hidden meaning of its sighs and tears; still, it has a message of truth and love that we shall one day know. Human vessels of honour are by its means fitted for Divine service ;— It Its end is our perfection. "Sorrow," says one, "is the "It must be bruised by pain and smart, To lay before the dear LORD's feet." The old travellers used to tell of a tree in India, that blossomed only in the night. Though no flowers were seen at sunset, yet half-an-hour afterwards it was covered with fragrant bloom. This answers to facts occasionally developed in human experience. There are blossoms of character which are most beautiful in the darkness; virtues that thrive best in the soil and clime and conditions of sorrow. This experience is sometimes the initiation of the soul into a fresh state; we come out of it new creatures; we rise from its deep baptism into newness of life. The trouble from which we have shrunk in fear, as we saw it approaching, and which we fancied would overwhelm us in destruction, has proved our richest blessing. Hope's fairest rainbow has sprung from the darkest clouds. Not that we always realise this at once. "There is no despair so absolute," says GEORGE ELIOT, as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow; when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and healed,—to have despaired and to have recovered hope." Instead of becoming, in the first power of its shock on our nature, a blessed discipline of submission, or a purifying of the spirit from its worldliness, or a strengthening of its heavenly aspirations; it sometimes startles us into blind and dreary amazement, or irritates us to rebellion, or even drives us to despair. It may be working for our good; but, instead of feeling better, we feel worse. Let it, however, have time to work; and then it teaches us lessons we never learnt before,-shows us the evil of our ways, leads us to the source of purity, discloses the secret of strength and peace. I have seen the grief of a father over his dead boy urge him at first almost to madness; yet I have known that grief in after years chasten, refine, beautify, the whole life. Many can say, I was blind with too much happiness; it seems as if true vision comes only with sorrow." Happy the man who learns this truth, who knows that the dark path has led to light, that loss and grief have been the instruments of all that is best in his character; and who, with the rich results of past sorrow in possession, can daily pray the prayer of one who was deeply learned in this wisdom;— "O break my heart; but break it as a field Part of the ministry of sorrow is to fit us for usefulness to others. Some people appear to have no sympathy. You might as well expect a picture of gorgeous summer sunset from a blind man, as true sympathy from one who has never known sorrow. On the other hand, we meet now and then with those who seem to feel the troubles, and endure the pain, and carry the burden of their brethren, just as if they were their own. This is one of the lessons learnt in the school of trial. It enables us to give to others the cup of strength, in the hour of weakness and agony. It lives in us, an indestructible force, only changing its form, like other forces; and passes from pain into sympathy, sympathy which includes all our best insight and best love. The sorrows of some lives seem all transformed into comfort for others. Their earthly hopes, laid with many tears in the grave, are the seed from which grow healing flowers, and balm for broken hearts. Have we not known such, men and women, whose experience of adversity, instead of robbing them of faith in happiness, — - "Has rather cleared their inner eye to see As to sympathy, we must remember, however, that, the hidden troubles of the brain." We must not approach the object of our sympathy with undue gloom, lest we aggravate the evil we desire to remove. For the same reason we must avoid undue light-heartedness. The poet says of one in grief, "The little birds that tune their morning's joy, "As vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to a heavy heart." The service of sympathy must be rendered with care. Sometimes, the soul hugs her sorrow close around her, as her sole remaining garment; and it must be drawn off so warily, and the garment to supersede it so warily slipped on, that the sufferer shall be sensible of the change only by the refreshment. True angels of mercy are they, who while they have the heart to feel, have also the wisdom to exercise aright, the grace of sympathy. To use the words of KEBLE, "The world's a room of sickness, where each heart The truest wisdom there, and noblest art, Is his, who skills of comfort best." There is another way in which our sorrows minister to the good of others. They quicken their compassion, draw out their sympathy and help. The world is hard enough now; but how much harder it would be, if there were no suffering souls to call forth the ministry of love. Then, if we endure our troubles in a right spirit, we strengthen others to endure theirs, and thus minister to their good. If we are patient and brave, they "Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand, And now let us remember that in connection with all our sorrows, there are circumstances of alleviation. The darkest cloud has a silver lining. There is a spring of water in the driest desert. Honey was once found in the carcass of a lion; and sweetness may yet be found in the most unlikely conditions. There is a blessedness in connection with sorrow that only good men enjoy, "Sire," said the great French preacher, MASSILLON, preaching before LOUIS XIV., from the text, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted,"-" If the world were to speak to you in the place of JESUS CHRIST, it undoubtedly would not say 'Blessed are they who mourn."" Undoubtedly it would not; nevertheless, the witness of CHRIST is true. As there are plants of healing for every bodily wound, so heaven. grows healing plants for every wounded heart. The sorrow of bereavement is often mitigated by the memory of our departed. Their light is not altogether quenched; it is removed from where it shone, but its reflection still illumines us,— "As mournful light That broods above the fallen sun, And dwells in heaven half the night." The alleviations of our grief are sometimes closer to us than we imagine. We weep and are sad, not knowing, "How near our feet calm waters glide, How glorious straight before us lies In all our sorrows, we may avail ourselves of the sympathy and succour of Him, who said to His disciples, "And ye now, therefore, have sorrow; but I will see you |