TWENTY-FIRST DAY.

The Sacredness of Sorrow.

AND
ND Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn

upon his brother: and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept there. And he washed his face, and went out, and refrained himself, and said, Set on bread.

Gen. xliii. 30, 31.

Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me. And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren.

Gen. xlv. 1.

I cried unto the Lord with my voice; with my voice unto the Lord did I make my supplication. I poured out my complaint before him; I shewed before him my trouble. When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path. In the way wherein I walked have they privily laid a snare for me. I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul. I cried unto thee, O Lord: I said, Thou art my

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refuge and my portion in the land of the living. unto my cry; for I am brought very low: deliver me from my persecutors; for they are stronger than I. Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name: the righteous shall compass me about; for thou shalt deal bountifully with me.

Ps. cxlii.

The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.

Proverbs xiv. 10.

Also the word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Son of man, behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears run down. Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee, and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men. So I spake unto the people in the morning: and at even my wife died; and I did in the morning as I was commanded.

Ezekiel xxiv. 15-18.

From the French of MADAME DE GASPARIN.

GRIEF is a delicate and fragile flower, fading even

more easily than joy, but never wholly dead. Like the rose of Jericho, though seemingly dried and withered past recognition, yet, if but one warm breath pass over it for a moment, it will bloom again with renewed freshness. 'Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful,' and those who seem to forget have often

the saddest hearts. In each and all of us life is twofold two beings dwell within us :-one active, busy, absorbed in the duties and pleasures of this world: while the other is sadly and dreamily living in the past, treading with tears the former paths, stopping to remember a look, to pursue a shadow: 'Here we sat down to rest, and her voice was full of tears;' 'There, she was weary and leant on me for support;' 'That evening she was sorrowful, and we prayed that God would leave us together;' 'Another time she was gay as a spring morning, and we thought that heaven had descended upon earth.'

Yes, even the frivolous man of the world has his memories; a gentle voice re-echoing from the past; one confiding word; one touch of a vanished hand;' something sudden, unexpected, and lo! the flood-gates are opened, and the waves of sorrow are rushing over him his heart beats quick, he seizes once again with a passionate intensity the image of his beloved one,— it is his, it is not dead, and the joyous loving past lives again for him. . . .

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But when we see light returning to the eyes that wept, when life begins to flow again in its wonted channels, then we are apt to say 'that which is finished is finished, and the memory of the dead has perished for ever.'

Not so.

After those first days when the anguish of separation is lacerating the heart, and it cares not to conceal the depth of its wounds, there comes a reaction, an over

powering desire, a craving for isolation; a holy jealousy takes possession of the soul, the gates are barred against intruders, the doors of the chamber of death are sealed, the brow is taught to deny everything, tortures, memories; while within, ah within! the lamp of sorrow is burning with an ardent glow, and many a passing word will make the heart-strings quiver with a poignant agony, even while the lips are discoursing of common things, ay, and perchance with smiles.

Then the heart will commune with its beloved dead in a sacred stillness which even the tenderest sympathy may not break. Then are lavished forth those expressions of endearment perhaps in life but charily bestowed; then perchance is forgiveness craved, confessions are poured forth with burning tears, all the springs of emotion are stirred to their very depths, and harmonies so sweet and solemn are ringing in the temple of the soul, that even a friend's voice mingling therewith would seem to jar and give pain as a discordant note.

Oblivion? Nay, think not so! a sanctuary, a holy of holies, shrouded with a veil for ever.

O

LORD, Heavenly Father; I bow my will to Thee whose judgments are unsearchable, and whose ways are past finding out. The Lord gave, and the

Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord. The cup which my Father hath given me shall I not drink it? I humbly take it from Thy hands, O my God, and submit to Thy wise dispensations. Oh! grant me to rest upon Thy love in Christ Jesus, by whom Thou hast provided a remedy for all our griefs, and comforted us with the hope of another and better life, where there shall be no death, nor any pain or sorrow, but all tears shall be wiped away from our eyes. To Thee who knowest our frame, and canst have compassion on our infirmities; to thee, O Lord, who art my best and eternal Friend, be all glory and praise, now and for ever. Amen.

Down whose dim corridors for ever roll
The voices of the dead; whose holy ground
Re-echoes, at the midnight hour, with sound
Of feet that long ago were laid to rest
Yet trouble thee for ever! lo, a Guest

Is waiting at the gate; and unto Him

Thou shalt bemoan thy dead, and He will take

Sweet words and comfort thee. Thine eyes are dim, But stretch thine hands to Him; He will not break The bruised reed.