Part 24

Man is born for dominion; but he must enter it by conquest, and continue to do battle for every inch of ground added to his sway. His infant exertions are put forth to establish the authority of his will over his physical powers. His after efforts are for the subjection of the will to the judgment. There are times which come to all of us when our will is not completely fashioned to our hands, and the restless passions of the mind hold us in sway—seasons when all of us do and say things which are unbecoming, unseemly, and which lower and debase us in the opinion of others and also of ourselves. Self-control, however, is a virtue which will become ours if we cultivate it properly, if we strive right manfully for its possession; fight a bitter warfare against irritability, nervousness, jealousy, and all unkindness of heart and soul. But it must be cultivated properly. One exercise of it will not win us the victory. We must, by constant repetition of efforts, obtain at last the victory which will bring us repose, which will enable us to say to the raging waves of passion, "Thus far canst thou come, and no farther." We must be faithful to ourselves, faithful in our watch and ward over tongue, eye, and hand. It is only by so doing that man comes to the full development of his powers. It is alike the duty and the birthright of man. Moderation in all things, and regulating the actions only by the judgment, are the most eminent parts of wisdom. "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city."

"Prithee, peace! I dare do all that may become a man. Who dares do more is none."

—SHAKSPEARE.

Courage consists not in hazarding without fear, but being resolutely minded in a just cause. The brave man is not he who feels no fear—for that were stupid and irrational—but he whose noble soul subdues its fears, and bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. True courage is cool and calm. The bravest of men have the least of a brutal, bullying insolence, and in the very time of danger are found the most serene and free. Rage can make a coward forget himself and fight. But what is done in fury or anger can never be placed to the account of courage.

Courage enlarges, cowardice diminishes resources. In desperate straits the fears of the timid aggravate the dangers that imperil the brave. For cowards the road of desertion should be kept open. They will carry over to the enemy nothing but their fears. The poltroon, like the scabbard, is an incumbrance when once the sword is drawn. It is the same in the every-day battles of life: to believe a business impossible is the way to make it so. How many feasible projects have miscarried through despondency, and been strangled in the birth by a cowardly imagination! It is better to meet danger than to wait for it. A ship on a lee shore stands out to sea in a storm to escape shipwreck. Impossibilities, like vicious dogs, fly before him who is not afraid of them. Should misfortune overtake, retrench, work harder; but never fly the track. Confront difficulties with unflinching perseverance. Should you then fail, you will be honored; but shrink and you will be despised. When you put your hands to a work, let the fact of your doing so constitute the evidence that you mean to prosecute it to the end. They that fear an overthrow are half conquered.

No one can tell who the heroes are, and who the cowards, until some crisis comes to put us to the test. And no crisis puts us to the test that does not bring us up, alone and single-handed, to face danger. It is comparatively nothing to make a rush with the multitude, even into the jaws of destruction. Sheep will do that. Armies can be picked from the gutters, and marched up as food for powder. But when some crisis singles one out from the multitude, pointing at him the particular finger of fate, and telling him, "Stand or run," and he faces about with steady nerve, with nobody else to stand behind, we may be sure the hero stuff is in him. When such crises come, the true courage is just as likely to be found in people of shrinking nerves, or in weak and timid women, as in great, burly people. It is a moral, not a physical trait. Its seat is not in the temperament, but the will.

Some people imagine that courage is confined to the field of battle. There could be no greater mistake. Even contentious men—unavoidably contentious—are not by any means limited to the battlefield. And there are other struggles with adverse circumstances—struggles, it may be, with habits or appetites or passions—all of which require as much courage and more perseverance than the brief encounter of battle. Enough to contend with, enough to overcome, lies in the pathway of every individual. It may be one kind of difficulties, or it may be another, but plenty of difficulties of some kind or other every one may be sure of finding through life. There is but one way of looking at fate, whatever that may be, whether blessings or afflictions,—to behave with dignity under both. We must not lose heart, or it will be the worse both for ourselves and for those whom we love. To struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict,—this is life's inheritance. He who never falters, no matter how adverse may be the circumstances, always enjoys the consciousness of a perpetual spiritual triumph, of which nothing can deprive him.

