE 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Comfort tfjrougf) Pers^onal i^elp* 
 fulness; 
 
 VERY true Christian desires to be 
 helpful. He longs to make his 
 life a blessing to as many people 
 as possible. He wishes to make 
 the world better, his neighborhood brighter 
 and sweeter, every life he touches, in even 
 casual associations, somewhat more beautiful. 
 It is worth while that we should think just 
 how we must live if our lives would reach this 
 ideal. 
 
 We cannot come upon this kind of a life 
 accidentally. We do not drift into a place 
 and condition of great usefulness. Every man 
 has his secret, something that is the keynote 
 of his life. The secret of personal helpfulness 
 is love in the heart. No one can be a blessing 
 to others if he does not love. Nothing but 
 love will make another happier, will comfort 
 sorrow, will relieve loneliness, will give cheer. 
 [97] 
 
Ct)e 2?oob of Comfort 
 
 You never can be of any real use to a man 
 if you do not care for him, and you care 
 for him only so far as you are willing to make 
 sacrifices to help him, to go out of your way 
 to do a favor. 
 
 It is never by chance, therefore, that one 
 finds himself living a life that is full of 
 helpfulness. Such a life comes only through 
 a regeneration that makes it new. That 
 is what it meant to become a Christian. 
 The secret of Christ was abounding per- 
 sonal helpfulness. We say he gave his 
 life for the world, and we think of the cross. 
 But the cross was in his life from the begin- 
 ning. He never had a thought or a wish for 
 himself. He never pleased himself. Ever he 
 was ready to give up his own comfort, his 
 own ease, his own preferment, that another 
 might be pleased or helped. With this 
 thought in mind, it will be a most profitable 
 piece of Bible reading to go through the 
 Gospels just to find how Christ treated the 
 people he met. He was always kind, not only 
 polite and courteous, but doing kindly, 
 [98] 
 
Pers^onal t^elpfulnes^ja; 
 
 thoughtful, obhging things. His iiujuiry 
 concerning every person was, "Can I do any- 
 thing for you? Can I share your burden? 
 Can I relieve you of your suffering?" The 
 Good Samaritan was Christ's illustration of 
 love, and the illustration was a picture of his 
 own life. 
 
 Ever that is the one answer to our ques- 
 tion. There is no other way of personal 
 helpfulness but this way, and there is no other 
 secret of attaining it but his secret. You 
 eannot learn it from a book of rules. It is 
 not a system of etiquette. It is a new life — 
 it is Christ living in the heart. It is personal 
 helpfulness of which we are thinking. A man 
 may be useful in his conuimnity, may even be 
 a public benefactor, may do much for the race, 
 and yet may fail altogether to be a real helper 
 of individual lives he touches in his daily 
 associations. A man may do mu«h good with 
 his money, relieving distress, founding institu- 
 tions, establishing schools, and may not be 
 a helper of men in personal ways. People do 
 not turn to him with their needs. The sor- 
 
 [99] 
 
Clje 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 rowing know nothing of comfort ministered 
 by him. The baffled and perplexed do not 
 look to him for guidance, the tempted for de- 
 liverance, the despairing for cheer and en- 
 couragement. It is this personal helpfulness 
 that means the most in the close contacts of 
 human lives. 
 
 Jesus never gave money to any one in 
 need, so far as we are told. He did not pay 
 rents for the poor, nor buy them food or 
 clothes, but he was always doing good in ways 
 that meant far more for them than if he had 
 helped with money. There are needs that 
 only love and kindness can meet. Countless 
 people move about among us these days 
 starving for love, dying for loneliness. You 
 can help them immeasurably by becoming 
 their friend, not in any marked or unusual 
 way, but by doing them a simple kindness, 
 by showing a little human interest in them, 
 by turning aside to do a little favor, by 
 manifesting sympathy, if they are in sorrow. 
 A little note of a few lines sent to a neigh- 
 bor in grief has been known to start an 
 [ 100] 
 
^tv^oml i^elpfulnes^s; 
 
 influence of comfort and strength that could 
 not be measured. 
 
 It is the Httle things of love that count 
 in such ministry — the little nameless acts, the 
 small words of gentleness, the looks that tell 
 of interest and care and sympathy. Life is 
 hard for many people and nothing is more 
 needed continually than encouragement and 
 cheer. There are men who never do any- 
 thing great in their lives, and yet they make 
 it sunnier all about them and make all who 
 know them happier, braver, stronger. There 
 are women, overburdened themselves, perhaps, 
 but so thoughtful, so sympathetic, so obliging, 
 so full of little kindnesses, that they make 
 the spot of the world in which they live more 
 like heaven. 
 
 How can we learn this lesson of personal 
 helpfulness? It is not merely a matter of 
 geniality of disposition, a matter of natural 
 temperament. A selfish man can learn it if he 
 takes Christ for his teacher. Then self must 
 be displaced in the thought and purpose and 
 affection by "the other man." If love fill 
 [101] 
 
•Cije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 the heart every expression of the life gives 
 out helpfulness. A young woman, speaking 
 of the way different people had been a com- 
 fort to her in a great sorrow, said: "I wish 
 some persons knew just how much their faces 
 can comfort others." Then she told of an 
 old gentleman she sometimes sat beside in the 
 street-car. He did not know her, but she 
 was always helped by just being near to him 
 and seeing his face. 
 
 There is a great deal of this unconscious 
 helpfulness in the world. Indeed many of 
 the best things we do we do without knowing 
 we are doing them. If we are full of love we 
 will be helping others wherever we go, and 
 the things we do not plan to do when we go 
 out in the morning will be the divinest things 
 of the whole day. 
 
 Not only is the life of personal helpfulness 
 most worth while in the measure of good it 
 does, in its influence upon others, but no other 
 life brings back to itself such rewards of 
 peace, of strength, of comfort, of joy. What 
 of love you give to another you have not really 
 [ 102 ] 
 
Comfort rtjrousfj ^tlpMm^i 
 
 given awaj — you have it still in yourself in 
 larger measure than before. No gain one 
 gets in this world is equal to the love of hearts 
 that one receives from those one serves in un- 
 selfish love. 
 
 "My dear, the little things I did for you 
 
 To-day have brought nie comfort, one by one, 
 As through the purple dark a shaft of sun 
 
 Strikes far as dawn, and changes dusk to blue; 
 
 The little things it cost me naught to do, 
 
 Remembering how slow life's sands may run, 
 To-day a web of purest gold have spun 
 
 Across the gulf that lies between us two." 
 
 [ 103 ] 
 
Cfjrisit anb 31 Bre iFrienbs 
 
"Shut in. Shut in from the ceaseless din 
 Of the restless world and its heat and sin; 
 Shut in from its turmoil, care and strife, 
 And all the wearisome round of life. 
 
 "Shut in with tears that are spent in vain 
 With the dull companionship of pain; 
 Shut in with the changeless days and hours. 
 And the bitter knowledge of failing powers. 
 
 'Shut in with dreams of days gone by, 
 With buried hopes that were born to die; 
 Shut in with the hopes that have lost their zest 
 And leave but a longing after rest. 
 
 'Shut in with a> trio of angels sweet, 
 Patience and grace all pain to meet; 
 With Faith that can suffer and stand and wait 
 And lean on the promises strong and great. 
 
 'Shut in with Christ — Oh glorious thought! 
 Shut in with the peace his sufferings brought; 
 Shut in with the love that wields the rod; 
 Oh company blest — shut in with God." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 CijriSt anb 31 Hre JFrienbg 
 
 F we ask what was the beloved dis- 
 ciple's religion, we may put the 
 answer into phrase — Christ and 
 John were friends. It was a 
 great, all-absorbing, overmastering friendship 
 that transformed John. This friendship be- 
 gan that day when the Baptist said to two 
 young men, as Jesus passed near : "Behold 
 the Lamb of God." The two young men 
 followed Jesus and were invited to his lodg- 
 ings, spending the afternoon with him. What 
 took place during those hours we do not know, 
 but we do know that a friendship began be- 
 tween one of the two — then scarcely more 
 than a boy — and Jesus, whose bonds have 
 never slackened since. For three years this 
 friendship grew in sweetness and tenderness, 
 and during those years it was that the won- 
 derful transformation took place in the 
 disciple. 
 
 [ 107 ] 
 
Cfje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 We know a little about the power of a 
 strong, rich, noble human friendship in shap- 
 ing, inspiring, uplifting lives. 
 
 "Oh friend, my bosom said. 
 Through thee alone the sky is arched, 
 Through thee the rose is red; 
 All things through thee take nobler form, 
 And look beyond the earth; 
 The mill-round of our fate appears 
 A sun-path in thy worth. 
 Me too thy nobleness has taught 
 To master my despair; 
 The fountains of my hidden life 
 Are through thy friendship fair." 
 
 There are many lives that are being saved, 
 refined, sweetened, enriched, by a human 
 friendship. Here is one of the best of the 
 younger Christian men of to-day who has 
 been lifted up from a life of ordinary ability 
 and education into refinement, power and large 
 usefulness, by a gentle friendship. The girl 
 he loved was rich-hearted, inspiring, showing 
 in her own life the best ideals and attainments, 
 and her love for him and his love for her lifted 
 him up to love's nobility. She stayed with 
 him only a few years and then went home, 
 [ 108 ] 
 
Cljrist anb 33 3ivt ifrienbs 
 
 but he walks among men to-day with a 
 strength, an energy and a force of character 
 born of the holy friendship which meant so 
 much to him. 
 
 George Eliot's Silas Marner was a miser 
 who hoarded his money. Some one took away 
 his hoard, and his heart grew bitter over the 
 wrong to him. Then a little child was left 
 at his door. His poor, starved heart took in 
 the little one and love for her redeemed him 
 from sordidness, bitterness, and anguish of 
 spirit. God has saved many a life by sending 
 to it a sweet human friendship. A church 
 visitor climbed the rickety stairs to the miser- 
 able room where a woman lay in rags on a 
 pile of straw. She bent over the poor woman, 
 all vile with sin, said a loving word and kissed 
 her. That kiss saved her. Christ comes to 
 sinners and saves them with love. That is 
 the way he saved the prodigals of his time. 
 He came to them and became their friend. 
 
 It is to a personal friendship with himself 
 that Christ is always inviting men. He does 
 not come merely to make reforms, to start 
 
 [ 109] 
 
'Cfje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 beneficent movements, to give people better 
 houses and to make the conditions of hfe 
 better. He does not try to save the world 
 by giving it better laws, by founding schools, 
 by securing wholesome literature. Christ 
 saves men by becoming their friend. John 
 surrendered his heart and life to this friend- 
 ship with Jesus. He opened every window 
 and door to his new Master. 
 
 The basis of John's friendship with Christ 
 was his trust. He never doubted. Thomas 
 doubted and was slow to believe. This hin- 
 dered the growth of his friendship with Jesus. 
 We cannot enter into the joy and gladness 
 of friendship unless we believe heartily. 
 Peter was one of Christ's closest friends, but 
 he was always saying rash words and doing 
 rash things which interrupted his fellowship 
 with Christ. Such a spirit as Peter's, how- 
 ever loyal and courageous, cannot realize the 
 sweet and gentle things of the holiest friend- 
 ship. But John loved on in silence and 
 trusted, and his friendship was deep and 
 strong. At the Last Supper he leaned on 
 
 [iiol 
 
Cijrigt anb 3 Hre iFrienbg 
 
 the Master's breast. That is the place of 
 confidence — the bosom is only for those who 
 have a right to the closest intimacy. It is 
 the place of love, near the heart. It is the 
 place of safety — in the secret place of the 
 Most-High. The bosom is the place of comfort 
 too. It was the darkest night the world ever 
 saw that John lay on the bosom of Jesus. 
 But he found comfort there. Then trust is 
 the secret of peace. "Thou wilt keep him in 
 perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee." 
 That is what leaning on Christ's breast 
 means. Do not think that that place of in- 
 nermost love was for John only and has never 
 been filled since that night. It is like heaven's 
 gate — it is never closed, and whosoever will 
 may come and lie down there. It is a place 
 for those who sorrow — oh, that all who have 
 known grief knew that they may creep in 
 where John lay and nestle there! 
 
 John's transformation is the model for all 
 
 of us. No matter how many imperfections 
 
 mar the beauty of our lives, we should not be 
 
 discouraged. But we should never consent 
 
 [111] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 to let the faults remain. That is the way 
 too many of us do. We condone our weak- 
 ness and imperfections, pity them and keep 
 them. We should give ourselves no rest till 
 they are all cured. But how can we get these 
 evil things out of our lives? How did John 
 get rid of his faults.? By letting the love 
 of Christ possess him. Lying upon Christ's 
 bosom, Christ's sweet, pure, wholesome life 
 permeated John's life and made it sweet, pure 
 and wholesome. 
 
 So' it is the friendship of Christ alone that 
 can transform us. You are a Christian, not 
 because you belong to a church, not because 
 you have a good creed, not merely because 
 you are living a fair moral life — you are a 
 Christian because you and Christ are friends. 
 What can a friend be to a friend? Let us 
 think of the best that earth's richest-hearted 
 friend can be to us and do for us. Then lift 
 up this conception, multiplying it a thousand 
 times. If it were possible to gather out of all 
 history and from all the world the best and 
 holiest things of pure, true friendship, and 
 [112] 
 
Ciirfet anb 31 Hre ifrienbg 
 
 combine thcni all in one great friendship, 
 Christ's friendship would surpass the sum of 
 them all. 
 
 Even our human friendships we prize as 
 the dearest things on earth. They are more 
 precious than rarest gems. We would lose 
 everything else we have rather than give them 
 up. Life without friendships would be empty 
 and lonely. Yet the best earthly friendships 
 are but little fragments of the friendship of 
 Christ. It is perfect. Its touch is always 
 gentle and full of healing. Its help is always 
 wise. Its tenderness is like the warmth of a 
 heavenly summer. If we have the friendship 
 of Christ, we cannot be utterly bereft, though 
 all human friends be taken away. To be 
 Christ's friend is to be God's child, with all 
 a child's privileges. This is one essential in 
 being a Christian. 
 
 "Behold him now when he comes! 
 
 Not the Christ of our subtile creeds, 
 But the light of our hearts, of our homes, 
 
 Of our hopes, our prayers, our needs. 
 The Brother of want and blame. 
 The Lover of women and men." 
 
 [ us] 
 
'Clje 2^oofe of Comfort 
 
 We could not say that Paul is our friend, or 
 John, but Jesus is living, away past death, 
 and is with us evermore. He is our Friend as 
 really as he was Mary's or John's. 
 
 "We may not climb the heavenly steeps 
 To bring the Lord Christ down; 
 In vain we search the lowest deeps. 
 For him no depths can drown; 
 
 "But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 
 A present help is he; 
 And faith has still its Olivet, 
 And love is Galilee. 
 
 "The healing of his seamless dress 
 Is by our beds of pain; 
 We touch him in life's throng and press, 
 And we are whole again." 
 
 Christ is our Friend. That means every- 
 thing we need. No want can be unsupplied. 
 No sorrow can be uncomfortcd. No evil can 
 overmaster us. For time and eternity we are 
 safe. It will not be the streets o^ gold, and 
 the gates of pearl, and the river and the trees, 
 that will make heaven for us — it will be the 
 companionship, the friendship of Christ. 
 
 But we must not forget the other part of 
 [ 114] 
 
Cfjrifiit anb ^ Mtt JFrienbs; 
 
 this friendship. Wc are to be Christ's friends 
 too. It is not mucli we can give to him, or 
 do for him. But he would liave us loyal and 
 true. One writes of the influence of a human 
 friend's life: 
 
 " Each soul whispers to itself: 'Twere like a breach 
 Of reverence in a temple, could I dare 
 Here speak untruth, here wrong my inmost 
 
 thought. 
 Here I grow strong and pure; here I may yield 
 Without shamefacedness the little brought 
 From out my poorer life and stand revealed 
 And glad, and trusting, in the sweet and rare 
 And tender presence which hath filled the air." 
 
 If a sacred human friendship exerts such 
 influence over a true life, surely the conscious- 
 ness that Christ is our friend and we are his 
 should check every evil thought, quell every 
 bitter feeling, sweeten every emotion and make 
 all our life holy, true and heavenly. 
 
 [us] 
 
Mon tljan Conquerors 
 
O Lord, I pray 
 
 That for this day 
 ' I may not sicerve 
 
 By foot or hand 
 
 From thy oommand, 
 Not to be served but to serve. 
 
 This, too, I pray 
 
 That for this day 
 No love of ease 
 
 Nor pride prevent 
 
 My good intent. 
 Not to be pleased, but to please. 
 
 And if I may 
 
 I'd have this day 
 Strength from above 
 
 To set my heart 
 
 In heavenly art 
 Not to be loved, but to love. 
 
 Maltbie D. Babcock. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Movt tfjan Conrjuerors 
 
 T is better that we should not sing 
 of sadness. There are sad notes 
 enough already in the world's air. 
 We should sing of cheer, of joy, 
 of hope. This is what St. Paul did when he 
 said : "We are more than conquerors through 
 him that loved us." We do not need to be 
 defeated in our battles, to sink under our 
 loads, to be crushed beneath our sorrows. We 
 may be victorious. 
 
 We all have our struggles. Life is not 
 easy for any of us; or if it is, we are not 
 making much of it. Good life is never easy. 
 It must be from first to last in the face of 
 opposition. Jacob saw life visioned as a lad- 
 der, its foot resting in the earth, its top 
 reaching up to heaven, into God's very glory. 
 That meant that man could go up from his 
 earthliness, his sinfulness, into nobleness and 
 holiness of character, gaining at last likeness 
 
 [119] 
 
Clje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 to God and a home with God. But it meant 
 also that the ascent never could be easy. A 
 ladder bids us to climb, and climbing is always 
 toilsome. It is slow, too, step by step. It 
 never becomes easy, for heaven is ever above 
 us and the climbing cannot cease till we enter 
 the pearly gates. 
 
 St. Paul constantly pictured life as a bat- 
 tle, a warfare. We are soldiers with enemies 
 to fight. The enemies are strong, not flesh 
 and blood, but evil angels, spiritual foes, 
 wicked spirits. They are invisible. They 
 lurk in the darkness. They hide in ambush. 
 Too often they nest in our own hearts. They 
 take forms of good angels, to deceive us. The 
 battle is terrific, and it never ends until we 
 overcome the last enemy and pass within the 
 gates of blessedness. 
 
