The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-12-21
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route by which self -oblivion is said to
be reached is we'll known and is
beaten as hard as the road road to
post office and church in any coun-
try-town where the people read the
Chautauquan course after the man.
ner of today, and pray after the man
ner of their fore-fathers. The story
of the freezing soldier who restored
the circulation OF his own blood by
chatting the frozen limbs of his COM
rades, has been used to point this
moral until point and edge are
blunted.
True, the blessed fact abides that
giving of ones self to him who is
faint and weary, builds up, instead
of impoverishing, the giver. Obed-
fence to the homely rule of trying to
forget how badly off we are by minis
tering to those who are vet more
wretched, has lightened many heavy
spirit and healed the smart of count
less wounds.
have no such prescription ready
at hand while the mournful eyes of
these two women seem to look into
mine. The open sheets are to me
the revealed depths of stricken souls
that refuse to be comforted by hui
man counsel. Representative souls
they are, haunted ceaselessly by rec
objections of what will be no more
for them on this side of heaven. The
Joy bells of Christmas Eve have an
undertoll of desolation to their ears.
The happiest days of the year are the
saddest to them. Close to their side,
and thronging their knees, are shad-
owy forms that shut out the light Of
Christmas candles and Christmas
sunlight. For them
1T is time for memory and for tears"
God help theml God help us all
as memory reviews the tender grace
of days for which we would barter
years of the life that now is ours.
The years that, in passing, have
strewn ashes upon our heads, have
scattered them more thickly upon
hearts and hopes. 1t is not weak
sentimentality that makes us feel it
would be disloyal to push aside
thoughts of those who once made the
glad season more glad. To smother
"reminiscences and to rebuke tears, is
stoicism, not Christian resignation.
They who have gone from our sight
have right to their place in our
affections and in our homes this
trysting time. They were given
to us to have and to hold. The
Father does not mock us by snatch
ing away that which he babe us
love as ourselves. Our treasures
are in his holy ward and keeping, but
they are still ours. Forgetfulness
would be ingratitude to the Oliver;
to cease to love and long for the de-
parted would be fickleness. To the
eyes of the mother heart the row of
little stockings, limp at nightfall, fat
and misshapen at dawn, is unbroken.
She could show you where the baby's
pink socks were hung on his first
Christmas Eve, and where the eldest
boy persisted in driving particularly
stout nail to support the prospective
weight of the stocking that came up
to the knee of a long leg to meet his
knickerbockers. Do not let her try
to tell you where and when the gaps
in the the goodly line began to come.
The smell of the roses that blushed
upon the breakfast-cloth beside the
wife's plate, Is as present to her inn
agination as when her silent kiss re-
paid the donor. Her children are
the very pulse of heart. but their
voices will never again sound as
sweet as when upborne by deep,
manly tones. Talk as bravely as we
may of the work of Time the Healer,
there is look in the eyes with which
we try to reassure one another that
tells of wounds forever raw, and
void we do not hope to fill.
We bring gay spirits to other fes-
rivals. Christmas touches finer and
fuller chords. Since the rounding of
the grave that cast the first lasting
shadow over our lives, we have
learned by heart new and ineffable
meaning in 81 believe in the COM
munion of the saints" We observe
the Yule-tide as a sacrament in the
sense given to the term by the early
Fathers of the church; "the visible
sign of an invisible grace" Unseen
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