Though the occasions of high heroic daring seldom occur but in the history of the great, the less obtrusive opportunities for the exercise of private energy are continually offering themselves. With these domestic scenes as much abound as does the tented field. Pain may be as firmly endured in the lonely chamber as amid the din of arms. Difficulties can be manfully combated, misfortune bravely sustained, poverty nobly supported, disappointments courageously encountered. Thus courage diffuses a wide and succoring influence, and bestows energy apportioned to the trial. It takes from calamity its dejecting quality, and enables the soul to possess itself under every vicissitude. It rescues the unhappy from degradation and the feeble from contempt.

The greater part of the courage that is needed in the world is not of an heroic kind. There needs the common courage to be honest, the courage to resist temptation, the courage to speak the truth, the courage to be what we really are, and not to pretend to be what we are not, the courage to live honestly within our own means, and not dishonestly upon the means of others. The courage that dares to display itself in silent effort and endeavor, that dares to endure all and suffer all for truth and duty, is more truly heroic than the achievements of physical valor, which are rewarded by honors and titles, or by laurels, sometimes steeped in blood. It is moral courage that characterizes the highest order of manhood and womanhood. Intellectual intrepidity is one of the vital conditions of independence and self-reliance of character. A man must have the courage to be himself, and not the shadow or the echo of another. He must exercise his own powers, think his own thoughts, and speak his own sentiments. He must elaborate his own opinions, and form his own convictions.

It has been said that he who dares not form an opinion must be a coward; he who will not must be an idler; he who can not must be a fool. Every enlargement of the domain of knowledge which has made us better acquainted with the heavens, with the earth, and with ourselves, has been established by the energy, the devotion, the self-sacrifice, and the courage of the great spirits of past times, who, however much they may have been oppressed or reviled by their contemporaries, now rank among those whom the enlightened of the human race most delight to honor.

The passive endurance of the man or woman who for conscience' sake is found ready to suffer and endure in solitude, without so much as the encouragement of even a single sympathizing voice, is an exhibition of courage of a far higher kind than that displayed in the roar of battle, where even the weakest feels encouraged and inspired by the enthusiasm of sympathy and the power of numbers. Time would fail to tell of the names of those who through faith in principles, and in the face of difficulties, dangers, and sufferings, have fought a good fight in the moral warfare of the world, and been content to lay down their lives rather than prove false to their conscientious convictions of the truth.

The patriot who fights an always losing battle, the martyr who goes to death amid the triumphant shouts of his enemies, the discoverer, like Columbus, whose heart remains undaunted through years of failure, are examples of the moral sublime which excites a profounder interest in the hearts of men than even the most complete and conspicuous success. By the side of such instances as these, how small by comparison seem the greatest deeds of valor, inciting men to rush upon death and die amid the frenzied excitement of physical warfare.

"The primal duties shine aloft like stars, The charities that soothe and heal and bless Lie scattered at the feet of man like flowers."

—WORDSWORTH.

Charity, like the dew from heaven, falls gently on the drooping flowers in the stillness of night. Its refreshing and revivifying effects are felt, seen, and admired. It flows from a good heart and looks beyond the skies for approval and reward. It never opens, but seeks to heal, the wounds inflicted by misfortune. It never harrows up, but strives to calm, the troubled mind.

Charity is another name for disinterested love—the humane, sympathetic feeling—that which seeks the good of others; that which would pour out from the treasures of its munificence gifts of good things upon all. It is that feeling that gave the world a Howard, a Fenelon, a Fry. It is that feeling that leads on the reformer, which inspires the philanthropists, which blesses, and curses not. It is the good Samaritan of the heart. It is that which thinketh no evil, and is kind, which hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things. It is the angel of mercy, which forgives seventy and seven times, and still is rich in the treasures of pardon. It visits the sick, soothes the pillow of the dying, drops a tear with the mourner, buries the dead, cares for the orphan. It delights to do offices of good to those cast down, to relieve the suffering of the oppressed and distressed, to proclaim the Gospel to the poor. Its words are more precious than rubies; its voice is sweeter than honey; its hand is softer than down; its step as gentle as love.