 Every life has its cares, its duties, its re- 
 sponsibilities. There are sicknesses and sor- 
 rows and pains and losses and a thousand 
 things that make it hard to live victoriously. 
 
 It is possible for us, if we are Christians, to 
 overcome in all these struggles and trials. 
 [ 120 ] 
 
^ore tfjan Conquerors 
 
 "In all these things we arc more than con- 
 querors." To be more than conquerors is to 
 be triumphant conquerors, not merely getting 
 through the battle or the trouble, but coming 
 out of it with rejoicing, with song and glad- 
 ness. Some people bear trial and are not 
 overcome by it, but bear it without any glad 
 sense of victory. Others endure their sorrow, 
 and all through it you hear as it were the 
 notes of triumph. Paul himself was this sort 
 of conqueror. His life was one unbroken 
 series of struggles. It never became easy for 
 him to live nobly. He gives us glimpses some- 
 times of his experiences. He was beaten with 
 rods. He was stoned. He was shipwrecked. 
 He was in perils of robbers, in perils in the 
 wilderness, in the sea, among false brethren, 
 in watchings, in fastings, in cold and naked- 
 ness. He spent years in prison. Then he had 
 enemies in his own heart — read the seventh of 
 Romans to find what it cost him to live right. 
 But in all these things he was "more than 
 conqueror." Some one compares St. Paul's 
 life to one who goes along the street in a dark 
 [121] 
 
<€i)t 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 stormy night singing sweet songs; or to a 
 whole band of music moving through the rain 
 and darkness, playing marches of victory. 
 That is the way we should all try to live as 
 Christians, not merely enduring our trials 
 and coming through our struggles, but doing 
 so enthusiastically — "more than conquerors." 
 Not only may we be conquerors, but if we 
 are Christians we must be conquerors. We 
 dare not yield. We believe that we should be 
 conquerors in temptation, that we should not 
 sin. We know that the evil in us and the evil 
 around us should not be allowed to overcome 
 us ; that appetites and base passions and bad 
 tempers should not be permitted to rule us. 
 But this is not the only phase of life, in which 
 we meet resistance and opposition, and must 
 be conquerors, if we would live nobly. This 
 is true in physical life. Health is simply 
 victory over disease and weakness. It is true 
 in mental life. It is never easy to have a 
 trained mind. It can be gotten only through 
 long and patient study and severe discipline. 
 It is so in all experiences in life. We should 
 [ 122 ] 
 
Mott tijan Conquerors; 
 
 never yield to discouragement or depression, 
 for there is no reason that we should. In the 
 description of the good man, in the first 
 Psalm, where he is compared to a tree planted 
 by streams of water, we read: "And what- 
 soever he doeth shall prosper." There is no 
 real failure possible in a true Christian life. 
 There may be seeming failure; indeed oft- 
 times there is. Christ's life failed, as it ap- 
 peared to men. St. Paul's life failed. Henry 
 Martyn's life failed. Harriet Newell's life 
 failed. But you know what glorious suc- 
 cesses all these lives were in the end. If we 
 are truly Christians, in Jesus Christ, it is 
 impossible for us to fail. Hence in all ad- 
 versity, in all loss, in all feebleness of health, 
 in all persecution, injustice, wrong, we have 
 but to remain true to Christ, and we cannot 
 fail. "Whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." 
 Hence we should never j^ield to discourage- 
 ment. We should be more than conquerors. 
 
 The same is true in sorrow. Sorrow comes 
 into every life. We cannot shut it away. 
 But we can be conquerors in it. When the 
 [ 123 ] 
 
(^ije 2?oob of Comfort 
 
 snows melt away in the springtime, I have 
 often seen under them sweet flowers in bloom. 
 The very drifts were like warm blankets to 
 keep them safe. So it is in sorrow. Under 
 the cold snows of grief the flowers of the 
 Christian graces grow unhurt. We can over- 
 come in sorrow ; we ought to overcome. This 
 does not mean that we should not shed tears 
 in our sorrows. The love of Christ does not 
 harden the heart ; it really makes it more sen- 
 sitive. The grace of Christ does not save us 
 from sufl'ering in bereavement. Yet we are 
 to be conquerors. Our sorrow must not crush 
 us. We must go through it victoriously, with 
 sweet submission, and joyous confidence. 
 
 In the same way must we meet worldly 
 losses and adversities, the failures in our 
 human plans and hopes, the fading of our 
 human joys. "More than conquerors" is the 
 motto that is written upon our crown. 
 
 But do not forget the closing words of St. 
 
 Paul's statement: "In all these things we 
 
 are more than conquerors, through him that 
 
 loved us.'* The text would not be true if 
 
 [ 124 ] 
 
JlSore tfjan Conquerors 
 
 these last five words were left off. We can- 
 not leave Christ out of life and ever in any- 
 thing be true ovcrcomers. The Roman 
 Emperor saw the symbol of the cross blazing 
 in the sky and over it the legend : "By this 
 shalt thou conquer." Before every young 
 soldier of the cross, as he goes out to begin 
 life's battles, shines the same symbol, with the 
 same legend. "By this shalt thou conquer." 
 "We are more than conquerors through him 
 that loved us." It is only through Christ 
 that any of us can overcome sin or sorrow or 
 trial. 
 
 Some of you may be asking, with deep 
 eagerness, in what way Christ helps us in our 
 battles and struggles. How can we overcome 
 through him? 
 
 One part of the answer is, that he has over- 
 come all things himself. He came in the flesh 
 for us. He was the captain of our salvation. 
 He entered into life for us. He met every 
 enemy that we have ever met. And he was 
 more than conqueror in every struggle. He 
 was tempted in all points like as we are, yet 
 [ 125 ] 
 
Cf)c 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 without sin. That is, he conquered all sin. 
 Then he met poverty, and was victorious in 
 that, hving sweetly, patiently, trustingly, in 
 it, without discontent, without envy, without 
 repinings. He wrought as a carpenter, but 
 he never chafed at the hardness of the work or 
 the smallness of the pay. Later, he had not 
 where to lay his head, even the foxes and the 
 birds being better homed than he; but he 
 never complained. When the people scattered 
 off to their homes in the gathering shadows, 
 leaving him alone, he quietly climbed the 
 mountain and spent the night under the stars 
 in peace. Thus he was more than conqueror in 
 poverty. So he was victorious in all the 
 wrongs he had to endure. From enemies and 
 from friends he suffered wrongs. His enemies 
 pursued him with hate and persecution which 
 at last nailed him on the cross. His own 
 chosen friends did many things to pain and 
 try him, one of them at last betraying him 
 for money, another denying him in his darkest 
 hour. Enmity and hate and wrongs cannot 
 hurt us unless they rouse us to resentments, 
 [ 126] 
 
HSore tfjan Conquerorg 
 
 to anger, to bitter feelings, to acts of re- 
 venge. But Jesus was victorious in all his 
 endurance of injury. His love never once 
 failed in any of its sore testings. 
 
 Then he was conqueror in his struggle with 
 the last enemy. It did not seem so at first. 
 Death overcame him on the cross, and bore 
 him captive into its dark prison. But it 
 could not hold him. He burst the bars of 
 death and triumphed over the grave. He came 
 forth a glorious conqueror, out forever from 
 death's power, with all the radiancy of life. 
 
 Thus Christ is universal conqueror. There 
 is no enemy we shall ever have to meet that 
 he has not met and vanquished. If we are in 
 his train, he will lead us also to victory. We 
 cannot overcome ourselves, but he will fight 
 the battles for us. We are more than con- 
 querors through him that loved us. 
 
 But again, he does not merely fight our 
 battles for us; he helps us to become vic- 
 torious. "We are more than conquerors 
 through him." We must not get the impres- 
 sion that Christ merely wraps us up in the 
 [ 127 ] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 folds of his mighty love and carries us over 
 the hard places in life. When we are in the 
 presence of temptation he does not with his 
 divine hand smite down the adversary ; we 
 must fight the battle and he will strengthen 
 us. There is a verse which says, "The Lord 
 will bruise Satan shortly," but that is not all 
 of it. "The Lord will bruise Satan under 
 your feet shortly." You must tread down the 
 enemy beneath your feet, but the Lord will 
 bruise him. We must become the conquerors 
 through him. He wants to make us strong 
 and therefore he does not do all things for us, 
 and fight all our battles. He sends us out to 
 meet the enemies, the trials, the oppositions, 
 and then he goes with us to help us. He does 
 not take the burdens off us, but he sustains 
 us in bearing them. 
 
 What then is our part ? It is implicit, un- 
 questioning obedience. Do you remember 
 those cases in the gospels when persons were 
 healed as they obeyed? The man with the 
 withered arm was bidden to stretch it out — an 
 impossible thing, in a human sense ; but as he 
 [ 128 ] 
 
HSore tfjan Conquerors 
 
 sought to obey he was enabled to do it. 
 Health came into his shriveled arm. The ten 
 lepers were bidden to go away and show them- 
 selves to the priest. "And as they went they 
 were cleansed." Obedience made them over- 
 comers. So it is always in the receiving of 
 divine help. We stand in the presence of 
 some opposition, some hindrance, some trial. 
 We say we cannot go through it. But we 
 hear the voice of God commanding, "Go : and 
 lo I am with you." If we quietly and be- 
 lievingly go forward the difficulties will melt 
 before us ; the sea will open and make a path 
 for our feet; the mountain will remove and 
 be cast into the sea ; the enemy will flee as we 
 advance. Christ never gives a duty but he 
 will give also the strength we require to obey. 
 There is a blessed secret in this very simple 
 teaching. If we do God's will we are in- 
 vincible, and shall always be more than con- 
 querors. You stand face to face with a 
 sorrow or a discouragement or some adversity. 
 The problem of Christian faith now is to 
 overcome in this experience — not to get rid 
 [ 129 ] 
 
'Cije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 of the experience, but to meet it and pass 
 through it victoriously, so that it shall not 
 hurt you, but that you shall get blessing out 
 of it. Now, how can you do this? Never by 
 resisting and rebelling. You cannot by do- 
 ing this repel the trial or evade it. You 
 might as well try to fight a cyclone and by 
 resisting it turn it back. Your resisting can 
 only hurt and bruise your own life. But if 
 you sweetly and quietly yield to the trial or 
 the sorrow and bow before it, it will pass over 
 you and you will rise again unhurt. 
 
 Such meeting of trial changes the curse in 
 the cup to blessing. He who overcomes in 
 temptation gets new strength out of his con- 
 quest. He who is patient and submissive in 
 the sick room gets a benediction out of the 
 pain. He who overcomes in adversity and 
 keeps faith and love bright, has changed its 
 loss into gain. So it is in all things. To be 
 conqueror in the battles and struggles of life 
 is to climb ever upward toward glory and 
 blessedness. 
 
 God so shapes all our life's events and ex- 
 [ 130 ] 
 
^ore tfjan Conquerors 
 
 periences that in every one of them there is 
 a blessing for us. We miss it if we resist 
 and rebel and thus fail of victoriousness. But 
 if we let God's will be done in us, some good 
 will come out of every cup he puts into our 
 hand. 
 
 So we shall go on conquering and to con- 
 quer, overcoming in all life's sorrows and get- 
 ting blessing out of them; victorious over 
 sins and rising into sainthood out of them, 
 as lilies spring up out of black bogs ; putting 
 the old nature under our feet more and more 
 as the new nature grows in us into strength 
 and beauty; triumphing over all the ills of 
 life, over all adversities, until at last, rising 
 out of death, we shall stand before God, with- 
 out spot or blemish, wearing the image of 
 Christ. 
 
 [ 131 ] 
 
Cteacfjins for tije JfltSountain 
 ^plenbors 
 
It is well to live in the valley sweet, 
 
 Where the work of the world is done, 
 Where the reapers sing in the fields of wheat, 
 
 As they toil till the set of sun. 
 But beyond the meadows, the hills I see 
 
 Where the noises of traffic cease. 
 And I follow a voice that calleth to me 
 
 From the hilltop regions of peace. 
 
 Aye, to live is sweet in the valley fair, 
 
 And to toil till the set of sun; 
 But my spirit yearns for the hilltop's air 
 
 When the day and its work are done. 
 For a Presence breathes o'er the silent hills, 
 
 And its sweetness is living yet; 
 The same deep calm all the hillside fills. 
 
 As breathed over Olivet. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 llteacfjins for tfje JfflSountain 
 ^plenirors 
 
 HRIST clearly stated the purpose 
 of his mission to the world when 
 he said: "I came that they may 
 have life, and may have it abund- 
 antly." We do not begin to understand the 
 possibilities of our lives in the hands of Christ, 
 what he will make of us if we truly submit 
 ourselves to him. There are enemies about us. 
 The thief comes to kill, to destroy. Christ 
 comes to give life and to give it in fullness. 
 When the English laureate was asked what 
 Christ was to him, he replied by pointing to 
 a rose bush, full of glorious roses, and said: 
 "What the sun is to this rose bush, Christ 
 is to me." Think what Christ was to John, 
 the disciple, whom he found resentful, un- 
 gentle, whom he made into a disciple of love, 
 and whose influence fills the world to-day like 
 a holy fragrance. Think what Christ has 
 [ 135 ] 
 
'Cfjc 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 been to believers in all the Christian centuries, 
 what he is to the saints who to-daj are living 
 in the world. 
 
 "He that hath the Son, hath life. 
 The life of the Son is love, is goodness, 
 
 is spirit of kindness and gentleness." 
 
 Think what it is to have the life of Christ 
 in you. One of St, Paul's remarkable words 
 is, "Christ liveth in me," and the words mean 
 a literal indwelling of Christ. That is what 
 it is to be a Christian. Think what they are 
 missing who are not letting Christ live in 
 them. 
 
 Christ wants us to live richly, abundantly. 
 He is ever calling us to something larger and 
 better. Looking back over our life at the 
 close of a year, we see how often we have 
 failed. But failures, if we are faithfully fol- 
 lowing Christ, are not final. They are but 
 beginnings which are left for completion in 
 the future. Browning's lines are suggestive: 
 
 "The high that proved too high, 
 The heroic for earth too hard, 
 
 [ 136] 
 
Cfje JiltSountain ^plenbors 
 
 The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the 
 
 sky, 
 Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; 
 
 Enough that he heard it once; 
 
 We shall hear it by and by." 
 
 We say that we find these high things un- 
 attainable and that we never can reach them. 
 No; we shall reach them if we continue to 
 strive. We are at school, only learning, and 
 learning is always slow. We try to get the 
 lesson and we fail, but that is not defeat. 
 We will try again and again, and at last we 
 shall master the hard lessons. Nothing we 
 can think of is beyond ultimate possible at- 
 taining. Last year's failures were not final; 
 they were only things we tried to do and did 
 not quite master. Some day we shall finish 
 them. We are immortal. Our failures now 
 are only immaturities; some day they will 
 reach maturity. 
 
 St. Paul gives us a good lesson for progress 
 when he counsels us to leave the things that 
 are behind and to stretch toward the things 
 that are before. Some things, of course, we 
 are not to forget. It would be a sin to forget 
 
 [m] 
 
Cfje ^ook of Comfort 
 
 our mercies — the kindnesses we receive, the 
 self-denials and sacrifices others have made 
 for us. We should cherish with most sacred 
 regard and gratitude the memory of friend- 
 ships that have meant so much to us. 
 
 But there are some things which we should 
 resolutely and determinedly forget and leave 
 behind. We should forget our worries. We 
 see afterward how foolish they were, and how 
 useless. Some of the things we fretted about 
 a year ago, and allowed to vex and harry us, 
 we now thank God for. They were among 
 the best things of the whole year. We should 
 forget our sorrows. "No," we say, "we never 
 can. They were too bitter." Yes, but they 
 brought blessing in their bitterness. It may 
 be too soon yet for us to give thanks for them, 
 but some day we shall. At last we shall see 
 that the greatest good to our lives has come 
 out of the things which at the time seemed 
 disastrous. 
 
 We should forget the sins of our past. 
 Should we indeed? Should we ever forget 
 our sins? Not until we have confessed them 
 [ 138 ] 
 
^fje JflSountain ^plenbors 
 
 and given them up. But when they have been 
 forgiven, we sliould forget them in the love 
 and praise of our hearts. We must not make 
 light of sin — it is an exceedingly bitter thing. 
 Sin has filled the world with ruin. It blots 
 and stains and spoils everything it touches. 
 We need to make very sure that we have re- 
 pented of our sins and that they have been 
 forgiven. It will never do merely to forget 
 them, to cover them up and leave them un- 
 canceled and pass them by. Only God can 
 safely cover sins. Sins which only men them- 
 selves cover will plague them afterward. But 
 the sins which God has blotted out and ceased 
 to remember, we may forget w^hile we go on in 
 the joy of our new life. 
 
 We should not drag our old habits with us. 
 There are habits which marred last year which 
 we should leave behind amid the rubbish. 
 There are companionships which we should 
 give up positively to-day. Only at our soul's 
 peril can we continue them. Our friendships, 
 if they are pure and good and uplifting, we 
 should cherish — they are making our lives 
 
 [ 139 ] 
 
'3ri)E 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 rich, strong, true, beautiful. But if they are 
 unholy, if they are corrupt in their influence, 
 if they are hurting us in our character, draw- 
 ing us toward evil, the only true thing to 
 do is to break them off, not to carry them with 
 us into the new, bright, clean life of the new 
 days. 
 
 One is grieving over a lost friendship. Once 
 it was everything to you. It was in all your 
 thoughts. You built no dream fabric, but this 
 friendship was in it. You made no plans for 
 the future, but this friend and you were close, 
 side by side. How can you go on with this 
 friendship out of your life? How can you be- 
 gin the new year and know that it has forever 
 passed away? Let Christ answer your ques- 
 tions. Let him take your life, and he will give 
 you a joy that will fill your heart. He will be 
 better to you than all the earth. You ask 
 ''How ? " I do not know. Trust the way 
 with him. He came to give you life abund- 
 antly. 
 
