The anguish which love endures for others' sins is among the saddest of
earth's sorrows.
There are griefs that hang no crape on the door-bell, that wear no
black garments, that close no shutters, that drop no tears which men
can see, that can get no sympathy save that of the blessed Christ and
perhaps of a closest human brother, and must wear smiles before men and
go on with life's work as if all were gladness within the heart. If we
knew the inner life of many of the people we meet, we would be very
gentle with them and would excuse the things in them that seem strange
or eccentric to us. They are carrying burdens of secret grief. We do
not begin to know the sorrows of our brothers.
There is no need to try to solve that old, yet always new, question of
human hearts, "Why does God permit so much suffering in his children?"
It is idle to ask this question, and all efforts at answering it are
not only vain, but they are even irreverent. We may be sure, however,
of one thing, that in every pain and trial there is a blessing folded.
We may miss it, but it is there, and the loss is ours if we do not get
it. Every night of sorrow carries in its dark bosom its own lamps of
comfort. The darkness of grief and trial is full of benedictions.
"The dark hath many dear avails;
The dark distils divinest dews;
The dark is rich with nightingales,
With dreams, and with the heavenly muse.
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