Whoever would be respected and beloved; whoever would be useful and remembered with pleasure when life is over, must cherish this virtue. Whoever would be truly happy and feel the real charms of goodness must cultivate this affection. It becomes, if possible, more glorious when we consider the number and extent of its objects. It is as wide as the world of suffering, deep as the heart of sorrow, extensive as the wants of creation, and boundless as the kingdom of need. Its spirit is the messenger of peace, holding out to quarreling humanity the flag of truce. It is needed every-where, in all times and places, in all trades, professions, and callings of profit or honor which men can pursue. In the home life there is too often a lack of charity; it should be considered as a sacred duty to long and well cultivate it, to exercise it daily, and to guard well its growth. The peace and happiness of the world depends greatly upon it. Nothing gives a sweeter charm to youth than an active charity, a disposition kind to all. Who can properly estimate the powers and sweetness of an active charity?

He who carries ever with him the spirit of boundless charity to man often does good when he knows not of it. An influence seems to go forth from him which soothes the distressed, encourages the drooping, stimulates afresh the love of virtue, and begets its own image and likeness in all beholders. Without the exercise of this grace it is impossible to make domestic and social life delightful. Deeds and words of conventional courtesy grown familiar are comparatively empty forms. The charitable soul carries with it a charmed atmosphere of peace and love, breathing which all who come within its benign influence unfold their noblest qualities, and develop their most amiable traits. Inharmonious influences are neutralized, the harsh discipline of life is changed to wholesome training, the crooked places are made straight, and the rough smooth.

The uncharitable and censorious are generally found among the narrow and bigoted, and those who have never read the full page of their own heart or been subject to various and crucial tests. How can a man whose temper is phlegmatic judge justly of him whose blood is fiery, whose nature is tropical, and whose passions mount in an instant, and as quickly subside? How can one in the seclusion of private life accurately measure the force of the influence those are subjected to who live and act in the center of vast and powerful civil and social circles? The more you mix with men the less you will be disposed to quarrel, and the more charitable and liberal will you become. The fact that you do not understand another is quite as likely to be your fault as his. There are many chances in favor of the conclusion that when you feel a lack of charitable feeling it is through your own ignorance and illiberality. This will disappear as your knowledge of men grows more and more complete. Hence keep your heart open for every body, and be sure that you shall have your reward. You will find a jewel under the most uncouth exterior, and associated with comeliest manners and the oddest ways and the ugliest faces you will find rare virtues, fragrant little humanities, and inspiring heroisms.

How glorious the thought of the universal triumph of charity! How grand and comprehensive the theme! The subject commands the profound attention of good men and of angels. Under the direful influence of its antagonistic principle man has trampled upon the rights of fellow-man, and waded through rivers of human blood, to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. Its footsteps have been marked with the blood of slaughtered millions. Its power has shivered kingdoms and destroyed empires. When men shall be brought into subjection to the law of charity the angel of peace will take up its abode with the children of men. Wars and rumors of wars will cease. Envy and revenge will hide their diminished heads. Falsehood and slander will be unknown. Sectarian walls will crumble to dust. Then this world will be transformed into a paradise, in which every thing that is beautiful and lovely shall grow and bloom. Disinterested and benevolent acts will abound. Sorrow and disappointments will flee away, and peace, sunshine, and joy will beautify and adorn life.

Death always makes a beautiful appeal to charity. When we look upon the dead form, so composed and still, the kindness and the love that are in us all come forth. The grave covers every error, buries every defect, extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look upon the grave even of an enemy and not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of dust that lies moldering before him?