 Another class of things we should not carry 
 forward into a new life is our quarrels, if we 
 [ 140 ] 
 
have any, our angers, our resentments, our 
 grudges. "Let not the sun go down upon 
 your wrath," ran the old teaching. We may 
 not Hve over night, and we may never have 
 a chance to ask forgiveness, if we do not do 
 it before we sleep. Most positive is the Mas- 
 ter's teaching that we must forgive if we 
 would be forgiven. 
 
 "When you stand praying, forgive." Then 
 the prayer the Master taught us is, "Forgive 
 us our debts as we forgive our debtors." If 
 it was wrong to carry the unforgiveness for 
 one day, and through the night, it must be 
 still worse to carry the resentments, the quar- 
 rels, the angers, over into the new year. We 
 should carry nothing but love with us into any 
 to-morrow. Bitterness is most undivine ; only 
 love is divine. If any one has wronged you, 
 and a bitter feeling has lingered in your heart 
 toward him, forgive the wrong and let love 
 wipe out the bitterness. If you remember 
 before God that you have done an injury to 
 another, spoken some angry word, spoken 
 anything unloving, hurt a life by anything 
 [ 141 ] 
 
Cf)e 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 you have done, do not enter the new year 
 without seeking forgiveness. 
 
 "If fault of mine, or pride, or fear, 
 Has cost one soul, or far or near, 
 May the hurt die with thee. Old Year." 
 
 These are suggestions of what Christ means 
 by life. He came that we may have Hfe and 
 that we may have it abundantly. Have you 
 noticed that to live and to love seem to be 
 parts of the same verb? To live is to love. 
 Loved is the perfect of live. Christ is love. 
 Abundant life is abundant love. A new year 
 calls us to better life, that is, to love better. 
 When Jesus bids us to be perfect, he means 
 perfect in living. "For if ye love them that 
 love you, what reward have ye?" Even the 
 publicans loved that way. "And if ye salute 
 your brethren only, what do ye more than 
 others?" The Gentiles go that far. "Ye 
 therefore shall be perfect, even as your 
 heavenly Father is perfect." 
 
 You say, "I never can be perfect." True, 
 the lesson is hard, and it will take you a long 
 [ 142 ] 
 
^ije Jl^ountain ^plenborS 
 
 time to Icarn it. It is hard to learn to love 
 unreasonable people. It is hard to love your 
 enemies. It is a long lesson to become perfect 
 in loving; nevertheless, there the lesson stands 
 — "Be ye perfect." And it must be learned, 
 — not in a day, or in a year, but like all 
 great lessons, slowly, to-day a little, and to- 
 morrow a little. Some one writes among New 
 Year's lessons: 
 
 ''Speak a shade more kindly than the year before; 
 Pray a little oftener; love a little more; 
 Cling a little closer to the Father's love; 
 Thus life below shall liker grow to life above." 
 
 This is the way in all our learning and 
 growing. It is thread by thread that makes 
 the web. It is note by note that makes the 
 thrilling music of the great oratorio. It is 
 block by block that builds the majestic temple. 
 It is touch by touch of the brush that paints 
 a marvelous picture. It is line by line that 
 makes the beautiful life. "Speak a shade 
 more kindly" until you have learned always to 
 speak kindly. "Pray a little oftener," till 
 your whole life becomes a prayer. "Love 
 [ 143 ] 
 
Cfje 2?aofe of Comfort 
 
 a little more," until you have learned to love 
 every sort of person, and can give your life 
 in loving, serving the worst. 
 
 We must remember that it is not in any 
 easy or self-indulgent life that Christ will 
 lead us to greatness. The easy life leads 
 not upward, but downward. Heaven always 
 is above us, and we must ever be reaching up 
 toward it. There are some people who always 
 avoid things that are costly, that require self- 
 denial or self-restraint and sacrifice, but toil 
 and hardship show us the only way to noble- 
 ness. Greatness comes not by having a mossy 
 path made for you through the meadows, but 
 by being sent to hew out a roadway by your 
 own hands. Are you going to reach the 
 mountain splendors .^^ 
 
 [ 144 ] 
 
Uife'g O^pen l^oorss 
 
"Cast out all envy, bitterness, and hate; 
 
 And keep the mind's fair tabernacle pure. 
 
 Shake hands with Pain, give greeting unto Grief, 
 
 Those angels in disguise, and thy glad soul 
 'From height to height, from star to shining star, 
 
 Shall climb and claim blest immortality." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Hife'si O^pen Poors! 
 
 IFE is full of doors. A door Is 
 a very simple thing. It may be 
 only a plain, unadorned piece of 
 board. Its significance is not in 
 the material of which it is made or in its 
 costliness or its artistic beauty, but in the fact 
 that it is a door which opens to something. 
 One may open to a noble gallery of pictures ; 
 enter, and you stand amid the finest works of 
 art. Another opens into a great library ; 
 enter, and you find about you the works of the 
 wise men of the ages. Another opens to a 
 school, a great university ; enter, and you are 
 listening to distinguished teachers whose 
 learned teachings will enrich your mind. It 
 is not the door itself that matters, but that to 
 which the door is the entrance. 
 
 Life's doors are not shut and locked. They 
 may not be gilded and they may not invite 
 to ease and pleasure, but they open to the 
 
 [147] 
 
Cije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 truest and best things, to the finest possibili- 
 ties of character and attainment, and to the 
 noblest ultimate achievements. 
 
 There are doors that open to good. They 
 may not invite us to easy things. The best 
 things do not offer themselves to us as self- 
 indulgences. Some one says : "I fought some- 
 thing out myself, once, and I won. It was 
 hard, but I did it, and I'd do it again — I 
 wouldn't be coward enough to run away. 
 When things hurt you, you don't have to 
 let anybody know. You can shut your lips 
 tight, and if you bite your tongue hard 
 enough it keeps back the tears. I always 
 pretend I'm a rock, with the waves beating 
 against me. Let it hurt inside, if it wants 
 to — you don't have to let anybody see." The 
 doors may not be attractive that we ought to 
 enter, but they open to the truest and best 
 life, to the finest possibilities of character and 
 attainment and to the noblest ultimate achieve- 
 ment. 
 
 There is the door of education. All life 
 is a school. Young people are graduated by 
 [ 148 ] 
 
TLilt'i Open J^ooti 
 
 and by from college and university, but their 
 education is not finished. This should go on 
 in the occupations and struggles that follow. 
 It is there we learn the real lessons of life. 
 
 There is the door of hardship and pain. 
 One of the papers pays tribute to one un- 
 named man who died recently after years of 
 intense suffering. He never asked pity or any 
 concessions because of his suffering, but grew 
 more and more devoted to his work. There 
 are many people who permit their pain and 
 misfortune to make constant appeal to human 
 sympathy instead of bearing these burdens 
 quietly and heroically as a soldier wears the 
 marks of his profession. Suffering, properly 
 endured, develops power and adds to useful- 
 ness. The school of hardship and pain is 
 where we learn many of the finest things. 
 "The man who wins its real successes is not 
 he who has the most perfect health, but he 
 who bears disease and misfortune with silent 
 courage and gains from them a more daring 
 spirit; who meets failure as if it were veiled 
 victory ; who challenges death by ignoring 
 
 [ 149 ] 
 
Cfte ^ook of Comfort 
 
 its fearful aspect, tearing off its mask, and 
 meeting it with a smile." 
 
 Another of the doors which opens to us in 
 life is the door to kindness. Many people 
 think of kindness as only a kindergarten les- 
 son, but one who accepts the task finds it very 
 long. Kindness begins in unselfishness, the 
 crucifying of self. It is sacrificial in its 
 every feeling and act. Wherever self stays 
 in the heart there will be unkindness in the 
 life, in some form. To be kind is to be gentle. 
 Kindness will not break a bruised reed nor 
 quench the smoking wick. Kindness is 
 thoughtful, so sensitive in the consciousness of 
 others' condition that it refrains from every 
 act, word or look that would give pain. Kind- 
 ness is sympathetic, touched by suffering and 
 quick to give comfort. It is a great door, 
 this, that opens into the school of kindness. 
 
 Another of life's doors opens into the school 
 of helpfulness. When we begin to be like 
 God we begin to be helpful. We think we 
 love each other, but the love is only a mere 
 f^cntiment until it has been wrought into 
 [ 150 ] 
 
TLilt'i O^pen J^oorg 
 
 sacrificial act, into service which costs. Per- 
 sonal helpfulness is the test as well as the 
 measure of the quality of the mind of Christ 
 that is in us. Evermore people need to be 
 helped. This docs not mean that we are to 
 carry their burdens, pay their debts, do their 
 v/ork, fight their battles. Such helpfulness 
 does evil rather than good. We help others 
 truly when we make them strong and brave, 
 that they may carry their own burdens and 
 meet their own struggles. Helpfulness should 
 cheer, encourage, inspire, impart larger vis- 
 ions and greater hope and confidence. There 
 are men everywhere who are pressed, be- 
 leagured, ready to sink down and perish, 
 whom strong brotherly sympathy would save. 
 They are in sorrow, disappointment has stag- 
 gered them, or they have been defeated in 
 their purposes. To be able to help these is 
 the highest service we can render to the world. 
 "To be a strong hand in the dark to another 
 in the time of need," says Hugh Black, "to 
 be a cup of strength to a human soul in a 
 crisis of weakness, is to know the glory of 
 [151] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 life." There would seem to be no limit to the 
 possibilities of this higher helpfulness. The 
 true Christian life is reached by the emptying 
 of self and the filling of the emptiness with 
 Christ. When Christ is in us, we are able to 
 help others with his strength. 
 
 It is a wonderful door which opens into a 
 noble Christian life. Men are trying to make 
 us believe that there is nothing in Chris- 
 tianity, that taking Christ into one's life 
 does nothing for one. But what has Christ 
 done for the lives of his friends along the 
 centuries? What did he do for John and 
 Peter? What did he do for Paul? What is 
 he doing continually for those who follow him 
 in faith and consecration? Dr. Robertson 
 Nicoll, in a recent address, referred to John 
 G. Paton's work in the New Hebrides. "His 
 wife died when he and she w^ere laboring in 
 a savage island and had made practically no 
 converts. The missionary had to dig her 
 grave himself and to lay her there with the 
 dark, hostile faces round him. 'If It had not 
 been for Jesus,' Dr. Paton says, 'and the 
 [ 152 ] 
 
Hife'fi O^pen J^oorS 
 
 presence lie vouchsafed me there, I should 
 have gone mad and died beside that lonely 
 grave.' " If it had not been for Jesus the 
 world would never have seen the glorious 
 ministry of Dr. Paton. Nor is that splendid 
 life singular in its story. Say what we may 
 about the failures of Christians which so 
 sadly mar the beauty of the Christian life, we 
 know that thousands of believers have reahzed 
 wonderful things, which if it had not been for 
 Jesus they never could have done. 
 
 By and by in even the best life we come to 
 a door which opens into old age. Many are 
 disposed to feci that this door can lead to 
 nothing beautiful. We cannot go on with our 
 former tireless energy, our crowded days, our 
 great achievements. But there is altogether 
 too much letting go, too mucli dropping of 
 tasks, too much falling out of the pilgrim 
 march, when old age comes on. We may not 
 be able to run swiftly as before. We tire more 
 easily. We forget some things. But old 
 age may be made ver^^ beautiful and full of 
 fruit. This door opens into a period of great 
 [153] 
 
etc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 possibilities of usefulness, a true crowning of 
 the life. Old age is not a blot, if it is what it 
 should be. It is not a withering of the life, 
 but a ripening. It is not something to dread, 
 but is the completion of God's plan. 
 
 "Grow old along with me! 
 The best is yet to be, 
 
 The last of life, for which the first was made; 
 Our times are in his hand 
 Who saith, 'A whole I planned.' 
 
 Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be 
 afraid." 
 
 Last of all we come to the door of death. 
 Into what does this door lead? Is there any- 
 thing beyond — anything beautiful, anything 
 glorious.? Our Christian faith tells us that 
 death is not a wall, but a door. We do not 
 in dying come to the end of anything beauti- 
 ful and good, but only pass through into 
 blessedness and glory. We are immortal and 
 shall never die. All the lessons we have 
 been learning in earth's schools we shall go 
 on practicing forever. We shall enter into 
 the joy of Christ when we pass through this 
 last door of earth. 
 
 [ 154 ] 
 
^omc Hcsfiong on Spiritual 
 <!BrotPtf) 
 
"Lead me, yea lead me, deeper into life — 
 This suffering, human life wherein Thou liv'st 
 And breathest still and hold'st Thy way divine. 
 'Tis here, O pitying Christ, where Thee I seek — 
 Here where the strife is fiercest, where the sun 
 Beats doivn upon the highway thronged with men, 
 And in the raging mart. O! deeper lead 
 My soul into the living world of souls 
 Where Thou dost move." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 ^ome TLtiioni on Spiritual 
 O^rototf) 
 
 ESUS loved nature. He saw In It 
 the tokens and expressions of his 
 Father's love and care. What 
 could be more exquisite, for ex- 
 ample, than the thoughts a little flower 
 started in his mind, as we find them expressed 
 in the Sermon on the Mount .-^ He was urg- 
 ing people never to be anxious. Just then his 
 eye fell on a lily growing In its marvelous 
 beauty by the wayside, and he used it to teach 
 a lesson about the care of God. God cares 
 even for the smallest flower, and his hand 
 weaves for it its exquisite raiment. "And why 
 are ye anxious concerning raiment? " Thus 
 our Lord saw in every flower that blooms 
 something his Father had made and beautified, 
 something he cared for with all gentleness. 
 And of whatever other use the flowers are, 
 he at least wants us to learn from them this 
 [157] 
 
Cfje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 truth of trust, so that wc shall never be 
 anxious. The flowers never are. 
 
 One of the most suggestive of our Lord's 
 parables of growth is given by Mark only. 
 The kingdom of God is likened to a sower's 
 seed cast upon the earth and growing the 
 sower knows not how. In our modern agricul- 
 ture we are losing much of the picturesqueness 
 of the farmer's life as it was in our Lord's 
 day. Still the lesson of the seed is the same 
 whatsoever way it may be planted. It is a 
 very little thing, but Jesus notes in it and in 
 its mode of growing a picture of something 
 very wonderful, a picture of the kingdom of 
 God. The same laws prevail in things natural 
 and things spiritual. "So is the kingdom of 
 God, as if a man should cast seed upon the 
 earth." We are all sowers. We may not be 
 farmers or gardeners, yet everywhere we go 
 we are sowing seeds. We talk to a friend 
 an hour, and then go our way, never giving 
 thought again to what we said, but years af- 
 terward something will grow up in the friend's 
 life and character from the seeds we dropped 
 [158] 
 
Hefisions on Spiritual O^rotott) 
 
 so unconsciously or without purpose, that day. 
 We lend a friend a book and he reads it. We 
 never think of the book again ; our friend 
 never tells us whether he Hked it or not. But 
 many years later there is a life moving about 
 among other lives, and leaving upon them its 
 impress, which was inspired by the book we 
 lent, something in it which influenced the 
 course and career of the life. 
 
 Seeds are wonderful things. There is mys- 
 tery in the secret of life they carry in them. 
 Diamonds or pearls have no such secret in 
 them. Men do not plant them. They never 
 grow. We do not know what marvelous re- 
 sults will come from some slightest word of 
 ours spoken any day. It may not always be 
 good — it may be evil; all depends upon the 
 seed. The farmer sowed good seed, expecting 
 a rich and beautiful harvest. An enemy came 
 one night, while the farmer was sleeping, and 
 sowed tares, and the tare seeds grew and 
 spoiled the harvest. We need to watch what 
 we are sowing lest a trail of evil and unbeauty 
 shall follow us. We need to watch what we 
 
 [ 159] 
 
(Cte 2?oob ot Comfort 
 
 say in our little talks with the people we meet 
 through the days, or in our influence over 
 them, lest we leave stain or hurt behind. 
 
 But it is of the growth of the seed that our 
 Lord speaks in his parable. "As if a man 
 should cast seed upon the earth; and should 
 sleep and rise night and day, and the seed 
 should spring up and grow, he knoweth not 
 how." He does not stay out in the fields and 
 watch his seed growing. He only casts it into 
 the ground and lets it grow as it will. When 
 the seed is once in the soil, it is out of 
 the sower's hand forever. Good or bad, it 
 is gone now beyond his reach. You may write 
 a letter full of bitter words. You were angry 
 when you wrote it. Your conscience told you 
 you ought not to send it, for it would only 
 cause bitterness. You went out to mail it. 
 All along the way as you went toward the 
 post box the voice within you kept saying, 
 "Don't mail it." You came to the box and 
 hesitated, for still there was a clamorous voice 
 beseeching you, "Do not send it." But the 
 anger was yet flaming and you put the letter 
 [160] 
 
Heggong on Spiritua l O^rototl) 
 
 in the box. Then you began to wish jou had 
 not done so. You began to think of the un- 
 lovingness in the bitter words. It was too 
 late, now, however, for the cruel letter was 
 beyond your reach. 
 
 So it is when one drops a seed into the 
 ground, whether it be good or evil. The die 
 IS cast. The seed is in the ground. There 
 is no use to watch it. So it is when one has 
 dropped an evil influence into a life. Until 
 the word was spoken or the thing was done, 
 it was in your own power and you could have 
 withheld it. Till then you could have kept 
 the word unspoken or the deed undone. But 
 now it is out of your power. No swiftest 
 messenger can pursue it and take it back. 
 The seed is sown, and you can only let it stay 
 and grow. A man goes on with his work, 
 busy in a thousand ways, and the seed he 
 dropped is growing continually, he knows not 
 how, or into what form ; the word he spoke, 
 the thing he did, is in people's hearts and 
 lives, and its influence is at work, he knows 
 not how. And no power in the universe can 
 [161] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 arrest it or get it back. You may pray, but 
 prayer cannot get back the regretted word 
 or deed. 
 
 There is something startling in this 
 thought of how what we have once done 
 passes then forever out of our hand, beyond 
 recall, and how it goes on in its growth and 
 influence in the silence, while we wake and 
 while we sleep. The time to check evil things, 
 to keep them from forever growing into more 
 and more baleful evil, is before we cast the 
 seed into the ground. We need to think seri- 
 ously of this truth, that there is a line beyond 
 which our power over our words and deeds 
 and influences ceases forever. 
 
