Part 35

Sorrow is the noblest of all discipline. Our nature shrinks from it, but it is not the less a discipline. It is a scourge, but there is healing in its stripes. It is a chalice, and the draught is bitter, but health proceeds from the bitterness. It is a crown of thorns, but it becomes a wreath of light on the brow which it has lacerated. It is a cross on which the spirit groans, but every Calvary has an Olivet. To every place of crucifixion there is likewise a place of ascension. The sun that is shrouded is unveiled, and the heavens open with hopes eternal to the soul which was nigh unto despair. Even in guilt sorrow has a sanctity within it. Place a bad man beside the death-bed, or the grave, where all that he loved is cold—we are moved, we are won, by his affection, and we find the divine spark yet alive, which no vice could quench.

Christianity itself is a religion of sorrow. It was born in sorrow, in sorrow it was tried, and by sorrow it was made perfect. The Author of Christianity was a "man of sorrow and acquainted with grief." Sorrow is exalting, and a baptism of sorrow is awarded to every one who strives for the higher life. Since Christ wept over Jerusalem the best, the bravest, who have followed him in good will and good deeds have commenced their mission alike in suffering. Sorrow is not to be complained of; it is the passport by which we are to be made acceptable in that house where all tears shall be wiped away. It has power for good; it has joy within its gloom, and, though Christianity is a religion of trials and suffering, it is not less a religion of hope; it casts down in order to exalt, and if it tries the spirit by affliction it is to prepare it for a future great reward.

All mankind must taste the cup which destiny has mixed, be it bitter or be it sweet. Be not impatient under suffering. It is for the correction of thy soul. It is better to suffer than to injure. It is better to suffer without a cause than that there should be cause for our suffering. By experiencing distress an arrogant insensibility of temper is most effectually corrected. Endeavor to extract a blessing from the remembrance of thy own sufferings. If so be that Providence has so ordered your life that you are not subject to much of the discipline of sorrow, strive to extract this discipline from the consideration of the lot of those less favored than you are. Step aside occasionally from the flowers and smooth paths which it is permitted you to walk in, in order to view the toilsome march of your fellow creatures through the thorny desert. The designed end of temporal afflictions is to cause men to consider their spiritual wants, and to seek the good of their higher natures.

Often suffering not only fails to purify the soul from sin, but aggravates and intensifies its selfish and malignant passions. This is always the case where the heart fails to accept the lesson taught. By submission to sorrow the sweetest traits of character are developed, as some fruits are brought to perfection only by frost. Misfortune should act upon us or upon our feelings like fire upon old tenements, which are consumed only to be rebuilt with greater perfection. The winds of adversity sweep over the soul and scatter the fairest blossoms of hope. But the blossoms fall that the fruit may appear. So with us, when the flowers of hope are gone, there come the fruits of long-suffering, patience, faith, and love. Thus the darkest clouds which overhang human destiny may often appear the brightest to the angels who behold them with prophetic ken from heaven.

The damps of Autumn sink into the leaves and prepare them for decay, and thus are we, insensibly perhaps, detached from our hold on life by the gentle pressure of recorded sorrows. Who is not familiar with the fact that life, which to the young promises so much, but to the middle-aged presents a stern reality, seems to the old as a day's labor now closing; and even as the laborer, worn by the burdens and heat of the day, looks forward to rest, so does the aged pilgrim, oppressed by the accumulated griefs and sorrows of a life-time, look forward to the rest of death?

The first thing to be conquered in grief is the pleasure we feel in indulging it. Persons may acquire a morbid and unhealthy state of feeling on this subject, and by a constant giving way to feelings of grief become at last so constituted that on the slightest occasions they give way to apparently uncontrollable sorrow, converting thus what was intended as a means of discipline necessary to soul growth into an evil which contracts life. Remember, then, that in the matter of giving expression to sorrow self-control is no less necessary than in the other affairs of life. There is but one pardonable grief—that for the departed. This pleasing grief is but a variety of comfort, the sighs are but a mournful mode of loving them.

There are sorrows too sacred to be babbled to the world, griefs which one would forbear to whisper even to a friend. Real sorrow is not clamorous. It seeks to shun every eye, and breathes in solitude and silence the sighs that come from the heart. Every heart has also its secret sorrows, of which the world knows nothing, and ofttimes we call a man cold when he is only sorrowful. Sorrow may be divided into two classes—that which really comes from the heart and is for the bettering of man, and that which comes from wounded selfishness, egotism, and pride. It is our duty to strive against giving vent to the latter kind of sorrow. It is, after all, only selfish in feeling and expression. It is the duty of all to cultivate cheerfulness of manner and disposition. Another hath said, "Give not thy mind to heaviness. The gladness of heart is the life of man, and the joyfulness of a man prolongeth his days. Remove sorrow far from thee, for sorrow hath killed many, and there is no profit therein; and carefulness bringeth age before the time."

