sorrow. VI. THE CUP OF CONSOLATION. "COMFORT ONE ANOTHER WITH THESE WORDS." T is not every disciple who is permitted to administer this sacred cup. God chooses whom he will for this delicate office, and fits him for it, first of all, by the baptism of His heart must be made in a degree pure by the refining fire, tender by chastisement, sensitive by pain, and stirred to its depths by the sharp probe of sorrow. When it has thus been taught its own weakness and want, and brought to the fountain of all good; when it has been led through suffering into the very heart of our great High Priest, it is prepared, in its measure, to feel for the tempted and sorrowing, and to impart to them the comfort it has itself received. Then our blessed Lord puts into the consecrated hand this cup of mercy, saying: "Go now, my child; bear the consolation whose sweetness you have tasted to my mourning disciples. Tell them of my great pity and love; that I do not afflict willingly; that I chasten only for their good. Their affliction, though for the present not joyous, but grievous, shall work out in them the fruits of righteousness, and fit them for the eternal weight of glory in store for them. Go in my place to comfort all that mourn, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. And, verily, you shall in no wise lose your reward." I hear weeping near me: near me, a being weighed down, laden with cares, exhausted before the labor which each morning brings, lets fall his arm, and sinks under the burden. If no one raises him, he will remain there. Men of good health, mien, and courage, pass, and cry to him, "Up, there! make an effort! Do not give up thus! If you fall, rise again!" A vigorous hand shakes him; perhaps an iron arm lifts him up. "You are on your feet; walk!" The miserable creature makes the attempt, takes a step or two, then falls again; and the strong men turn their heads, astonished at human weakness. Let them be indignant if they can: for my part, bleeding, I know how to pity. Each of these moans recounts to me my own sorrows; it enters my soul. I seem to love him who weeps thus. I approach him, and take his hand: "Look at me, will you not? I know that you are suffering: your strength is gone; so is mine. Would that I could aid you a little! Try to lean on me: you will support me; I need pity: we, suffering the same pangs, alone can comprehend each other. Or I will seat myself here by your side; I will say nothing, I will only look at you; your eyes can meet mine: it will do us good to weep; and when we have wept, we will pray. Then we will rise gently, and will go aside; we will take some foot-path where these strong men, so prompt to treat the weak harshly, do not go." Countess de Gasparin. To console! it is for this, then, that I have suffered. What enlightenment! this was the balm that was needed for my wounds. My rent heart had need of such assistance. Yes, it is true, he who has not suffered can never console. The desire will not be lacking the sovereign knowledge, the initiation, the revelation, will always be wanting. Christ well knew this. He well knew that to compassionate the torments of men, it was necessary that he should taste the tor ments of men. By this, God raises me to him. By this ineffable power of consolation, by this truly celestial privilege, God associates me in his work. I, unworthy I, so completely incapable, - I can relieve an afflicted one; I can do him good by sharing in his anguish: this unhappy being will regain confidence; this heart which loved nothing longer will begin again to love; this man who could not pray will join his hands, a ray of joy will penetrate this soul: and only a few sorrows are needed for this. Oh, behold me! may God but give me strength! here I am. Id. COMFORT. We must feel ere we can pity; Art thou, then, the only mourner? Does the earth's green surface never |