 There is a marvelous power, too, in the 
 earth, which, when it receives the seed, begins 
 to deal with it so as to bring out its mystery 
 of life. If the seed is not cast into the ground 
 it will not grow. Its life can be brought out 
 and it can grow only through being cast into 
 the ground. The planting is all we have to 
 do, all we can do. "The earth beareth fruit 
 of herself." We cannot help the soil take 
 [162] 
 
TLtSioni on ^^^piritual O^rototf) 
 
 care of the seed, and we do not have to help 
 God take care of the good words we speak to 
 others. The seed is divine, and the influences 
 that act upon it are divine. So all we have to 
 do is to get the truth into the hearts of those 
 we would save and build up ; God will do the 
 rest. We are not responsible for the growth 
 of the seed, for the work of grace in a human 
 heart. Great is the mysterious power in the 
 earth which touches the seed, enfolds it, quick- 
 ens it and causes it to grow. But this only 
 illustrates the power that works in human 
 hearts and lives, the power of the divine 
 Spirit. This holy life receives the heavenly 
 truth that is put into the heart, and brings 
 out its blessed possibilities, till we see a new 
 life like unto God's own life, a Christ life, 
 blessing the world with its beauty and its 
 love. 
 
 [l63] 
 
'^Tfje 'STfjanfegsitjinff HegSoti 
 
"It's O my heart, my heart, 
 
 To he out in the sun and sing! 
 To sing and shout in the fields about, 
 In the halm and the hlossoming. 
 
 "Sing loud, O hird in the tree! 
 
 hird, sing loud in the sky! 
 
 And honey-bees, blacken the clover seas; 
 There are none of you glad as I. 
 
 "The leaves laugh low in the wind. 
 Laugh low with the winds at play; 
 
 And the odorous call of the flowers all 
 Entices my soul away. 
 
 "For O but the world is fair, is fair! 
 
 And O but the world is sweet! 
 I will out in the gold of the blossoming mold. 
 And sit at the Master's feet. 
 
 "And the love of my heart would speak 
 
 1 would fold in the lily's rim, 
 
 That the lips of the blossom more pure and meek 
 May offer it up to Him. 
 
 "Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrush! 
 
 O skylark, sing in the blue! 
 Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, 
 And my soul shall sing with you." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 LADNESS may not be thanksgiv- 
 ing. It certainly is not all of 
 thanksgiving. One may have a 
 heart bubbling with joy, without 
 a note of thanksgiving. The task of happi- 
 ness is one to which we should all firmly set 
 ourselves. To be miserable in this glorious 
 world is most unfit. We should cultivate joy- 
 ousness. But our present lesson Is a larger 
 and deeper one. 
 
 Thanksgiving implies thought of God. 
 One may be glad all the day and never think 
 of God. Thanksgiving looks up with every 
 breath and sees God as Father from whom all 
 blessings come. Thanksgiving is praise. 
 The heart is full of gratitude. Every mo- 
 ment has something in it to inspire love. The 
 lilies made Jesus think of his Father, for it 
 was he who clothed them in beauty. The 
 [167] 
 
'Cfjc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 providence of our lives, if we think rightly of 
 it, is simply God caring for us. 
 
 Our circumstances may sometimes be hard, 
 our experiences painful, and we may see noth- 
 ing in them to make us glad. But faith 
 teaches us that God is always good and always 
 kind, whatever the present events may be. 
 We may be thankful, therefore, even when we 
 cannot be glad. Our hearts may be grateful, 
 knowing that good will come to us even out of 
 pain and loss. This is the secret of true 
 thanksgiving. It thinks always of God and 
 praises him for everything. The song never 
 dies out in the heart, however little there 
 may be in the circumstances of life to make 
 us glad. 
 
 Thanksgiving is a quality of all noble and 
 unselfish life. No man is so unworthy as he 
 who never cherishes the sentiment of grati- 
 tude, who receives life's gifts and favors and 
 never gives back anything in return for all 
 he gets. 
 
 "There is one thing I fear — 
 Not death, nor sharp disease, 
 
 [168] 
 
Clje Cfjanfesgitiins TLtiion 
 
 Nor loss of friends 1 hold most dear, 
 Nor pain, nor want — not these, 
 
 'But the life of which men say: 
 The world has given him bread; 
 
 And what gives he to the world as pay 
 For the crust on which he fed?" 
 
 Until we think seriously of it we do not 
 begin to realize what we are receiving con- 
 tinually from those about us. None may give 
 us money, or do for us things which the world 
 counts gifts or favors, but these are not the 
 best things. Our teachers are ever enriching 
 us by the lessons they give us. Those who 
 require hard tasks of us and severely demand 
 of us the best we can do are our truest bene- 
 factors. "The man who gives me a new 
 thought, enriches me. The man who puts 
 iron into my blood, puts health into my blood. 
 The man who in this world of snow and sleet 
 keeps me moving, saves my life; and if the 
 movement be an upward and onward move- 
 ment, every step is so much nearer the king- 
 dom of heaven." 
 
 Sometimes we complain of the hardness of 
 
 [169] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 our lives, that we have had so little of ease 
 and luxury, that we have had to work so 
 hard, bear so many burdens, and sometimes 
 we let ourselves grow bitter and unthankful 
 as we think of the severity of our experience. 
 But of ttimes it has been in these very severities 
 that we have got the richest qualities in our 
 character. If we are living truly, serving 
 God and following Christ, there is no event 
 or experience for which w^e may not be thank- 
 ful. Every voice of our lips should be praise. 
 Every day of our years should be a thanks- 
 giving day. 
 
 He who has learned the Thanksgiving les- 
 son well has found the secret of a beautiful 
 life. "Praise is comely," says the Hebrew 
 poet. Comely means fit, graceful, pleasing, 
 attractive. Ingratitude is never comely. 
 The life that is always thankful is winsome, 
 ever a joy to all who know it. The influence 
 of an ever-praising life on those it touches is 
 almost divine. The way to make others good 
 is to be good yourself. The way to diffuse 
 a spirit of thanksgiving is to be thankful 
 [ 170] 
 
Cije Cijanfesigtoing TLtision 
 
 yourself. A complaining spirit makes unhap- 
 piness everywhere. 
 
 How may we learn this Thanksgiving les- 
 son? It comes not merely through a glad 
 natural disposition. There are some favored 
 people who were born cheerful. They have 
 in them a spirit of happiness which nothing 
 ever quenches. They always see the bright 
 side of things. They are naturally optimis- 
 tic. But the true thanksgiving spirit is more 
 than this. It is something which can take 
 even an unhappy and an ungrateful spirit 
 and make it new in its sweetness and beauty. 
 It is something which can change discontent 
 and complaining into praise, ingratitude into 
 grateful, joyful trust. Christian thanksgiv- 
 ing is the life of Christ in the heart, 
 transforming the disposition and the whole 
 character. 
 
 Thanksgiving must be wrought into the life 
 as a habit before it can become a fixed and per- 
 manent quality. An occasional burst of praise 
 in years of complaining is not all that is re- 
 quired. Songs on rare, sunshiny days, and no 
 [171] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 songs when skies are cloudy will not make a 
 life of gratitude. The heart must learn to 
 sing always. This lesson is learned only when 
 it becomes a habit that nothing can weaken. 
 We must persist in being thankful. When we 
 can see no reason for praise we must believe 
 in the divine love and goodness and sing in 
 the darkness. 
 
 Thanksgiving has attained its rightful 
 place in us only when it is part of all our 
 days and dominates all our experiences. We 
 may call one day in the year Thanksgiving 
 Day and fill it with song and gladness, re- 
 membering all the happy things we have en- 
 joyed, all the pleasant events, all the blessings 
 of our friendships, all our prosperities. But 
 we cannot gather all our year's thanksgivings 
 into any brightest day. We cannot leave 
 to-day without thanks and then thank God 
 to-morrow for to-day and to-morrow both. 
 To-day's sunshine will not light to-morrow's 
 skies. Every day must be a thanksgiving 
 day for itself. 
 
 [172] 
 
Cfje 31niii)Spens!atile Cfjrigt 
 
'To stretch my hand and touch Him, 
 
 Though He be far away; 
 To raise my eyes and see Him 
 
 Through darkness as through day; 
 To lift my voice and call Him — 
 
 This is to pray! 
 
 'To feel a hand extended 
 By One who standeth near; 
 
 To view the love that shineth 
 In eyes serene and clear; 
 
 To know that he is calling — 
 This is to hear!" 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 '^Tiie 31nbt£(pengal)lc €i)xiit 
 
 HE closest of all relationships is 
 that of Christ and the believer in 
 him. Our Lord himself used the 
 vine and the branches to illustrate 
 this relation. The branch actually grows 
 out of the vine. It cannot exist apart from 
 it. There are some friends whom we might 
 lose and be a little poorer. But to lose Christ 
 out of our life is the greatest of all losses. 
 
 There is a story by Henry van Dyke called 
 "The Lost Word," which, in most striking 
 way illustrates the irreparable loss of one who 
 parts with Christ. It is a story of one of 
 the early centuries. Hermas had given him- 
 self to Christ. He belonged to a wealthy 
 pagan family. His father disinherited him 
 and drove him out of his home when he ac- 
 cepted Christianity. 
 
 In the Grove of Daphne one day Hermas 
 sat down by a gushing spring, and there came 
 [ 175 ] 
 
'Clje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 to him a priest of Apollo, who saw his un- 
 happy mood and began to talk to him. In 
 the end the old man made this bargain 
 with Hermas. He was to assure him of 
 wealth, happiness and success, and Hermas 
 was to give him only a word ; he was to part 
 with the name of Him whom he had learned 
 to worship. "Let me take that word, and all 
 that belongs to it, entirely out of your life. 
 I promise you everything," said the old man, 
 "and this is all I ask of you in return. Do 
 you consent? " "Yes, I consent," said 
 Hermas. So he lost the word. 
 
 Hermas went back to Antioch to his old 
 home. He found his father dying. The old 
 man received his son eagerly. Then he asked 
 Hermas to tell him the secret of the Chris- 
 tian faith he had chosen. "You found some- 
 thing in that faith that made you willing to 
 give up your life for it. Tell me what it is ! " 
 Hermas began, "Father, you must believe 
 with all your heart and soul and strength in 
 
 ." Where was the word ? He had lost 
 
 it, 
 
 [176] 
 
Clje 31nbigpens;a6Ie €\jviit 
 
 Happiness came. Sitting one day with his 
 wife beside him and his baby on his knee, he 
 thought of his old faith, and longed to thank 
 Christ and seek his blessing. Going to an 
 old shrine in the garden, he tried to pray, but 
 could not. He had lost the Name in which 
 alone prayer could be offered. One day his 
 boy was terribly hurt and he wanted to pray 
 for his life, but again, the Name was gone. 
 
 Thus in three great hours of need, Hermas, 
 forgetting that he had given up the blessed 
 Name, turned to seek the help that could be 
 got only through that Name, and found 
 nothing but blankness and emptiness. 
 
 This is only a little story, but it is one 
 that has become true in actual life thousands 
 of times. People have given up the name of 
 Christ, sold it for money, pleasure, power, 
 fame or sin. Then, when times of need came, 
 and they turned to find help, they received 
 no answer to their cries. 
 
 "Without me ye can do nothing." Of 
 course, there are certain things that men can 
 do who are without Christ. There are people 
 [ 177] 
 
'Ctie ^ook of Comfort 
 
 who are very useful, benefactors to others, 
 yet who never pray, who do not love Christ. 
 One may be an artist and may paint lovely 
 pictures which the world will admire, and yet 
 not believe in Christ. One may be a writer, 
 and may prepare books which will interest 
 others and enlighten, cheer and inspire lives 
 to noble deeds, and yet utterly disregard 
 Christ. A man may be a good father, kind to 
 his family, making his home beautiful with the 
 loveliest adornments, providing for his chil- 
 dren, and not know Christ. When Jesus says, 
 "Without me ye can do nothing," he does not 
 mean that we cannot live a moral life, cannot 
 be good merchants, good lawyers, good physi- 
 cians, good teachers, good fathers and 
 mothers — what he means is that we cannot 
 bear spiritual fruit. 
 
 No friend can say to any other friend 
 "Without me ye can do nothing." A mother 
 cannot say it to her child. It is a sore loss 
 when a mother is taken away from her little 
 child — how sore a loss cannot be explained. 
 Even God cannot twice give a mother. No 
 [ 178] 
 
other woman, however loving in spirit, how- 
 ever wise in guiding the young life, can be to 
 it all its own mother would have been. Yet 
 even the best and holiest mother cannot say 
 to her child, "Without me ye can do nothing." 
 The child may live, and live nobly without its 
 mother. 
 
 There are other human friendships that 
 seem to be really indispensable. The trust- 
 ing, clinging wife may say to her husband, 
 who is being taken from her : "I cannot live 
 without you. If you leave me I will die. I 
 cannot face the cold winds without your shel- 
 ter. I cannot go on with the duties, the 
 burdens, the struggles, the responsibilities, 
 without your comradeship, your love, your 
 cheer, your strong support, your wise guid- 
 ance." So it seems to her, as she stands amid 
 the wreck of her hopes ; but when he is gone, 
 the strong man on whom she had leaned, and 
 the sorrowing woman takes up the tasks, the 
 duties, the burdens, the battles and walks 
 alone, courage comes into her heart and she 
 grows in heroic qualities. "I never dreamed 
 
 [179] 
 
Ci)C 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 that I could possibly get along as I have," 
 said a woman the other day, after a year's 
 widowhood. Then she told of her utter faint- 
 ness when she realized that he was gone. He 
 had been everything to her. She had wanted 
 for nothing, had never known a care. But as 
 she turned away from his grave, it seemed to 
 her that everything was lost. What could she 
 do? But Christ was with her. Peace came 
 into her heart, calmness came, than courage 
 began to revive. She grew self-reliant and 
 strong. She was a marvel to her friends as 
 she took up the work of her life. She showed 
 resources which none ever imagined she had. 
 The problem of life in such cases as hers is, 
 not to be hurt by the sorrow, but to grow 
 strong in it. This woman's bereavement made 
 her. She lived, and lived grandly, without 
 the one who had seemed absolutely indis- 
 pensable. 
 
 We learn at least that no human life, how- 
 ever close it has been, whatever its strength, 
 however much it was depended upon, is ac- 
 tually essential to any other life. To no one 
 [ 180] 
 
^i)e 31nbi5pensable Cfjris^t 
 
 can we say, "I cannot live without jou." 
 The frailest prove ofttimes the hardiest. The 
 broken are often the strongest. Some one 
 says, "The soul is never more magnificently 
 strong and safe than when tribulation, shut- 
 ting it up to simple love and trust, causes it 
 to behave itself like a weaned child." Sorrow, 
 if it be received as it should be, wakes up our 
 lives to their best. After the bitterest blows 
 have fallen, and apparently have left you 
 nothing but frailty, you can still go on. No 
 other human life is actually necessary to your 
 continued existence. The taking away of the 
 human reveals God. That perhaps is some- 
 times why God takes our earthly trust — that 
 we may find him and learn to trust him. 
 
 "Without me ye can do nothing." But we 
 do not have to do without Christ. We have 
 him. We are not severed from him. We live 
 because he lives in us. 
 
 [181] 
 
3x1 <€\)at Wi)it^ ii Ucast 
 
^The work of our hands — establish Thou it, 
 How often with thoughtless lips we pray, 
 But He who sits in the heavens shall say, 
 'Is the world of your hands so fair and fit 
 
 That ye dare thus pray?' 
 Safely we answer, 'Lord, make it fit — 
 The work of our hands, that so we may 
 Lift up our eyes and dare to pray. 
 The work of our hands — establish Thou it.* " 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 3In Ctat WWb is Heagt 
 
 NE of the secrets of a full and rich 
 life is in being always watchful 
 of the little things. We could 
 accomplish marvels in the quarter 
 hours we are wasting. We hear of men who 
 have learned a language at their dressing- 
 bureaus, or have read volumes in the minutes 
 they have had to wait in reception rooms of 
 friends they were calling upon, of others who 
 have memorized poems in walking about the 
 country. Notable achievements in the way of 
 study and research have been made by men 
 with only minutes of leisure, little interstices 
 of time between their absorbing occupation in 
 great tasks. There have been men with feeble 
 health, who could work only in little quarter 
 hours, who have achieved amazing results in 
 a short lifetime, or men with poor eyes, who 
 could read only a few minutes at a time, but 
 who have amassed great stores of knowledge 
 [ 185] 
 
<€\)t ^ook of Comfort 
 
 and attained distinction, even eminence, in 
 years of masterful diligence. 
 
 The way we use the fragments of our time, 
 what we do with the moments, determines 
 largely what we will make ourselves in the 
 end. Hurry is a dreadful waste of time. A 
 great surgeon said to his assistants when he 
 was beginning a serious operation, "Do not 
 be in a hurry, gentlemen ; we have no time 
 to lose." We never can do our work with 
 celerity, and we never can do it well, if we 
 hurry. We must have full possession of all 
 our powers if we would do our best. "He 
 that believeth," wrote the great prophet, 
 "shall not be in haste," and one rendering by 
 scholars is, "He that believeth shall not fuss." 
 Some one says : "Energy is not mere fuss. It 
 is often a high achievement of energy to say 
 'Peace, be still!'" 
 
 In recent years few words have been so 
 much in use and few have come to mean so 
 much as the word conservation. It means 
 stopping the waste, utilizing every particle, 
 whether of material or energy. In certain 
 [186] 
 
3n Cfjat Wf)ki) ii ILcasft 
 
 lines of industr}^ a great deal is made of by- 
 products. A by-product is something pro- 
 duced in addition to the principal product. In 
 making gas, for instance, there is a large 
 waste in what is called coal-tar. Coal-tar is 
 now used in the process of dyeing and is very 
 valuable. Thus the waste is turned to profit. 
 In the refining of oil the by-products, such as 
 benzine, naptha and paraffin, are captured 
 from the waste and are very important. 
 