As limbs which are wrenched violently asunder do not bleed, so the sudden shocks of overwhelming sorrow are unrelieved by tears. The heart is benumbed. The eyes are dry, and the very fountain of feeling obstructed and stagnant. Our lighter afflictions find relief in lamentations and weeping, and the voice of sympathy and compassion brings some consolation and peace. But when the heart has been deeply and powerfully struck by some cruel blow of destiny, the intensity of suffering exceeds the bounds of sensibility and emotion.

Those who work hard seldom yield themselves entirely up to real or fancied sorrow. When grief sits down, folds its hands, and mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weaving the dim shadows that a little exertion might sweep away into oblivion, the strong spirit is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes our master. When sorrow, then, pours upon you, instead of giving way to it, rather seek by occupation to divert the dark waters that threaten to overwhelm you into the thousand channels which the duties of life always present. Before you dream of it those waters will fertilize the present and give birth to flowers that may brighten the future—flowers that will become pure and holy in the sunshine which illumes the path of duty, in spite of every obstacle.

It can not be too often repeated that it is not the so-called blessings of life, its sunshine and calms, that makes men, but its rugged experiences, its storms, tempests, and trials. Early poverty, especially, is emphatically a blessing in disguise. The school of poverty graduates the ablest pupils. It does more, perhaps, than any thing else to develop the energetic, self-reliant traits of character, without which the highest ability makes but sorry work of life's battles. Thousands of men are bemoaning present indigence and obscurity who might have won riches and honor had they only been compelled by early poverty to develop their manhood. As well expect the oak to grow strong in the atmosphere of the hot-house as that man would reach his best estate surrounded from earliest years by the comforts and luxury of wealth.

Many of the evils of poverty are imaginary, arising from mistaken notions we may entertain as to what constitutes happiness and comfort. There is not such a difference as some men imagine between the poor and the rich. In pomp, show, and opinion there is a great deal, but little as to the real pleasures and joys of life. No man is poor who does not think himself so. But if in a full fortune, with impatience he desires more, he proclaims his wants and his beggarly condition. We are more and more impressed that the poor are only they who feel poor. He whom we esteem wealthy in a true scale would perhaps be found very indigent. Of what avail the wealth of Crœsus if the heart feels pinched and poor?

It is one of the mysteries of our life that genius, the noblest gift of God to man, is nourished by poverty. Its noblest works have been achieved by the sorrowing ones of the world in tears and despair. Not in the brilliant saloon, furnished with every comfort and elegance; not in the library, well-fitted, softly carpeted, and looking out upon a smooth, green lawn or a broad expanse of scenery; not in ease and competence,—is genius born and nurtured. More frequently in adversity and destitution, amidst the harassing cares of a straitened household, in bare and fireless garrets, is genius born and reared. This is its birthplace, and with such surroundings have men labored, studied, and trained themselves, until they have at last emanated out of the gloom of that obscurity, the shining lights of their time, and exercised an influence upon the thoughts of the world amounting to a species of intellectual legislation.

If there is any thing in the world that a young man should be more grateful for than another, it is the poverty which necessitates his starting in life under very great disadvantages. Poverty is one of the best tests of human quality in existence. A triumph over it is like graduating with honor from West Point. It demonstrates stuff and stamina. It is a certificate of worthy labor faithfully performed. A young man who can not stand this test is not good for any thing. He can never rise above a drudge or a pauper. If he can not feel his will harden as the yoke of poverty presses upon him, and his pluck rise with every difficulty that poverty throws in his way, he may as well withdraw from the conflict, since his defeat is already assured. Poverty saves a thousand times more men than it ruins; for it only ruins those who are not worth saving, while it saves multitudes of those whom wealth would have ruined.

It is of decided advantage for a man to be under the necessity of having to struggle with poverty, and conquer it. "He who has battled," says Carlyle, "were it only with poverty and toil, will be found stronger and more expert than he who could stay at home from the battle." It is not prosperity so much as adversity, not wealth so much as poverty, that stimulates the perseverance of strong and healthy natures, rouses their energy, and develops their character. Indeed, misfortune and poverty have frequently converted the indolent votary of society into a useful member of the community, and made him a moving power in the great workshop of the world, teaching men, and developing the powers which nature has bestowed on them.

