Each complaint drags us down a degree in our upward course.

By complaining, I do not mean the simple imparting of our troubles to others.

Complaint savors always of a little bad temper, and a slightly vindictive spirit.

The saints were never exacting.

Contented with their lot, they never desired anything that was withheld from them.

"I have asked," said a holy soul, "for something I thought needful; they have forgotten to answer me, or perhaps would not bestow it. Why need I be disquieted? If it were really necessary, G.o.d would quickly provide means to obtain it." How few could enter into this feeling; and yet it is but the echo of CHRIST'S own words, "Your FATHER in Heaven knoweth that ye have need of all these things."

x.x.xVI.

Joy in life is like oil in a lamp. When the oil gets low the wick is consumed, emitting a black vapor, and sending forth only a lurid glow, which does not give light.

A life without joy pa.s.ses away unprofitably, shedding around it only gloom and sorrow.

If every morning in a simple prayer,--in those fifteen minutes' meditation (which only seem hard when we do not practise it),--we opened our hearts to G.o.d, as we open our windows to the sun and air, G.o.d would fill it with that calm, sweet joy which elevates the soul, prevents it feeling the weight of troubles, and makes it overflow with benevolence.

But joy does not mean levity, witty sayings, or repartee ... it is habitual serenity.

Through a clear atmosphere we can always see the sky; it seems so light and full of elasticity.

A serene sky is always pure ... clouds may pa.s.s across it, but they do not stain it.

So it is with the heart that early in the morning opens to receive G.o.d'S Peace.

x.x.xVII.

"You are never out of temper," was once said to a woman well known to be much tried at home; "is it that you do not feel the injustice, the annoyances?"--"I feel them as much as you do," she replied; "but they do not hurt me."--"You have, then, some special balm?"--"Yes; for the vexations caused by people, I have _affection_; for those of circ.u.mstances, I have prayer; and over every wound that bleeds, I murmur the words, 'Thy Will be done.'"

x.x.xVIII.

MY DAILY CROSS

If I have no cross to bear to-day, I shall not advance heavenwards.

A cross (that is, anything that disturbs our peace) is the spur which stimulates, and without which we should most likely remain stationary, blinded with empty vanities, and sinking deeper into sin.

A cross helps us onwards, in spite of our apathy and resistance.

To lie quietly on a bed of down may seem a very sweet existence, but pleasant ease and rest are not the lot of a Christian; if he would mount higher and higher, it must be by a rough road.

Alas, for those who have no daily cross!

Alas, for those who repine and fret against it!

WHAT WILL BE MY CROSS TO-DAY?

Perhaps that person, with whom Providence has placed me, and whom I dislike, whose look of disdain humiliates me, whose slowness worries me, who makes me jealous by being more beloved, more successful, than myself, whose chatter and lightheartedness, even her very attentions to myself, annoy me.

Or it may be that person that I think has quarrelled with me, and my imagination makes me fancy myself watched, criticised, turned into ridicule.

She is always with me; all my efforts to separate are frustrated; by some mysterious power she is always present, always near.

This is my heaviest cross; the rest are light in comparison.

Circ.u.mstances change, temptations diminish, troubles lessen; but those people who trouble or offend us are an ever-present source of irritation.

HOW TO BEAR THIS DAILY CROSS

Never manifest, in any way, the ennui, the dislike, the involuntary shudder, that her presence produces; force myself to render her some little service--never mind if she never knows it; it is between G.o.d and myself. Try to say a little good of her every day, of her talents, her character, her tact, for there is all that to be found in her. Pray earnestly for her, even asking G.o.d to help me to love her, and to spare her to me.

Dear companion! blessed messenger of G.o.d'S mercy! you are, without knowing it, the means for my sanctification, and I will not be ungrateful.

Yes! though the exterior be rude and repellent, yet to you I owe it that I am kept from greater sin; you, against whom my whole nature rebels ... how I ought to love you!

x.x.xIX.

Who is anxious for a beloved one's eternal welfare?

We interest ourselves for their success, their prosperity; we ask G.o.d to keep them from harm and misfortune; we try to start them well in the world, to make them of reputation, to procure them pleasure.

To spare them trouble, we sacrifice our own ease and enjoyment....

Oh, that is all very beautiful, very right; but what should we do for the soul?

Do we pray to G.o.d that this soul may become humble, pure, devoted?

Do we take as much pains to procure him the little devotional book that will really help him, as we should to obtain a transient pleasure?

Do we help him, unseen, towards that act of charity, humiliation, or self-renunciation? Have we courage not to spare the soul the trial that we know will purify?

Does it seem too hard for you?

Ah! then you do not know what real love is. Does not G.o.d love us? Yet G.o.d lets us suffer; even sends the suffering.

Love is given us to help us onwards, nearer to G.o.d. The most blessed is that which draws us nearest to Him; and in proportion as it leads to G.o.d we realize its blessedness.