 The same conservation should be practiced 
 in life itself. Most people employ but a frag- 
 ment of the capacity of their life and then 
 allow great measures of capacity to lie unde- 
 veloped, and in the end to atrophy. A vol- 
 ume could be filled with a description of a 
 human hand, its wonderful structure, and the 
 things it can be trained to do. Yet how many 
 hands ever reach the limit of their possible 
 achievements ? Think of the powers folded up 
 in a human brain and of the little of all these 
 powers most of us ever bring out in life. Now 
 and then a man starts in ignorance and pov- 
 erty and reaches a greatness in ability and in 
 [ 187] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 achievement which amazes the world. Doubt- 
 less thousands and thousands who never attain 
 anything beyond mediocrity have just as 
 great natural capacity, but the splendid 
 powers of their life are allowed to run to 
 waste. They are lacking in energy and do 
 only a little of what they might do. 
 
 In Christian life and character the same 
 is true. Jesus came to give his disciples not 
 life merely, but abundant life. We know 
 what he did with his first disciples, what 
 wonderful men he made of them and what they 
 did with their lives. Is there any reason to 
 think that these men were capable of greater 
 things than the men whom the Master is call- 
 ing in these days.? They were not beings of 
 a different order from the mass of men; the 
 difference was in the way they used their 
 gifts. Not a particle of power in them was 
 allowed to waste. There is capacity enough 
 in every little company of Christian people 
 to transform the community in which they live 
 into a garden of the Lord. It Is to such con- 
 secration that we are called. We are letting 
 [ 188] 
 
our powers and abilities run to waste instead 
 of training them and using them to bless the 
 world. We are not making the most of our- 
 selves. 
 
 There is a great waste of power also in our 
 failure to appreciate our opportunities. "If 
 I only had the gifts that this man has I would 
 do the large and beautiful things that he does. 
 But I never have the chance of doing such 
 things. Nothing ever comes to my hand but 
 opportunities for little commonplace things." 
 Now, the truth is that nothing is common- 
 place. The giving of a cup of cold water is 
 one of the smallest kindnesses any one can 
 show to another, yet Jesus said that God takes 
 notice of this act amid all the events of the 
 whole world, any busy day, and rewards it. 
 It may not be cabled half round the world 
 and announced with great headlines in the 
 newspapers, but it is noticed in heaven. 
 
 We do not begin to understand what great 
 waste we are allowing when we fail to put 
 the true value on little opportunities of serv- 
 ing others. Somehow we get the feeling that 
 
 [ 189 ] 
 
'^tje 2?oofe o{ Comfort 
 
 any cross-bearing worth while must be a costly 
 sacrifice, something that puts nails through 
 our hands, something that hurts till we bleed. 
 If we had an opportunity to do something 
 heroic we say we would do it. But when it 
 is only a chance to be kind to a neighbor, to 
 call at his house when he is in trouble, to sit 
 up with him at night when he is sick, or 
 to do something for a child, we never think 
 for a moment that such little things are the 
 Christlike deeds God wants us to do, and so 
 we pass them by and there is a great blank 
 in our lives where holy service ought to be. 
 
 When the great miracle of the loaves had 
 been wrought, Jesus sent his disciples to 
 gather up the broken pieces, "that nothing be 
 lost." The Master is continually giving us 
 the same command. Every hour's talk we 
 have with a friend leaves fragments that w^e 
 ought to gather up and keep to feed our 
 heart's hunger or the hunger of others' hearts, 
 as we go on. When we hear good words 
 spoken, or read a good book, we should gather 
 up the fragments of knowledge, the sugges- 
 [ 190 ] 
 
3In Cfjat t©f)icf) ii TLtait 
 
 tions of helpful thoughts, the broken pieces, 
 and fix them in our hearts for use in our lives. 
 We allow large values of the good things we 
 hear or read to turn to waste continually be- 
 cause we are poor listeners or do not try to 
 keep what we hear. We let the broken pieces 
 be lost and thereby are great losers. If only 
 we would gather up and keep all the good 
 things that come to us through conversations 
 and through reading, we would soon have 
 great treasures of knowledge and wisdom. 
 
 [191] 
 
Cfjc /H^aKtcr anb tift Cljilbren 
 
'In the House of Too Much Trouble 
 
 Lived a lonely little boy; 
 He was eager for a playmate, 
 
 He ^vas hungry for a toy. 
 But 'twas always too much bother, 
 
 Too much dirt and too much noise. 
 For the House of Too Much Trouble 
 
 Wasn't meant for little boys. 
 
 'And sometimes the little fellow 
 
 Left a book upon the floor. 
 Or forgot and laughed too loudly, 
 
 Or he failed to close the door. 
 In the House of Too Much Trouble 
 
 Things must be precise and trim — 
 In the House of Too Much Trouble 
 
 There was little room for him. 
 
 'He Tnust never scatter playthings. 
 
 He mtist never romp and play; 
 Every room Tnust be in order 
 
 And kept quiet all the day. 
 He had never had companions, 
 
 He had never owned a pet — 
 In the House of Too Much Trouble 
 
 It is trim and quiet yet. 
 
 'Every room is set in order — 
 
 Every book is in its place, 
 And the lonely little fellow 
 
 Wears a smile upon his face. 
 In the Hotise of Too Much Trouble 
 
 He is silent and at rest — 
 In the House of Too Much Trouble, 
 
 With a lily on his breast." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Cfte ^agtcr anb tf)c Cfjilbren 
 
 E who are working for the chil- 
 dren cannot too often remind 
 ourselves of our Lord's words to 
 Peter about the lambs. He 
 speaks of them as "my lambs." So the little 
 children belong to Christ. Then he makes 
 definite provision in his church for their care. 
 He bade his apostle to feed his lambs. Feed- 
 ing is a large word, however. The care must 
 cover the whole life, — the body, the mind, 
 the spirit. 
 
 This is mother's work, first of all. No 
 teacher can be substituted for a mother. It 
 is God's ordinance that the mother comes first 
 in shepherding the child. If she does her 
 part faithfully, according to her ability, her 
 hand never slacking, nothing will go wrong 
 with the keeping of her child. There is no 
 miracle of beautiful result in the bringing up 
 of children who turn out well. That is the 
 [ 195 ] 
 
Cfie 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 divine way when the home care has been what 
 it was ordained to be, and it cannot fail. 
 
 Next to the mother comes the teacher. The 
 mother cannot do all. Her part is large and 
 essential. God and the mother do the first 
 work in the training of the child. Not God 
 only — God and the mother. You cannot 
 leave the mother out. God does not make 
 men without mothers. You cannot substitute 
 prayer for a mother — some one praying for 
 the child instead of being a hving mother to 
 it. The human link may not be left out. It 
 must be God and the mother. 
 
 Then the teacher. Here another heresy 
 sometimes creeps in. Too much is left to 
 God. The teacher depreciates his own work. 
 He thinks he can do nothing. This is true 
 of the teacher alone. "Apart from me ye 
 can do nothing." But this does not mean 
 that all the work is done by Christ and noth- 
 ing by the teacher. God's plan is that we 
 shall be coworkers with him. It is God and 
 you. The weakness of a great deal that is 
 called Christian work is that it has in it an 
 [196] 
 
Cfje jRtSasfter anb ttje Ctilbren 
 
 abundance of dependence upon the divine 
 power, but the human part is lacking. If 
 the teacher does indifferent work instead of 
 his best, there will be a blank instead of 
 splendid, Christ-made men and women. Christ 
 still calls Peter to feed his lambs, and if 
 Peter's hand slacks, the lambs will go unfed. 
 
 The teacher's work is essential. It is like 
 the mother's, yet different. A great deal has 
 been done in recent years to exalt the import- 
 ance and widen the scope of the teacher's 
 work. We have thousands of training classes 
 in which students are drilled in the knowledge 
 of the Bible, in child study and in matters 
 which make them more skillful in teaching. 
 There cannot be too much preparation and 
 we must do our best. What Jesus had in 
 mind and laid on Peter's heart was feeding 
 his lambs. We know quite well the outcome 
 our Lord desires to have from the work done 
 by the church for the children. He wants 
 them shepherded until they are full-grown. 
 
 It is enough to say here a little in general 
 of the way the teachers should do their work. 
 [197] 
 
(^i)t 25ook of Comfort 
 
 It must be more than intellectually educa- 
 tional; it must result in character-building. 
 We are to bring the young people to Christ 
 and then train them for Christian life and 
 service. Christ himself is their Shepherd. 
 He knows them by name. He leads them out. 
 He shelters them from dangers. He gives 
 his life for them. It is our part as teachers 
 to make the love and ministry of Christ real 
 to those we teach. As nearly as we can we 
 must be Christ to them. 
 
 No name of Christ means more to us in 
 the interpretation of his life and love than 
 Friend. We are not only to tell those we 
 teach of the beauty of the friendship of 
 Christ, we must interpret that friendship in 
 ourselves. What Christ was to those to whom 
 be became a personal friend we must be to 
 those we make our friends. He did not seem 
 to do many things for them. He did not 
 greatly change their condition, he did not 
 make life easier for them. It was in a dif- 
 ferent way that his friendship helped them. 
 He gave them sympathy. They knew he 
 [ 198 ] 
 
Cfje /faster anb tfje Cljilbren 
 
 cared for them, and then the hard things 
 meant less to them. It is a great thing for 
 a boy to know that a good man is his friend, 
 is interested in him. To many a lad it is the 
 beginning of a new life for him. "If you 
 will be my friend I can be a man," said a 
 pupil in a mission school to his teacher who 
 had spoken to him the first really kind word 
 he ever had heard. The greatest moment in 
 any one's life is when he first realizes that 
 Christ is his Friend. 
 
 One of the most winning and impressive 
 pictures one sees is a Christian teacher in the 
 midst of a company of young girls, who 
 gather about her to hear her words. They 
 open their hearts and her words enter their 
 lives and leave lasting impressions there. No 
 doubt it is the woman herself who is the vital 
 element in the problem. The same result will 
 not be attained without regard to the per- 
 sonality of the teacher. 
 
 But there is also the problem of the lesson. 
 The woman must have the good and the 
 beauty in her, or her friendship will build up 
 [ 199] 
 
Cije 25ook of Comfort 
 
 nothing in the Hves that wait on her words. 
 It is a great thing for a worthy woman to be 
 the friend of a group of girls, but the ques- 
 tion is, What is there in her friendship for 
 these girls that will help them? What has 
 she to give them that will make them better? 
 There are trivial women who can fascinate a 
 group of girls, and do nothing for them. 
 What had Jesus to give to Mary when she sat 
 down at his feet and heard his words? We 
 may be sure he did not talk of trivialities — 
 he spoke of God and life and things that are 
 above. 
 
 The teacher must be in living contact with 
 Christ — there is no life but his that will give 
 her the power she needs, and will make her 
 work really effective. Then her influence 
 upon her class will be Christ-inspired. Her 
 love for her girls will glow with Christ's love 
 burning in it. Then all her teachings will be 
 divine teachings, v/hether given as set les- 
 sons from the Scriptures, or in pleasant social 
 conversation, without any formal religious 
 teaching. It is first the woman's personality, 
 [ 200 ] 
 
<^i)t JPastcr anb ti)t Ci)ilbren 
 
 with her genius for friendship, with her gift 
 for impressing, interesting and helping. 
 Then it is the woman filled with the word of 
 Christ and with his Spirit. One writer puts 
 it thus: "Given the right person in vital 
 union with the living God, and we shall get 
 conversions, and build up Christlike charac- 
 ter, through the instrumentality of the word, 
 selected and applied by religious instinct and 
 experience." 
 
 [ 201 ] 
 
Portjong for Cfjoge Wi)o Hack 
 
Our lives are full of odds and ends, 
 
 First one and then another — 
 And though we know not how or when 
 
 They're deftly woven together. 
 
 The Weaver has a master's skill, 
 
 And proves it by this token — 
 No loop is dropped, no strand is missed, 
 
 And not a thread is broken. 
 
 Not e'en a shred is thrown aside, 
 
 So careful is the Weaver, 
 Who, joining all with wondrous skill, 
 
 Weaves odds and ends together. 
 
 Aubrey de Vere. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Portion^ for Cljose Wf)o Hack 
 
 FTER eating the fat and drink- 
 ing the sweet of the feast in their 
 own homes the returned captives 
 were bidden by Nehemiah to send 
 portions to those for whom nothing had been 
 prepared. "For this day is holy," was added 
 to the exhortation. Part of the holiness of 
 worship is loving service. We are never to 
 eat our bread alone ; we are to share it. "It 
 is better to be lost than to be saved all alone," 
 says Amiel. In Job's self-justification, when 
 his friends had spoken bitterly against him, 
 he says among other things: 
 
 If I have withheld the poor from their desires, 
 Or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail, 
 Or have eaten my morsel alone, 
 And the fatherless hath not eaten thereof, 
 
 ******* 
 
 Then let my shoulder fall from the shoulder-blade, 
 And mine arm be broken from the bone. 
 
 We may never eat our morsel alone while 
 [ 205 ] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 others are hungry. This lesson was taught 
 thus emphatically in the Old Testament and 
 still more earnestly in the New. In the Lord's 
 Prayer we are bidden to pray not for our 
 own bread alone, but for bread for others as 
 well. "Give us this day our daily bread." 
 While we are feasting at our own table we 
 must remember those who are hungry out- 
 side, and send portions to them. The days 
 are holy — all the days are holy, and no day 
 set apart for God must be stained by selfish- 
 ness. 
 
 The direction that the people, after eating 
 the fat and drinking the sweet of their feast, 
 should send portions to those for whom noth- 
 ing had been prepared, is in keeping with 
 the teaching of the Bible throughout. The 
 poor were always to be remembered. The 
 stranger was never to be forgotten. He who 
 let the needy go hungry when he had plenty 
 on his own table were severely condemned. 
 In the New Testament the lesson was taught 
 with marked emphasis. Generosity is a qual- 
 ity of all true Christian character. To think 
 [ 206 ] 
 
Portions! for Cfjogc W^o TLatk 
 
 only of ourselves and give no thought to 
 others is contrary to the Spirit of Christ, 
 who teaches us to share our plenty with 
 those who lack. Meanness is always con- 
 demned. Generosity is always praised. It 
 is a large word. It has a root which means 
 excellence, goodness. It is a word of rank. 
 Its first definition in the dictionary is "nobil- 
 ity: the order of nobles." A Prussian order 
 of distinction, founded in 1665, bears the 
 name, The Order of Generosity, later changed 
 to The Order of Merit. The word was ap- 
 plied only to the good, the brave, the noble. 
 Christ was generous. He had largeness of 
 heart, magnanimity. He taught his follow- 
 ers to be generous. The lack of generosity in 
 one who calls himself a Christian is a blot on 
 his name. It marks him as unworthy. It 
 dishonors him as cowardice dishonors the name 
 of him who calls himself a man. 
 
 The brightest deeds that shine in the story 
 of humanity are the deeds of generosity. His- 
 tory records that when Nero was dead, some 
 one came secretly and spread flowers on his 
 [ 207 ] 
 
'Cfje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 grave. Dr. David Smith, in "The British 
 Weekly," tells of the strange devotion : 
 
 Nero, the bloody emperor, was dead; 
 
 And Rome, like one who waketh suddenly 
 Out of an evil dream, lifted her head 
 
 And wondered. Presently one strong, fierce cry 
 Burst from unnumbered throats, and swelling high, 
 
 Rang to the hilltops — the wild jubilance 
 Of bondsmen who had gained their liberty 
 
 After much wrong and bitter sufferance. 
 No voice lamented: had no heart a thought 
 
 Of ruth? Ay, as each season came and went, 
 An unknown hand, belike a woman's, brought 
 
 Sweet flowers and strewed them on his monument; 
 Fond tribute of a clinging love that yearned 
 For the dead tyrant whom an empire spurned. 
 
 It was a splendid generosity that strewed 
 the flowers on that grave. Once, perhaps, 
 amid all his cruelties and tyrannies the em- 
 peror had done a kindness, and thus it was 
 remembered. Generosity does not merely re- 
 turn good for good, does not merely measure 
 its giving by what it has received. Like 
 Christly love, it blesses the hand that has smit- 
 ten, it repays cruelty with gentleness, it 
 serves most unselfishly those who have done 
 the sorest wrong. 
 
 [ 208 ] 
 
Portions; for Cfjosfe W\)o Hack 
 
 Generosity is the perfect flower of love. It 
 does not think who it is that needs, but gives 
 and serves the unworthicst. It thinks only of 
 the fact that there is one for whom nothing 
 has been prepared and sends a portion to him 
 that he may share love's fat and sweet. 
 
 It is this spirit that glorifies true Christ- 
 mas keeping. Christmas is a wonderful day. 
 It works miracles of love all over the world. 
 Its feast is kept with joy and song in count- 
 less Christian homes. But the true glory of 
 Christmas is seen in what it is doing among 
 the poor, in prisons, hospitals, orphanages 
 and refuges of all kinds, where it brings its 
 portion for those for w^hom nothing has been 
 prepared. Love is very sweet when it pours 
 out its gifts for those who love us; but it 
 reaches its sweetest and divinest when it brings 
 its blessing to those who do not love us, per- 
 haps, who will never thank us, nor remember 
 what we have done, nor return gratitude for 
 our kindness. 
 
 Let us cultivate the spirit of generosity, 
 thinking ever, in our enjoyment of God's 
 [ 209 ] 
 
^fje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 goodness, of those who lack the blessings we 
 enjoy, and sending to them love's portion. 
 Thus shall we continue the work which our 
 Lord began in this world. Thus shall we en- 
 large our own hearts and the ministry of love 
 we have been sent here to perform. Thus 
 shall we come nearer and nearer to those who 
 need us and more and more able to be a bless- 
 ing to them. 
 
 This is a lesson we cannot learn too well, 
 nor fix too deeply in our hearts. We some- 
 times forget that nothing is given to us for 
 ourselves alone. When abundance of blessing 
 or prosperity in any form comes to us, we 
 may not shut ourselves in with it and use it 
 only for ourselves. We are to think of those 
 outside who have no such blessing or favor as 
 we are enjoying and are to send portions to 
 them. 
 
 "Bow thy head and pray 
 That while thy brother starves to-day 
 Thou mayest not eat thy bread at ease; 
 Pray that no health or wealth or peace 
 May hold thy soul while the world lies 
 Suffering, and claims thy sacrifice." 
 