Poverty is the great test of civility and the touchstone of friendship. Amid the poverty and privation of the humblest homes are often found scenes of magnanimity and self-denial as utterly beyond the belief as it is the practices of the great and rich—acts of self-denial, kindness, and generosity, which borrow no support either from the gaze of the many or the admiration of the few, yet giving daily exhibitions of its strength and constancy. It is the great privilege of poverty to be happy and unenvied, to be healthy without physic, secure without a guard, and to obtain from the bounty of nature what the great and wealthy are compelled to procure by the help of art.

Few are the real wants and necessities of mankind. Some men with thousands a year suffer more for want of means than others with only hundreds. The reason is found in the artificial wants of the former. Though his income is great his wants are still greater, and, as a consequence, his income is not equal to his outgo. There are many wealthy people who, of course, enjoy their wealth, but there are thousands who never know a moment's peace because they live above their means. He who earns but a dollar a day, and does not run in debt, is a happier man. The great secret of being solvent and well-to-do and comfortable is to get ahead of your expenses. Eat and drink this month what you earned last month, not what you are going to earn the next.

Poverty may be a bitter draught, yet it often is a tonic, strengthening all the powers of manhood. Though the drinker makes a wry face there is, after all, a wholesome goodness in the cup. But debt, however courteously it may be offered, is the cup of a siren, and the wine, spiced and delicious though it be, is poison. The man out of debt, though with a flaw in his jerkin and a hole in his hat, is still the son of liberty, free as the singing bird above him; but the debtor, although clothed in the utmost bravery, what is he but a serf out upon a holiday? a slave to be reclaimed at every instant by his owner, the creditor?

Poverty is never felt so severely as by those who have seen better days. The poverty of the poor has

many elements of hardness, but it is endurable, and is developing their strength and endurance. The poverty of the formerly affluent is, indeed, hard; it avoids the light of the day and shuns the sympathy of those who would relieve its wants; it preys upon the heart and corrodes the mind; the sunshine of life is gone, and it requires a strong mind to resolutely set about to mend the impaired fortune.

It is the misfortune of many young persons today that they begin life with too many advantages. Every possible want of their many-sided nature is supplied before it is consciously felt. Books, teachers, mental and religious training, lectures, amusements, clothes, and food, all of the best quality, and without stint in quantity—in short, the pick of the world's good things—and help of every kind are lavished upon them, till satiety results, and all ambition is extinguished. What motive has a young man for whom life is thus "thrice winnowed" to exert himself? Having supped full of life's sweets he finds them palling on his taste; having done nothing to earn its good things he can not appreciate their value. Like a hot-house plant, grown weak and spindling through too much shelter and watching, he needs nothing so much as to be set in the open air of the world, and to grow strong with struggling for existence.

It is a fact that the working, successful men of to-day were once industrious, self-reliant boys. And the same thing will be repeated, for from the ranks of the hard-working, economical, temperate, and self-reliant boys of to-day will emanate the progressive, prominent men of the future. All boys should grow up strong as steel bars, fighting their way to an education, and then, when they are all ready, plunging into real life. The majority of the men of mark in this country are not the sons of those whose fathers could give them all they want, and much more than they should have, but are those who were brought up in cottages and cabins, cutting their way through difficulties on every side to their present commanding position.

Of all poverty that of the mind is the most deplorable. And it is, at the same time, without excuse. Every one who wills it can lay in a rich store of mental wealth. The poor man's purse may be empty, but he has as much gold in the sunset, and as much silver in the moon, as any body. Wealth of heart is not dependent upon wealth of purse. Home comfort and happiness does not depend upon elegance of surroundings. But it is found in the spirit presiding over the household; this is the spirit of loving kindness, and is as apt to dwell with poverty as with wealth. Thus the evils of poverty are much exaggerated. And the evils, if evils they be, are, after all, for our own ultimate good.

There is an elasticity to the human mind capable of bearing much, but which will not show itself until a certain weight of affliction be put upon it. "Fear not the darkness," saith the Persian proverb; "it conceals perhaps the springs of the water of life." Experience is often bitter, but wholesome. Only by its teachings can we learn to suffer and be strong. Character in its highest forms is disciplined by trial and made perfect through suffering. Even from the deepest sorrow the patient and thoughtful mind will gather a richer mead than pleasure ever yielded.

Think it not unkind when afflictions befall thee; it is all for the best that they are sent. God calls those whom he loveth, and why should he not claim his own jewels to shine in his house, though our own be made dreary? It may seem hard under such circumstances to say that it is "all for the best." The human heart is prone to give over to grief and lamentations; but wait, soon, when like the tired pilgrim thou shalt fall sick and weary, He will take you home to rejoice in finding friends from whom you have been separated. Then how true will be the saying that "it was all for the best!"

