“It is not the deed that we do,
Though the deed be never so fair,
But the love that the dear Lord looketh for,
Hidden with holy care,
In the heart of the deed so fair.”
There are few hearts in which there do not lay kindly wishes for others. The man must be depraved indeed who has only malign thoughts and desires for his fellow-men. Every Christian at least wishes others well, since love is the law of the regenerated life. There are occasions, too, when the good wishes find their way to the lips in kindly words. We say “Good-morning” when we meet a neighbor and “Good-bye when we part from him. When our friends’ birthdays come, we are in the habit of finding many delicate and pleasant ways of expressing our good will. The Christmas-time and the New-Year usually thaw out of our hearts the laggard good feelings, prompting us to many acts and words of kindness. It is well that our hearts have their seasons of generous blossoming, even if they are so brief, and are fixed by the almanac. It is well that anything whatsoever has power to touch our lips with fire from the altar of love, and teach us to speak the gentle words which the lives about us are so hungry to hear.
One of the saddest things about life is that, with such boundless power to give cheer to others by our speech, most of us pass through the world in silence, locking up in our own hearts the thoughtful and helpful words which we might speak, and which, if spoken, would minister so much strength and inspiration. Hearts are breaking with sorrow; men are bowing under burdens too heavy for them; duty is too large, battles are too sore. On every hand, and in every life, there is need for love’s ministry that men and women may not fail. Nor is it large and costly service that usually is needed: the kindly utterance of a kindly feeling will often give all the impulse and inspiration required. And the feeling is always close at hand, wanting but to be put into honest words, and spoken where the struggle is going on. Yet many of us let the good will lie in our heart unuttered, and stand by in silence while our brother beside us goes down in defeat which one word of ours would have changed into victory. It is not the want of love that is our fault, but the penuriousness which locks up the love, and will not give it out to bless others. Is any miserliness so mean? We let hearts starve to death close beside us, when in our hands is the food to keep them living, and make them strong: then when they lie in the dust of defeat, we come with our love to make funeral-wreaths for them, and speak eloquent eulogiums to their memory.
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