 [ 210 ] 
 
^loto anb ^tcabp ^Dtibance tfjc 
 
' 'How wrought I yesterday?' Small moment how, 
 To question ivith vain tears, or bitter moan, 
 
 Since every word you wrote upon the sands 
 Of yesterday hath hardened into stone. 
 
 a I 
 
 How work to-morrow?' 'Tis a day unborn. 
 To scan whose formless features is not granted. 
 Ere the neiv morning dawns, soul, thou mayest wing 
 Thy flight beyond to-morrow, disenchanted. 
 
 " 'How shall I work to-day?' O, soul of mine! 
 To-day stands on her threshold, girt to lead 
 Thy feet to life immortal; strive with fear; 
 Deep pitfalls strew the way; take heed! take 
 heed!" 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ^loto anb M^^^V Bbbante tlje 
 
 ANY young men are impatient of 
 slow success. In their enthusi- 
 asm, they expect to advance 
 rapidly and without hindrance in 
 their chosen career. The young physician is 
 eager to find at once a large and remunera- 
 tive practice. The young aspirant for liter- 
 ary honors is disappointed if immediately his 
 work is not accepted and his name written 
 high in the list of popular writers. The 
 young business man expects to have success 
 from the day he begins. The artist thinks 
 that the excellence of his work should win 
 fame for him the day his pictures are shown 
 to the public. The same is true in all profes- 
 sions and callings. 
 
 The fact is, however, that, with very few 
 exceptions, beginners in every occupation 
 [213] 
 
Cfje 2?oofe of Comeort 
 
 must be satisfied for a time with but meager 
 recognition and slow results. Many young 
 men who know that this is true in general 
 have the feeling that their own case will be 
 an exception. We like to think ourselves a 
 little different from other people. We may 
 as well make up our minds, however, to the 
 fact that there are few exceptions to this rule. 
 The only genius that counts is the capacity 
 for hard work. The men who have achieved 
 the greatest success in the various callings 
 have had to struggle for it most intensely. 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, for example, is 
 thought of as a genius. We would probably 
 think, from reading his masterpieces, that 
 literary work was always easy for him. But 
 he has told us what it cost him to attain suc- 
 cess as an author. He says : "I imagine no- 
 body ever had such pains to learn a trade as 
 I had ; but I slogged at it day in and day out, 
 and I frankly believe (thanks to my dire in- 
 dustry) I have done more with smaller gifts 
 than almost any man of letters in the world." 
 He writes further: "All through my boy- 
 [ 214 ] 
 
^lotD anb J^teabp Hbbance 
 
 hood and youth, I was known and pointed out 
 for the pattern of an idler ; and yet I was al- 
 ways busy on my own private end, which was 
 to learn to write. I kept always two books in 
 my pocket — one to read, one to write in. As 
 I walked, my mind was busy fitting what I 
 saw with appropriate words ; when I sat by 
 the roadside, I would either read, or a pencil 
 and a penny version book would be in my 
 hand, to note down the features of the scene 
 or commemorate some halting stanzas. Thus 
 I lived with words. What I thus wrote was 
 for no ulterior use ; it was written consciously 
 for practice. It was not so much that I 
 wished to be an author ( though I wished that, 
 too) as that I had vowed that I would learn to 
 write." 
 
 There are reasons why it is better that 
 young men should not get on too rapidly or 
 too easily at the beginning. No matter how 
 gifted they may be or how well prepared, 
 they are not ready at once for full responsi- 
 bility. At the best, their preparation is theo- 
 retical, not practical. They need to learn by 
 [215] 
 
'€i)t 2?oofe of otomfort 
 
 experience, and it is better that they should 
 do so leisurely, without too great pressure. 
 A young physician who should have the re- 
 sponsibilities of a large practice thrust upon 
 him at once could only fail. A young busi- 
 ness man who, immediately after leaving col- 
 lege, should take sole charge of a large estab- 
 lishment would find himself unable for its man- 
 agement. It is better that every young man 
 should begin in a quiet way and grow up with 
 his growing practice or business. 
 
 It is also better for a young man's personal 
 development that his progress should not be 
 too rapid. Easy success is the bane of many 
 a life. It is struggle with difficulty and hard- 
 ship that brings out the best that is in a man. 
 Those who rise quickly, without much effort, 
 too often fail to grow into noble character 
 meanwhile. The object of living in this world 
 is not to make a brilliant career, but to build 
 up a worthy manhood. To have large worldly 
 success and not to grow Into strength of char- 
 acter is a great misfortune. 
 
 In putting up tall buildings, a great deal 
 [216] 
 
^loto anb ^teabp 3(ibbance 
 
 of work is done on the foundations. The 
 workmen dig down deep until they find rock 
 or solid ground. They will spend weeks in 
 work below the surface of the ground, and all 
 this is covered up and hid out of sight. It is 
 necessary to have a strong and secure foun- 
 dation, if an imposing and durable super- 
 structure is to be reared upon it. In the 
 building of character, it is the same. The 
 foundations must be strong and secure. 
 There may be a mushroom success, without 
 any really worthy character, but the end can 
 be only failure. A one- or two-storied man 
 may be built on a cheap and flimsy founda- 
 tion. But a twenty-story man, who is to face 
 the storms and stand 
 
 "Foursquare 
 To all the winds that blow," 
 
 must have strength of character, principles 
 from which nothing ever can swerve him and 
 almost infinite power of endurance ; and these 
 qualities can be got only in life's common ex- 
 periences. While a young man is struggling 
 [217] 
 
'Cfjc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 to get a foothold in his profession or occupa- 
 tion, he is meanwhile building up in himself 
 the qualities of a noble manhood which will 
 endure the severest tests. 
 
 [ 218 ] 
 
WW to to tDitfj O^ur Enequal 
 Cijance 
 
Never in a costly 'palace did I rest on golden bed, 
 Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten idle bread. 
 Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round 
 
 me stood, 
 Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled and 
 
 found it good. 
 They who tread the path of labor follow where m/y 
 
 feet have trod; 
 They who work without complaining do the holy will 
 
 of God. 
 Where the many toil together, there am I among my 
 
 own; 
 Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with 
 
 him alone. 
 I, the Peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the 
 
 daily strife, 
 I, the Bread of heaven, am broken in the sacrament 
 
 of life. 
 
 Henry van Dyke. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Wf)at to bo toitf) O^ur lanequal 
 Cfjance 
 
 OME people feel that they do not 
 have a fair chance in the world. 
 They look at others who seem to 
 have more advantages and fewer 
 hindrances, and they conclude that the allot- 
 ments of providence are not just and equal. 
 Some young people let their minds run in 
 this unwholesome channel. They have to work 
 hard and live in the plainest way, without 
 luxury, not enjoying opportunities for pleas- 
 ure and for education that they long for. 
 They see other young people in easy circum- 
 stances, wanting nothing, with no hardships 
 to endure, called to no self-denial, living in 
 ease, with every opportunity for study, travel, 
 and recreation. It is not easy for them to 
 avoid a feeling of envy in such circumstances. 
 Nor is it easy to accept the limitations of con- 
 [221 ] 
 
Cije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 dition complacently, without any feeling of 
 being unfairly treated. 
 
 Yet the problem to be worked out by those 
 who appear not to have an equal chance is to 
 accept their place with its disadvantages and 
 its inequalities, and to live just as sweetly 
 and cheerfully as if they were in the most 
 luxurious circumstances. The danger always 
 is that we may be hurt by life in some way. 
 Yet nothing can really hurt us so long as we 
 keep love and peace in our hearts. No hard- 
 ship of any kind can do us actual harm if we 
 meet it victoriously. But when we allow our- 
 selves to chafe and fret because things are 
 hard, or to complain because things seem un- 
 fair, or to grow bitter because we do not have 
 a fair chance, that moment life is hurting us. 
 
 The worst mistake anyone can make in such 
 a case, is to brood over what seems to be 
 unfairness in his lot in life, indulging the feel- 
 ing that he has not been justly dealt with. 
 The result is that his heart grows bitter and 
 hard, that he begins to pity himself and to 
 look upon others, more highly favored, with 
 [ 222 ] 
 
O^ur Unequal Cljance 
 
 envy, which soon grows into hatred. Noth- 
 ing but harm can come out of such a feeling. 
 It does not reduce the inequalities in any de- 
 gree. It does not make it easier to get on. 
 On the other hand, it spoils the life, turning 
 its sweetness to bitterness. It also lessens the 
 heart's enthusiasm and diminishes its power 
 to live nobly. 
 
 The only worthy way to meet such a con- 
 dition is with courage and purpose to master 
 disadvantages. One who does this disarms 
 life of all its power to do him harm and makes 
 even the hardships and disadvantages ele- 
 ments in his success. A hindrance conquered 
 makes us stronger. When one accepts his 
 place in life and makes it a school, he is going 
 to get out of it lessons which will fit him for 
 worthy and noble living. Handicaps become 
 uplifts and occasions for fine attainment and 
 achievement when they are faced with cour- 
 age and determination. 
 
 There is a good philosophy here for him 
 who is wise enough to carry it out in his life. 
 It is well known that the men who have risen 
 [ 223 ] 
 
CJje 2?oob of Comfort 
 
 to the loftiest heights of excellence and have 
 done the most for their race have not come as 
 a rule from the ranks of those who have been 
 reared in luxury, but from among those who 
 began in lowly ways, with few advantages and 
 many hindrances. The very struggles they 
 had to make to overcome the obstacles, Hfted 
 their feet higher on the stair. The efforts it 
 cost them to get an education made men of 
 them. Thus they easily found compensation 
 for the hard things in their lot in their early 
 days. 
 
 The least worthy thing any young fellow 
 can do with an unequal chance is to allow him- 
 self to be disheartened by it and give up. 
 Nothing really noble or valuable is ever got 
 easily. One does not find gold lying about on 
 the streets. One does not get any place of 
 honor in the world as a luxury. We have to 
 dig our way through rocks to get to earth's 
 treasure-houses. We always have to work 
 hard to achieve anything worth achieving. 
 
 An unequal chance, as it seems to human 
 eyes, ofttimes proves to be the very pearl of 
 [ 224 ] 
 
O^ur Mnequal Chance 
 
 chances. It wakes up in men's souls sleeping 
 possibilities of energy which never would have 
 been awakened in the experiences of ease. We 
 are not put in this world merely to have a 
 good time, to enjoy ourselves, to eat and drink 
 and dress well, and move about in paths of 
 pleasantness. We arc here to grow into the 
 nobleness and strength of the best manhood 
 we can attain. He who misses this, though he 
 live in luxury all his days, has missed all that 
 is really worth while in life. 
 
 Young people should always remember, 
 too, that in their school of life they must do 
 their own toiling ; nobody can do it for them. 
 There are some who like to dream of fortu- 
 nate surprises by which they shall find them- 
 selves lifted to positions of ease and prosper- 
 ity without struggle or effort of their own. 
 It is not often that such surprises come, nor 
 is it always really "fortunate" when they do 
 come. A few years since, a young man, 
 struggling with peculiarly hard conditions, 
 became suddenly the possessor of a large 
 sum of money. Instead, however, of being a 
 [ 225 ] 
 
Clje 2^ook of Comfort 
 
 good thing for him, the money proved the 
 end of whatever hope there was of the young 
 man's making anything of his hfe. He 
 dropped the work which was in a fair way to 
 train him into manhness and usefulness, and 
 entered upon a course of ease and extrava- 
 gance which in a brief time left him penniless 
 and with all the high ideals of his early days 
 of struggle shattered. 
 
 The best thing one can do with hard con- 
 ditions is to depend upon himself, to take up 
 his own burdens courageously and bear them. 
 Then in carrying them he will grow into 
 noble manhood. 
 
 [226] 
 
m Ctoo of Sou ^fjaU agree" 
 
' 'Twas long ago, 
 
 When I was young, Alas! I did not know 
 A better way. I said, 'It must he so, 
 
 Or God cannot he good.' 
 Alas! alas! weak human 'pride; 
 How differently would I have quickly cried 
 
 If I had understood. 
 
 'And now I hear 
 
 A thankful heart for that unanswered prayer, 
 
 And so I think it will he when, up there 
 
 Where all is known, 
 We look upon the things we longed for so. 
 And see how little were they worth and knoui 
 
 How soon they ivere outgrown." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 af Ctoo of iou jSftaU Hgree" 
 
 HY two? Would it not be the same 
 for one? Is not the gate of 
 prayer open to every one? May 
 not a lonely soul anywhere call 
 upon God and be sure of answer? Why then 
 does the Master say two — "If two of you 
 shall agree the prayer will be granted ?" Cer- 
 tainly he did not mean that God does not hear 
 one who prays alone. Jesus ofttimes prayed 
 by himself. He went apart from his dis- 
 ciples up the mountain, into the depths of the 
 Garden. Yet there is a special promise when 
 two agree. 
 
 For one thing, when two pray together each 
 is drawn out of self to think of something be- 
 sides his own needs. We are naturally selfish. 
 We easily form the habit of thinking only of 
 our own things, of seeking only our own good, 
 of looking only after our own interests. One 
 of the tendencies of praying alone is to seek 
 [ 229 ] 
 
'OTije 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 only things we need or desire for ourselves, 
 "Forgive my sins, prosper my affairs, heal my 
 sickness, bless my daily bread, make me holy, 
 give me joy," our prayer is apt to run. To 
 pray only thus is to allow ourselves to narrow 
 our life into sheerest selfishness. We may 
 pray alone and yet train ourselves to think of 
 others, to reach out to the needs and experi- 
 ences of others. Only thus will we make our 
 secret prayers spiritually wholesome. 
 
 When we pray together the selfish ten- 
 dency is corrected. We think of the other 
 and his condition. We are trained to sympa- 
 thize with him in his trouble, to reach out our 
 hand to strengthen him when he is weak. We 
 forget our own danger in thinking of his. 
 His needs seem so much greater and more 
 pressing than ours that we plead for his de- 
 liverance and altogether forget our own; we 
 beseech God to lift away his crushing burden 
 and cease to think at all of our own lesser load. 
 Our own sorrow, which, if there were no other 
 one suffering by our side, would seem im- 
 measurably great, seems too small even to 
 [ 230 ] 
 
"3f ClDO of gou i^fjall agree" 
 
 mention in the presence of our friend's over- 
 powering grief, so we pray for his comfort- 
 ing and only thank God that our affliction is 
 so light. 
 
 Another good that comes from two pray- 
 ing together is in the influence of life upon 
 life. We need the impact of others. We 
 cannot reach our best alone. It is a happy 
 thing for one child in a home when another 
 child comes to be its companion. A child 
 living alone is in danger of growing into sel- 
 fishness and all undiscipline. It never learns 
 to share its possessions, its happiness. When 
 two children are brought up together they 
 are trained to think of each other, each to 
 give up for the other, to seek to make the 
 other happy. One of the blessings of mar- 
 riage is that the two learn to live for each 
 other. Then they inspire each other. The 
 woman who thinks only of what she can get 
 from her marriage has not begun to learn the 
 real secret of love. Wedded love reaches its 
 true splendor only when it thinks of what it 
 can do for the other. 
 
 [231 ] 
 
<€tt 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 When we pray together the one quickens 
 the other and both become better Christians. 
 When two love God and then talk about him 
 the love of both grows warmer. One stimu- 
 lates the other. We need companionship in 
 our Christian life. It is not good for us to 
 be alone. Jesus had a wise purpose in send- 
 ing out his disciples two and two. They 
 would have been lonely if they had gone out 
 singly, and would not have done their best 
 work. Thus the one supplemented the other. 
 Two together did more than two apart. They 
 had their limitations of capacity and one sup- 
 plied the other's lack. But perhaps the chief 
 advantage in going out two and two was that 
 each kindled and inspired the other. We do 
 not know how much we owe to each other. Our 
 unconscious influence on the life and actions 
 of those close to us is immeasurable. Dr. 
 Bushnell has shown us how Peter's rugged 
 force acted on John's sensitive nature at the 
 empty tomb. John hesitated to enter until 
 Peter came up and went in boldly. "Then 
 entered in therefore the other disciples also." 
 [ 232 ] 
 
"M ChJO of gou ^fjall agree" 
 
 We do not know liow often or in how many 
 ways the older disciples quickened the 
 younger. Soldiers say that the hardest of 
 all experiences in battle is to stand or fight 
 alone. Two together make each other brave. 
 We do better work and live our life better in 
 every way, two and two, than we would do 
 separately. 
 
 "A log will not burn alone! 
 
 The flame grows less, the hearth is dark. 
 
 Low sings the sap in crooning tone; 
 
 The room grows chill, and cold, and stark. 
 One's heart holds back, as if to hark 
 
 For ghostly sobs and eerie moan, — 
 
 A log will not burn alone. 
 
 "A life will not glow alone! 
 
 The smile seems sad, the senses start, 
 The will lies useless, limp and prone; 
 
 Unchallenged and uncheered the heart; 
 
 And one by one the stars depart 
 From all one's sky, to darkness grown, — 
 A life is death alone!" 
 
 Again, when two pray together they will 
 
 be more likely to widen their intercessions. 
 
 We may not appreciate the value of prayer 
 
 for others. Jesus prayed much for himself. 
 
 [ 233 ] 
 
<^^t 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 He lived with his Father in unbroken com- 
 munion, but we are sure that the burden of 
 his prayer was for others, for his disciples, 
 for the need and suffering ever about him. 
 
 The best work we can do for those we love 
 usually is prayer. Of course there are things 
 love should do — acts of kindness, ministries 
 of good ; we must never withhold help that is 
 needed. But ofttimes we cannot tell what 
 really is kindness to another. Perhaps the 
 effort we make to help only harms. The tak- 
 ing away of a friend's burden may only inter- 
 fere with the plan of God for making the 
 friend strong. Much of our helping is over- 
 helping. We would better let our friends 
 struggle through themselves without relieving 
 them. When we see people with their loads, 
 their cares, their difficulties, their hard tasks, 
 we really do not know what we ought to do 
 for them, or whether we ought to do anything 
 but cheer them. 
 
 But we may always pray for them, and 
 perhaps this in most cases is all we can wisely 
 do. At least prayer is always a safe way of 
 [ 234 ] 
 
"M Ctao of gou Maii Hgree" 
 
 helping. We need never be afraid that it will 
 do them harm, for we only ask God to give 
 the help that is wise and that will make them 
 better, nobler, stronger and truer. We may 
 not ask God to make all hard things easy for 
 them — we may ask only that he will watch 
 that the burden is never too heavy for them, 
 the temptation too sore, the sorrow too great, 
 and that they never faint or fail. Always, 
 prayer is love's great duty. "Pray for whom 
 thou lovest." Not to pray is to sin against 
 one's friend and against God. People always 
 need our prayers. Those need them most who 
 seem to have least need. We pray readily for 
 those in trouble — but those in no apparent 
 trouble are in greatest peril. 
 