Sad accidents and a state of affliction are a school of virtue. It reduces our spirits to soberness and our counsels to moderation; it corrects levity. God, who governs the world in mercy and wisdom, never would have suffered the virtuous ones to endure so many keen afflictions did he not intend that they should be the seminary of comfort, the nursery of virtue, the exercise of wisdom, and the trial of patience, the venturing for a crown and the gate of glory. Much of the most useful work done by men and women has been done amidst afflictions—sometimes as a relief from it, sometimes as a sense of duty overpowering personal sorrow.

Adversity is the touch-stone of character. As some herbs need to be crushed to give forth their sweetest odors, so some natures need to be tried by suffering to evoke the excellence that is in them. Grief is a common bond that unites hearts. It can knit hearts closer than happiness can, and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys. The visitations of sorrow are universal. There beats not a heart but that it has felt the force of affliction. There is not an eye but has witnessed many scenes of sorrow.

They are always impaired by sorrow who are not thereby improved. Some natures are like grapes—the more they are downtrodden the richer tribute they supply. It may be affirmed substantially that good men reap more real benefit from their affliction than bad men do from their prosperities; for what they lose in wealth, pleasure, or honor they gain in wisdom and tranquillity of mind. "No creature would be more unhappy," said Demetrius, "than a man who had never known affliction." The best need afflictions for the trial of their virtue. How can we exercise the grace of contentment if all things succeed well? or that of forgiveness if we have no enemies?

At a superficial view it appears that adversity happens to all alike, without regard to rank or condition. The good are apparently as little favored by fortune in this respect as the bad, the high as the humble. People are continually rising and falling in all the grades of society. We often see men of high expectations suddenly cut down, and left to struggle with despair and ruin. If the happiness of mankind depended upon the caprice of fortune, their condition would be wretched. But it is possible to possess a mind which will not lose its tranquillity in the severest adversity, or at least such a one as, being disturbed and deprived of its wonted serenity by a sudden calamity, will recover in a short period, and assume its native buoyancy by the shock which it has experienced.

How uncertain is human life! There is but a breath of air and a beat of a heart betwixt this world and the next. In the brief interval of painful and awful suspense, while we feel that death is present with us, we are powerless and he all powerful. The last faint pulsation here is but the prelude of endless joys hereafter. In the midst of the stunning calamity about to befall us, when death is in the family circle, and some loved one is about to be taken from us, we feel as if earth had no compensating good to mitigate the severity of our loss. But we forget that there is no grief without some beneficent provisions to soften its intensities. Thus in the presence of death there is also a consolation. Has the life been stormy? There is now rest; rest for the troubled heart and the weary head. And it can be known only by experience with what a longing many hearts thus look forward to the rest of death. Many whom the world regards as peculiarly blessed by Providence carry with them such corroding, anxious cares that it is with a feeling of relief that they contemplate the approach of death. To them death comes in its most beautiful form. He borrows the garb of gentle sleep, lays down his iron scepter, and his cold hand falls as warm as the hand of friendship over the weary heart now ceasing to beat.

Grief or misfortune seems to be indispensable to the development of intelligence, energy, and virtue. The trials to which humanity are subject are necessary to draw them from their lethargy, to disclose their character. Afflictions even have the effect of eliciting talents which, in prosperous circumstances, would have lain dormant. Suffering, indeed, seems to have been as divinely appointed as joy, while it is much more influential as a discipline of character. Suffering may be the appointed means by which the highest nature of man is to be disciplined and developed. Sometimes a heart-break rouses an impassive nature to life. "What does he know," said a sage, "who has not suffered?"

No soul is so obscure that God does not take thought for its schooling. The sun is the central light of the solar system; but it has a mission to the ripening corn and the purpling clusters on the vine, as well as the ponderous planet. The sunshine that comes filtering through the morning mists with healing on its wings, and charming all the birds to singing, should have also a message from God to sad hearts. No soul is so grief-laden that it may not be lifted to sources of heavenly comfort by recognizing the Divine love in the perpetual recurrence of earthly blessings.

Afflictions sent by Providence must be submitted to in a humble spirit. Otherwise they will not conduce to lasting good. The same furnace that hardens clay liquefies gold; and the manifestation of Divine power Pharaoh found his punishment, but David his pardon. As the musician straineth at his strings, and yet breaketh none of them, but maketh thereby a sweeter melody and better concord, so God, through affliction, makes his own better unto the fruition and enjoyment of the life to come. Afflictions are the medicine of the mind. If they are not toothsome, let it suffice that they are wholesome. It is not required in physic that it should please, but that it should heal.