Charity stowed away in the heart, like rose leaves in a drawer, sweetens all the daily acts of life. Little drops of rain brighten the meadow; acts of charity brighten the world. We can conceive of nothing more attractive than the heart when filled with the spirit of charity. Certainly nothing so embellishes human nature as the practice of this virtue; a sentiment so genial and so excellent ought to be emblazoned upon every thought and act of our life. This principle underlies the whole theory of Christianity, and in no other person do we find it more happily exemplified than in the life of our Savior who, while on earth, "went about doing good."

Kindness is the music of good-will to men, and on this harp the smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth. Kindness is one of the purest traits that find a place in the human heart. It gives us friends wherever we may chance to wander. Whether we dwell with the savage tribes of the forest or with civilized races, kindness is a language understood by the former as well as the latter. Its influence never ceases. Started once, it flows onward like the little mountain rivulet in a pure and increasing stream. To show kindness it is not necessary to give large sums of money, or to perform some wonderful deed that will immortalize your name. It is the tear dropped with the mother as she weeps over the bier of her departed child; it is the word of sympathy to the discouraged and the disheartened, the cup of cold water and the slice of bread to the hungry one.

Kindness makes sunshine wherever it goes. It finds its way into the hidden chambers of the heart, and brings forth golden treasures, which harshness would have sealed up forever. Kindness makes the mother's lullaby sweeter than the song of the lark, and renders the care-worn brow of the father and man of business less severe in its expression. It is the water of Lethe to the laborer, who straightway forgets his weariness born of the burden and heat of the day. Kindness is the real law of life, the link that connects earth with heaven, the true philosopher's stone, for all it touches it turns into virgin gold; the true gold, wherewith we purchase contentment, peace, and love. Would you live in the remembrance of others after you shall have passed away? Write your name on the tablets of their hearts by acts of kindness, love, and mercy.

Kindness is an emotion of which we ought never to feel ashamed. Graceful, especially in youth, is the tear of sympathy and the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit ease and indulgence to contract our affection, and wrap us up in a selfish enjoyment; but we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life and how to relieve them. Think of the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weeping child. A tender-hearted and compassionate disposition, which inclines men to pity and to feel the misfortunes of others as its own, is of all dispositions the most amiable, and though it may not receive much honor, is worthy of the highest. Kindness is the very principle of love, an emanation of the heart, which softens and gladdens, and should be inculcated and encouraged in all our intercourse with our fellow beings.

Kindness does not consist in gifts, but in gentleness and generosity of spirit. Men may give their money, which comes from their purse, and withhold their kindness, which comes from the heart. The kindness which displays itself in giving money does not amount to much, and often does quite as much harm as good; but the kindness of true sympathy, of thoughtful help, is never without beneficent results. The good temper that displays itself in kindness must not be confounded with passive goodness. It is not by any means indifferent, but largely sympathetic. It does not characterize the lowest, but the highest classes of society.

True kindness cherishes and actively promotes all reasonable instrumentalities for doing practical good in its own time, and, looking into futurity, sees the same spirit working on for the eventual elevation and happiness of the race. It is the kindly disposed men who are the active men of the world, while the selfish and the skeptical, who have no love but for themselves, are its idlers. How easy it is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around him, and how truly is one fond heart a fountain of gladness, making every thing in its vicinity to freshen into smiles. Its effect on stern natures is like the Spring rain, which melts the icy covering of the earth, and causes it to open to the beams of heaven.

In the intercourse of social life it is by little acts of watchful kindness recurring daily and hourly—and opportunities of doing kindness if sought for are constantly starting up—it is by words, by tones, by gestures, by looks that affection is won and preserved. He who neglects these trifles, yet boasts that, whenever a great sacrifice is called for, he shall be ready to make it, will rarely be loved. The likelihood is he will not make it, and if he does, it will be much rather for his own sake than for his neighbor's. Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindness and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort. The little unremembered acts of kindness and of love are the best portion of a good man's life. Those little nameless acts which manifest themselves by tender and affectionate looks and little kind acts of attention do much to increase the happiness of life.