 [ 285 ] 
 
W1}tn Wt arc Haib Miiiit 
 
"'They also serve who only stand and wait.' 
 Yea, Lord, and many such perchance there he, 
 Who, unawares, in patience serving thee. 
 Stand all day long before some fast-barred gate. 
 
 "Beyond, there lie sweet dreams yet unfulfilled, 
 Or hope deferred that sickens the stout heart 
 And m,akes it far from gladness dwell apart, 
 While faith yet keeps its clamorous outcry stilled. 
 
 "Some wait with wistful faces ever set 
 
 With eager longing toward the distant prize; 
 And some, whose hope is dead, yet lift their eyes, 
 Waiting and praying still with lashes wet. 
 
 "So few that wait with smiling, hopeful cheer! 
 Yet these serve best, for that they seem to say: 
 'Waiting is blessing; those who wait must pray. 
 And praying brings the kingdom even here.' " 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 W\}tn Wt are Haib Hsiibe 
 
 E do well when we let God shape 
 our lives. He "writes straight 
 on crooked lines." He has a plan 
 for every life, and his plan goes 
 on without interruption through all the am- 
 bitions, the mistakes, the failures, of our aims 
 and strivings. The problem of faith is to 
 accept God's will when it breaks into our will, 
 and believe that always it is right, and that 
 there can be no mistake and no failure when 
 it is his way we take. 
 
 It is here too often that our faith fails. A 
 Christian man was telling how hard it is for 
 him to maintain the peace and joy of his life 
 in the experiences through which he is pass- 
 ing. For long years he had been in Chris- 
 tian work of great importance. He had de- 
 voted his best energies to the development of 
 this work, and seemed about to sec all his hopes 
 realized. Then his health gave way, and for 
 [ 239 ] 
 
Clje 2?ciofe of Comfort 
 
 months he has been compelled to lie on his 
 bed unable to do anything. It is by no means 
 certain that he can ever again resume his 
 work and carry to completion the plans and 
 schemes upon which he has been so long en- 
 gaged. He was speaking to a friend of his 
 condition. It is very hard, he said, to re- 
 main quiet and be at peace in all this uncer- 
 tainty. It is hard to be still and do nothing 
 while there is so much yet to be done. It is 
 hard, after having wrought so long in the 
 work, to lie still in a sick-room, inactive, not 
 taking any part in the work to which he has 
 given his strength all his years, letting others 
 carry it on. 
 
 In varying forms this is a problem of faith 
 which very many people are meeting all the 
 while. We are in the midst of pressing ac- 
 tivities which fill our hands and require our 
 best energies every hour. What we are doing 
 seems essential. If our hands should willing- 
 ly slack, there would be a blank in the work 
 we are doing, and this would be disloyalty to 
 God. Besides, it requires the full wages of 
 [ 240 ] 
 
Wiftn Wt arc Haib St&ibt 
 
 all the days to provide for our family. Then 
 suddenly one morning we cannot leave our bed 
 to go to our work. The doctor says it will 
 be weeks before we can leave our bed. We 
 are in consternation. We were happy in our 
 trust before this interruption. All things 
 were going well. We thanked God every day 
 that he was providing for us so abundantly. 
 But how shall we meet this new problem.'* 
 
 The first thing to remember is that this is 
 our Father's world, and that all its events are 
 in his hand. He is not dependent, in his care 
 of us, upon what we can do for ourselves. He 
 indeed needs us ; and, while we are able to 
 do our part, his providing for us depends on 
 our doing our part. If we fail to do our part, 
 and, growing indolent, drop our tasks while 
 we have strength to do them, we are proving 
 unfaithful, marring God's plan of providence, 
 and must suffer. But if we are stricken down 
 and can no longer go on with our task, God 
 is not at the end of his power to care for us. 
 We may trust his love to provide for us when 
 we cannot do it. 
 
 [ 241 ] 
 
'^ift 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 The sick man thinks he is losing time when 
 he must stay on his bed and do nothing, day 
 after day, for weeks. But really he is not los- 
 ing. He is no longer essential. Nothing will 
 suffer because his hands are not doing his ac- 
 customed tasks. Work in stone or wood is 
 not all that the builder is in the world for. 
 There is building to go on in his own life and 
 character which is far more important than 
 what he does in the house on which he is work- 
 ing. Some time he will know that his days of 
 illness were his best building days. As to his 
 family, God has a way to provide for them 
 while the natural bread-winner is not able to 
 do it. 
 
 While he was busiest in material things, 
 accomplishing most in earthly labors he was 
 leaving untouched the work in his own life 
 and character that was absolutely essential 
 to the spiritual completeness of his life ac- 
 cording to God's purpose. One of the busiest 
 men of the generation now closing, busiest 
 too in the best things, who has devoted his 
 life to others with self-forgetful ability, said 
 [ 242 ] 
 
W\)tn Wt are TLaih Hfiitie 
 
 the other day to a friend that he was discov- 
 ering he had left a wliole section of his life- 
 work undone. While he was caring so dili- 
 gently for the comfort, the good and the 
 spiritual culture of others, he had not been 
 giving due attention to his own inner life. 
 When he was shut in and the work for others 
 could not be done as heretofore he found (juite 
 enough to do in the things that were waiting 
 for his hands. The months when he was laid 
 aside from active duty, he had found serious 
 work to do in getting right within, in the cul- 
 tivation of the graces of humility, and love, 
 and patience, and unselfishness. If he had 
 come to the end of his life when he had finished 
 his active tasks he would have stood before 
 God most incomplete in spiritual readiness. 
 He needed the period when his hands must be 
 still and he must suffer, in order to make his 
 hfe complete. This was not lost time. 
 
 The principle thus stated applies in all re- 
 lations of life, whatever the circumstances 
 may be. While we are able to work we may 
 never slacken our diligence. Our own hands 
 [ '2V3 ] 
 
'^fje 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 must earn our daily bread. But when we can- 
 not longer work, work is not our duty; God 
 does not require it of us. It is some other 
 one's duty then, not ours. If you are a 
 teacher, you cannot evade the responsibility 
 of meeting your class regularly, if you are 
 well enough to do so. But if you are really 
 ill and cannot be in your place, you have no 
 duty there and no responsibility. If you are 
 a minister and for years have never missed a 
 service, and then are sick and unable to get 
 to your pulpit for a certain appointment, 
 your Master does not expect you to be there ; 
 he has no message for you to deliver to the 
 people that day, and nothing will go wrong 
 with your work because you are not there. 
 
 A pastor who had wrought long and had 
 hardly ever been absent from his church was 
 broken down and for months could not come to 
 his accustomed place. During his long ab- 
 sence he wrote to his people words like these : 
 "I understand that when I am physically un- 
 able to do the work I would be doing gladly 
 if I could, it is not my work at all. It would 
 [ 244 ] 
 
Wi)tn Wt arc Haib HsibE 
 
 have been mine if I were well, but now my 
 only duty is to be quiet and still. Duty is 
 not all activity ; sometimes it is to wait and 
 sing. Nothing is going wrong in ni}' life be- 
 cause I am not in what would be my place if 
 I were well. My ministry is not broken or 
 even interrupted by this experience. My work 
 for my Master has not been stopped, — its 
 form only has been changed." No doubt this 
 pastor was doing as much for his people those 
 quiet days away from them as he had ever 
 done in his active days in their midst. 
 
 We dare not take comfort from tliis teach- 
 ing if we are not called from our duty in some 
 providential way. Some of us are too easily 
 taken from our work. Small excuses are al- 
 lowed to draw us away. Obstacles are not al- 
 ways meant to interrupt our efforts, — ofttimes 
 they are meant to be overcome, making us 
 more earnest and persistent. There is alto- 
 gether too much resignation in some Chris- 
 tians. Their resignation may be indolence. 
 We must be sure the Good Shepherd calls us 
 to "lie down in green pastures" before we stop 
 [ 245 ] 
 
Cije 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 in our service. But if lying down is our duty, 
 then we must do it as joyfully as ever we 
 listened to a call to move strenuously forward. 
 
 This lesson is not easily learned. For 
 many it is very hard to accept interruptions 
 in happy activities without chafing and fret- 
 ting. It is hard for a man to break down in 
 the midst of some great task, and be as trust- 
 ful and songful in his disappointment as if 
 he had been allowed to go on in his busy way. 
 Some people find it very hard to grow old, to 
 let go the work of years, and see others do it. 
 
 The lesson is, that our faith shall not fail 
 when interruptions of any kind break in, but 
 shall keep our hearts brave and sweet and 
 strong in all human weakness and disappoint- 
 ment. We must take care that our religion 
 does not fail in these testings. We say that 
 Christ will suffice us in every experience; we 
 must show that he does. If he does not, the 
 trouble is with us. There is marvelous power 
 in a witnessing life. A young Christian wom- 
 an wrote to a teacher who through years had 
 taught her to love Christ and trust him, and 
 [ 246 ] 
 
W\)tn Wt are Haiti Hgibc 
 
 who was now broken in health and a sufferer, 
 but joyous as ever: "I want to thank you 
 for teaching me this beautiful lesson of all 
 your life, this peaceful and joyous acceptance 
 of all trouble. You are living out now all 
 you have taught me. I am glad you let Christ 
 speak so plainly through you." Suppose this 
 teacher, having taught the lesson of faith and 
 trust and peace for years, had then in pain 
 and loss and trouble chafed, complained and 
 fretted, how different would the effect have 
 been upon the pupil ! 
 
 We may be laid aside from our active 
 work ; but God never lays us aside for him- 
 self. So we need never lay aside our joyous 
 witnessing for him, his love, and his keeping 
 power. If that witness has counted for much 
 when we were active, it can count for more in 
 our inactivity. If we wasted the days of our 
 activity by failure to witness for him, we may 
 yet, in Christ's strength, start to-day, in our 
 new helplessness, upon a showing forth of 
 God's presence in a life that shall gladden 
 him and change his world. 
 [ '247 ] 
 
iFacE to iFace toitfj (June's; o^ton 
 Hife 
 
"It was only a helping hand. 
 And it seemed of little availing, 
 But its clasp was warm 
 And it saved from harm 
 
 A sister whose strength was failing, 
 Its touch teas tender as angel's wings, 
 But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs, 
 And pointed the way to higher things, 
 Though it seemed of little availing. 
 
 "A smile, a word or a touch, 
 And each is easily given. 
 That one may win 
 A soul from sin 
 
 Or smooth the way to Heaven. 
 A smile may lighten the failing heart, 
 A word may soften pain's keenest smart, 
 A touch may lead us from sin apart. 
 How easily each is given." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 iFace to iface toiti) d^nt'i €^ton 
 Hife 
 
 WRITER in one of the mag- 
 azines said recently that if he 
 were a preacher he would raise his 
 voice in hchalf of the individual 
 life. He thinks the individual is lost sight of 
 by too many preachers in considering the 
 needs of Society in general. The personal 
 human soul is starving while men are dis- 
 cussing the problems of mankind. "If I were 
 a preacher," he says, "I would talk usually 
 just to one person." 
 
 Every one who has received any good 
 thing ought straightway to begin giving it 
 out that others may have it too. But one 
 must receive before one can give. So the 
 personal life must come first. You must feed 
 your own soul or you cannot feed another's 
 soul. 
 
 [ '251 ] 
 
(^fje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 This is universally true. There is the duty 
 of helping others, — the strong are bidden to 
 help the weak, — but one must have in him- 
 self the ability and the resources of helpful- 
 ness before he can do for others what they 
 need. If you are to teach others, you must 
 be taught yourself. Before you can lead 
 men, you must know the paths yourself. No 
 one about to climb mountains would accept 
 a guide who had never acquired skill in 
 mountain-climbing in experiences of his own. 
 
 You must face life's problems yourself and 
 mastei^ them. No one can do it for you. 
 "Each man shall bear his own burden," says 
 the Scripture. Another Scripture says, "Bear 
 ye one another's burdens." There is no con- 
 flict in these teachings that seem contradic- 
 tory. It is every one's duty, always, to put 
 his shoulder under his brother's load, but 
 always it is true that every one must bear 
 his own burden, and that no one can bear it 
 for him. God's promise in all the work of the 
 world is the making of men. Here, what is 
 done must be done by the individual himself. 
 [ 252 ] 
 
£act to ipacc toitfj a^nt'g TLilt 
 
 Eacli man must build his own house. The 
 process is going on continually. All expe- 
 rience contributes to it. Tennyson says: 
 
 "I am a part of all that I have met." 
 
 Every life we touch leaves something of 
 itself in us. Every book we read puts some 
 mark on our character. Every temptation 
 makes us either stronger, if we resist it, or 
 wounds and hurts us if we yield to it. Every 
 sorrow that befalls us makes us better or spoils 
 our beauty. The effect of these experiences 
 upon us is not accidental, but depends upon 
 the way we receive them. 
 
 God's purpose in all our life is our edifica- 
 tion, to use one of Paul's suggestive words. 
 This up-building is not all wrought out in 
 church services, in acts of worship. Christ is 
 building men all the while — in love-filled 
 homes, in places of labor, in daily companion- 
 ships and associations, as well as at com- 
 munion tables or prayer meetings. We say 
 that the business of the carpenter is to make 
 the things that a carpenter usually makes. 
 [ a5.S ] 
 
CJje 2?ook of Comfort 
 
 But God's purpose for the carpenter is the 
 making of a man. The work of a farmer, we 
 say, is to till the soil and reap harvests. But 
 the thought of God in the farmer's work, what 
 He looks for as the real outcome, is a beauti- 
 ful life. If this result is not reached the 
 farmer's life is not successful, however pros- 
 perous he may be as a farmer. We say that 
 a man's circumstances make him; but at the 
 center of all the circumstances the real, de- 
 termining factor is the man himself. Whether 
 the hard knocks you experience through the 
 years makes a man of you or wrecks your life 
 depends upon the way you meet them. It 
 is you, not your circumstances, that will de- 
 termine the outcome in your life. 
 
 There is need, therefore, for personal 
 preaching at this point. It will not do to tell 
 men merely that their lives are plans of God, 
 that God thought about them before he made 
 them, and then made them to fill a certain 
 place and to do a certain work. This is not 
 the whole truth. The other part of the truth 
 is that we have now to fulfil this divine pur- 
 [ 254 ] 
 
iFace to iFacc tDitf) <Ont'& TLilt 
 
 pose and live out this divine plan. We can 
 spoil God's beautiful plan for our life if we 
 will, — every man does who lives in sin, re- 
 jecting the will of God for him and taking 
 his own way instead. We can fall far below 
 God's perfect plan for us by living indolently, 
 self-indulgently. Every man is required to 
 do his best if he would measure up to the 
 divine plan. An English writer says the three 
 words, "That will do," have done more harm 
 than any other three words in the language. 
 Men get easily into the habit of looking at 
 something they have made or done, and, 
 though knowing it is not what they ought to 
 be, or what they could make it, j^et indolently 
 let it pass, saying, "That will do." Thus 
 they suffer their work to deteriorate in quality 
 and fall far below God's plan, which requires 
 the best. 
 
 It is said that the great violin maker, Stra- 
 dlvarius, would never allow any violin to leave 
 his hands which was not as nearly perfect as 
 he could make it. George Eliot makes Stra- 
 divarius say: 
 
 [ 255 ] 
 
'^ije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 "If my hand slacked, 
 I should rob God, — since he is fullest good, — 
 Leaving a blank instead of violins. 
 He could not make Antonio Stradivarius' violins 
 Without Antonio." 
 
 It is true we rob God when we do any of our 
 work less well than we could do it. God will 
 help us to do our best, but we must work with 
 him. He will not do our work without us. He 
 will not do our best for us if we work in- 
 dolently. "He could not make Antonio Stra- 
 divarius' violins without Antonio." 
 
 Thus at every point we need this lesson of 
 individuahty. We must meet life as indi- 
 viduals. We are responsible in a certain way 
 for the good of all men. We owe a duty to 
 "the other man" whidh we dare not fail to pay. 
 But we must not forget that our first duty 
 is to let God have his full way with ourselves. 
 Keeping other people's vineyards will not be 
 enough if meanwhile we have neglected our 
 own. Doing a great work for others is not 
 enough if we have not let God care for our 
 own life. 
 
 [ 256 ] 
 
Cije USeaning of SImmortalitp 
 
Out of myself, Lord! 
 
 From the narrowing prison, 
 The grave-clothes bound on hand and foot and knee, 
 Up to that life and light where Thou art risen, 
 Call me, and set me free. 
 
 Out of myself. Lord! 
 
 From the reckless seeking. 
 The babel of earth's care and fret and loss, 
 Into the hush where love alone is speaking — 
 The silence of the cross. 
 
 Out of myself, Lord! 
 
 From life's tangled story, 
 The doubts unsolved, the fears unanswered still. 
 Into the clear white morning of Thy glory. 
 The peace which is Thy will. 
 
 Out of myself. Lord! 
 
 What shall yet befall me 
 I ask no more; enough that Thou art mine. 
 Turn but Thy face, O Son of Ood! and call me 
 To lose my life in Thine. 
 
 Mabel Earle. 
 
CHAPTEU XXVI 
 
 '^Tfje ItScanins of 31mmortalitp 
 
 T is intensely interesting to try to 
 tell ourselves the meaning of im- 
 mortality. Not to think of ex- 
 istence projecting beyond the 
 clods of the grave is to miss the glory of life. 
 To think of it, however, as extending into the 
 future indefinitely, to think of ourselves as 
 born to live, not seventy years, but seventy 
 thousand years, and this deathlessness gives 
 to our lives a meaning whose grandeur is 
 overwhelming. We talk about the brevity of 
 life, only a span, the flying of a shuttle, a 
 breath — it seems too short for doing anything 
 worth while, but immortality will give us time 
 to finish the most stupendous tasks. There 
 will be time enough then to correct the mis- 
 takes and the misunderstanding of our ignor- 
 ance and wilfulness in our immature earthly 
 years. One was grieving that he will mver 
 have an opportunity to unsay certain unkind 
 [ 259 1 
 
'Cije 2?oofe o{ Comfort 
 
 words he had spoken to his mother, or undo 
 certain acts of his which had broken her heart. 
 She was gone now and he could not see her to 
 ask her pardon or atone by love and worthy 
 living for all that had so wronged her. Im- 
 mortality will give opportunity to make such 
 things right. A poem quoted in The British 
 Weekly tells of The Land of Beginning 
 Again : 
 
 I wish that there were some wonderful place 
 Called The Land of Beginning Again, 
 
 Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches 
 And all of our poor, selfish grief 
 
 Could be dropped, like a shabby old coat at the door, 
 And never put on again. 
 
 I wish we could come on it all unaware, 
 Like the hunter who finds a lost trail; 
 
 And I wish that the one whom our blindness has done 
 The greatest injustice of all 
 
 Could be at the gates, like an old friend that waits 
 For the comrade he's gladdest to hail. 
 
 We would find all the things we intended to do 
 But forgot and remembered — too late. 
 
 Little praises unspoken, little promises broken. 
 And all of the thousand and one 
 
 Little duties neglected that might have perfected 
 The day for one less fortunate. 
 
 [ 260 ] 
 
Cije /USeaning of 31mmortalitp 
 
 Tliere is something extremely fascinating 
 in the thought expressed in these lines. Nor 
 is it a mere fancy. If we hclieve in immortal- 
 ity, we shall begin again the morning after 
 we have died, if we have given ourselves to 
 Christ and have his life in us. At the best we 
 are imperfect here. We live far below our 
 ideals. We are continually making mistakes, 
 mistakes of ignorance and mistakes of weak- 
 ness. Then death will come. Men think it 
 the end, but it is only a new beginning. For 
 the Christian it will be a beginning of life In 
 new conditions. The old will be left behind ; 
 all will be new. The light will be clearer. We 
 shall not repeat the old blunders again. We 
 shall be beyond jealousy and envy and all 
 the narrow things that so marred the life here. 
 
 It wouldn't be possible not to be kind 
 
 In the Land of Beginning Again; 
 And the ones we misjudged and the ones whom we 
 grudged 
 
 Their moments of victory here 
 Would find in the grasp of our loving handclasp 
 
 More than penitent lips could cx})lain. 
 
 Easter starts in our minds many thoughts 
 [261] 
 
'Cije 2^oofe of Comfort 
 
 and questions about immortality. Good Fri- 
 day shows us Christ dying and laid away in 
 the grave. Easter morning we see him risen 
 and living again. Is that always the story 
 of death .^^ We know that all die. Shall we 
 all live again.'* Are we immortal .^ 
 
 People have always thought so. But does 
 that prove that death is not the end.^ Has 
 anybody ever come back after dying to tell 
 us-f* A few have been raised, three by Christ 
 himself, but these were brought back not to 
 immortality, but only to a little more of the 
 old life, and they had to die again. None 
 were ever raised to immortality — none but 
 Christ himself. He rose to die no more. 
 
 What proofs have we then that we shall 
 live again and go on living forever.? The 
 greatest proof of all is that Christ rose again. 
 He said, "Because I live ye shall live also." 
 He said, too, "I am the resurrection, and the 
 life : he that belleveth in me, though he die, yet 
 shall he live; and whosoever liveth and be- 
 lieveth in me shall never die." Thus all who 
 believe in Christ have the assurance that they 
 [ 262 ] 
 
Cf)e jfllSeanins of 3mmortalitp 
 
 will live forever. Death is not the eiul of life 
 for them. It seems to put a stop to their liv- 
 ing and doing. It does to bodily life. Physi- 
 cal activity ceases. Our unfinished tasks will 
 drop out of our hands. The house the builder 
 was erecting will stand uncompleted. The 
 letter the father was writing to his boy will 
 never be finished. But five minutes afterward 
 the person we say is gone will be going on 
 with life somewhere, in some form. Death is 
 not a period in the sentence of life — it is only 
 a comma, a little breathing place, with more 
 to come after. 
 
 What should this mean to us? Should it 
 make any difference in the way we live the 
 years we stay here.'^ Should it make any 
 difference in the way young people improve 
 their school days and their opportunities? 
 Should it have any influence on the principles 
 of conduct by which we live, on the kind of 
 personal character we build up? Should it 
 affect our choice of friends or of things we do 
 in this world? 
 
 There is a phrase in one of the Epistles 
 [263] 
 
<^i)e 2?oofe of Comtort 
 
 that speaks of the power of an endless life. 
 We may apply the thought In many ways. 
 It is an endless life that we are living any 
 moment. It makes a vast difference whether 
 the word you say to another will be forgotten 
 as its sound dies, or whether its influence will 
 last for ages. It matters infinitely whether 
 the choice or decision you make to-day is only 
 for an hour or whether it is the fixing of the 
 course of your life for a career and the 
 settling of your immortal destiny. 
 
 If you are immortal, you are dealing now 
 and always with the things of an endless life. 
 Everything you let another do to you is for 
 an immortal impression, whether it be for 
 beauty or for stain. The fabric you build 
 up in yourself through the years will be end- 
 less. No prayers will change it or make it 
 beautiful, if you find, near the end, that it 
 has all been wrong. The work you are doing 
 on the lives of others cannot be torn out and 
 something else altogether different put in 
 its place, if you should discover by and by 
 that it has been false and ruinous. Pilate did 
 [ 264 ] 
 
Clje /H§eaning of Smmortalitp 
 
 not know the full meaning of his words when 
 he said, "What I have written I have written." 
 The law of an endless life gives a stupendous 
 meaning to every moral act of our life and 
 ought to make us thoughtful and careful in 
 all that we do. 
 
 Many of those who read these words are 
 young people. But they are not too young 
 to think about the matter of immortality. It 
 may not be wholesome for youth to think 
 about death. But immortality is not death. 
 It is something which annihilates death. It 
 throws a plank across the grave. It shows us 
 a life that goes on forever. 
 
 It is a glorious conception of living, there- 
 fore, which enables us to think of it as end- 
 less, beginning with infancy's first breath and 
 going on without break forever. It gives us a 
 splendid reach for effort. The years of earth 
 are too short to make much of our life. We 
 have some vast dream and begin to work it 
 out, then what we call death breaks in with 
 its interruption when we seem to be only be- 
 ginning. But if our conception of life is 
 [ 265 ] 
 
Cije 25oofe of Comfort 
 
 endless, the interruption is only for a moment 
 and we can plan for things that will take 
 ages. 
 
 Just how the sentences after the comma 
 will read, we cannot know. Just in what form 
 we shall continue to live we may not even 
 guess. We know that we shall be the same 
 persons. Individuality will never be lost. I 
 shall be I through all changes and transfor- 
 mations. The being that shall be serving 
 God a million years hence will be the same 
 person that played about the home early in 
 childhood, wrought in the hard tasks of ma- 
 ture days, and suffered and sorrowed. I will 
 always be I — there never can be any confusion 
 of individuality. This is perhaps all we can 
 assert positively about the immortal life. But 
 this is a great deal. We shall lose nothing in 
 our efforts. This makes it immensely worth 
 while to live. 
 
 One lesson we may take from all this is, 
 
 that we should begin now to live the immortal 
 
 life, to practice immortality. We should 
 
 think and plan and choose, these common 
 
 [266 ] 
 
Ct)e ^USeanmg of Smniortalitp 
 
 days, for immortality. Wo should do nothing 
 we should ever wish we liad not done. We 
 should say no word we shall ever want un- 
 said. We should build only fal)rics we shall 
 be glad to look upon in endless years. Im- 
 mortality has begun already in the youngest 
 life. It is not something we shall enter upon 
 when we get to heaven. It is going on now 
 in the schoolroom, on the playground, in the 
 friendships and amusements of the young 
 people, and in all their hours, however spent. 
 We must practice immortality all our days if 
 we would realize its fullest meaning. 
 
 [267] 
 
Cftc Cfjrisitian \^it\a of Ptart) 
 
'All around, man's acres lie, 
 Under this same brooding sky. 
 There, the plowman blithely sings; 
 Broadcast, there the sower flings 
 Golden grain, to die in gloom, 
 Making every clod its tomb. 
 Lo! a m^iracle is seen — 
 Acres clothed in living green. 
 
 'In their midst, God's acre lies. 
 Under these same yearning skies. 
 Here, men move with dirges slow; 
 Here, their tears unbidden flow; 
 Loved forms, here, in earth they lay; 
 Leave to darkness and decay. 
 Autumns wane, and springs return; 
 Still they sleep 'neath shaft and urn. 
 
 'Side by side, those acres lie, 
 Under this expectant sky. 
 What? On God's lies death's dark spell, 
 While in man's comes miracle? 
 No! for love's eyes pierce the gloom! 
 No! for Christ hath burst the tomb! 
 God will give, by power unknown, 
 Each a body of its own!" 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Cfje Cf)rjs(tian 15ieU) of JDeatfj 
 
 OMEHOW most people never get 
 beyond the heathen idea of death. 
 They think of it as darkness and 
 terror. They talk of it as floods 
 of waters through which they must pass. The 
 fear of death is almost universal. Dying is 
 surrounded in the minds of the great majority 
 of men and women with all that is gloomy and 
 dreadful. We shudder to think of our loved 
 ones passing out of our homes of comfort, 
 out of the gentle care of our love, into the 
 strange mystery of dying. We tremble to 
 think of ourselves sinking away into the 
 shadow of death. There are many Christian 
 people who do not have in their conception of 
 the final departure a single gleam of the 
 beauty and the blessedness with which the 
 New Testament invests the death of the be- 
 liever. If we could bring the Christian con- 
 ception of dying into our every-day thought 
 [^71 ] 
 
Clje 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 of it, it would change all the terror and dark- 
 ness which we are accustomed to associate 
 with the great event into brightness and 
 glory. 
 
 The New Testament does not employ a 
 single alarming word in all its allusions to the 
 subject. In the ruler's house when they said, 
 "Thy daughter is dead," Jesus said, "Weep 
 not; for she is not dead, but sleepeth." It 
 was a priceless blessing that Jesus gave to the 
 world when he gave the name sleep to what 
 men had always called death. 
 
 It is interesting to notice how Jesus him- 
 self spoke of dying as he came toward it. We 
 must not think of the darkness and mystery 
 which were so terrible to Jesus before he 
 came to the end as part of his experience of 
 dying. The anguish of the Garden was most 
 bitter. "He began to be sorrowful and sore 
 troubled." Then on the cross when the dark- 
 ness spread over all the land, there was heard 
 from the holy Sufferer a cry, the saddest cry 
 earth ever heard, "My God, my God, why 
 hast thou forsaken me?" But this was not 
 [ 272 ] 
 
Cfje Christian 1^it\i} of IDeatlj 
 
 part of our Lord's experience of dyin^. Tiiis 
 anguish, this feeling of forsakenness, he en- 
 dured as he was bearing the sin of the world. 
 We may not try to understand the sufferings 
 of those hours. 
 
 But turn to his real experience of death. 
 The six hours of agony were ended. The 
 darkness was past. Jesus, crying with a loud 
 voice, said, "Father, into thy hands I conj- 
 nicnd my sj)irit." There was no darkness now, 
 no feeling of forsakenness. The Father's face 
 was not hidden now, but instead it beamed in 
 love upon the Sufferer on the cross, and the 
 words Jesus spoke were full of joy and confi- 
 dence. "Father, into thy hands I commend 
 my spirit." That was the way Jesus died. 
 There was no fear. There was no blackness. 
 He was not confused nor bewildered. He was 
 face to face with his Father. He was calm 
 and quiet, not startled as if some fearful expe- 
 rience were before him. Dying — what was it 
 for him? Simply breathing out his spirit 
 into the hands of his Father. His body was 
 to stay on the cross until gentle hands should 
 [ 273 ] 
 
Cfje 2^ocife of Comfort 
 
 take it down and lay it away in the grave. 
 But his spirit, the deathless part, was 
 breathed into the hands of his Father. 
 
 Was there anything dreadful about that? 
 The spirit had not been pierced by nails, nor 
 hurt by thorns., nor touched in any way by the 
 anguish or pain of the terrible hours on the 
 cross. The spirit now was breathed out and 
 commended into the Father's hands. Those 
 were gentle hands, safe hands, hands out of 
 which no one could ever snatch that spirits 
 
 Note well that this is death, this and 
 nothing else, as Jesus found it. There never 
 was a simpler, gentler, quieter, gladder expe- 
 rience in all of our Lord's life. 
 
 And this is a true picture of death as it 
 will be in the story of every believer. There 
 will not be anything to make it hard or terri- 
 fying. It will mark the end of all darkness, 
 pain, and trouble. We think of death as full 
 of mystery. We cannot understand it. We 
 cannot see anything. But this picture of 
 Jesus dying ought to show us that to us, too, 
 dying is only joy, life, blessedness. "Into thy 
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Ctjc christian li)ieU) of JDcatij 
 
 liands ! " One inoineiit dazed and confused as 
 we leave the body, but next moment in the 
 Father's liands. When we have been dead 
 only a minute or two, the terror will be past, 
 if there is terror at all in the experience, and 
 we shall find ourselves in joy in the presence 
 of God. There is not a word in the New 
 Testament to suggest that death has horrors 
 for the believer in Christ. Dying is only a 
 phase of life. 
 
 The only death-scene we have in the New 
 Testament besides our Lord's is that of 
 Stephen. It was a death of violence. He had 
 a wonderful vision. Looking up steadfastly 
 into heaven, he saw the glory of God and 
 Jesus standing at the right hand of God. 
 His enemies in rage rushed upon him, cast 
 him out of the city, and stoned him. The 
 martyr prayed as the stones smote him. "Lord 
 Jesus, receive my spirit." The simple nar- 
 rative says: "He fell asleep." It is a scene 
 of peace, so far as the dying of Ste})lu'n i^ 
 concerned. He saw Jesus standing up at tlie 
 right hand of God to receive his servant who 
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Cfje 25ook ot Comfort 
 
 was being driven out of the earth. When 
 he died he was only received by the living 
 Saviour in glory. His broken body lay dead 
 on the ground, but his spirit was safe, unhurt, 
 in the keeping of his Lord. 
 
 But little is said in the New Testament 
 about death. We have very dear and definite 
 assertions of the fact of immortality, but 
 mere hints only of the form of the life into 
 which the earthly life emerges, through dy- 
 ing. Two of the most vivid of the expressions 
 used by St. Paul in speaking of what occurs 
 in dying is in the phrases — "absent from the 
 body," and "at home with the Lord." In 
 dying we leave the body which has been "the 
 earthly house of our tabernacle" during our 
 stay. The old house is empty — the tenant 
 has gone out of it. But we are not homeless 
 now, because of our eviction from the earthly 
 house; we are "at home with the Lord." 
 That is, we have a far more glorious dwell- 
 ing place than the one we were in before. 
 "We know that if the earthly house of our 
 tabernacle be dissolved, we have a building 
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Cf)C Ctjristian ©ieto of JDeatfj 
 
 from God, a house not iiuidc with hands, 
 eternal, in the heavens." Instead of a tent, 
 which is frail and temporary, liable to decay 
 and dissolution, our new habitation is a build- 
 ing from God, not made with hands, eternal. 
 Instead of an earthly house, our new home is 
 in the heavens. Instead of a place of pain 
 and suffering in which we groan, being 
 burdened, when we leave it we shall find our- 
 selves at once at home with Clirist. There is 
 no time for wandering, unclothed, as disem- 
 bodied spirits, seeking for a new habitation in 
 which to dwell, but a minute after the earthly 
 tabernacle is dissolved and we are absent from 
 it, we shall find ourselves at home — not in 
 another frail tent but in a home in heaven. 
 This is what Jesus promised his disciples in 
 his words of comfort spoken to them at the 
 last supper. "Let not your heart be troubled ; 
 believe in God : believe also in me. In my 
 Father's house are many mansions. ... I 
 go to prepare a place for you. And if I go 
 and prepare a place for you, I will come again, 
 and will receive you unto myself; that where 
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'Cijc 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 I am, there ye may be also." Our new habi- 
 tation will be a home, with all the blessed 
 meaning of that word; it will be eternal; it 
 will be with Christ. 
 
 We see how simple and beautiful Christian 
 death is, as we read these descriptions of it. 
 We ought to find richest comfort in these 
 glimpses. There is nothing in dying to give 
 us fear or terror. It will not interrupt our 
 living for a moment. Five minutes after 
 watching friends say of us "He is gone ! " we 
 will be through the experience and will be 
 living as we have never lived before. Dying 
 is but leaving the old tent to be received into 
 the heavenly home. It is but changing mor- 
 tality to the glory of immortality. We shall 
 live on, only our life will be purged from all 
 its imperfections, its selfishness, its envy, its 
 grudging, its resentment, its earthliness and 
 made perfect. We shall not lose interest in 
 our friends, but shall think of them, speak to 
 God for them, save them in some way, as 
 helpfully, and far more wisely than when we 
 were living. Moses and Elijah after they 
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Cfje Cljnstian IDicU) of Dcatlj 
 
 had been liuiulnds of years in heaven wire 
 sent back to earth to cheer and strengthen 
 the weary Son of God as he was bearing the 
 cross of his love. The mother will not forget 
 her cliildren, nor the faithful pastor his people 
 after death. 
 
 Death will not break any sficred tie of 
 friendship. It will not separate us from 
 Christ. "Whether we live or whether we die, 
 we are the Lord's." It will not rob us of any 
 real treasure. It will empty our hands of 
 money and property we have invested in our 
 name, but have never made ours by proper 
 use for Christ, but not one penny we have used 
 in honoring God and blessing our fellow men 
 shall we lose in dying. Millionaires who have 
 truly consecrated their money will be million- 
 aires still after dying. Death will leave no 
 blot, no scar, no wounding on us ; hut will 
 only strip off every blemish, purge from us 
 every spot, bring out all hidden beauty and 
 transform us, for when we see him we shall 
 be like him, for we shall see him as he is. 
 
 We need not dread to see our Christian 
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^Ije 2?oofe of Comfort 
 
 friends die, for they have come to the most 
 blessed and glorious moment of their existence, 
 and are only departing from us to be forever 
 with the Lord. 
 
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Princeton 
 
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