So long
has she now been thus bowed down in the habit of sadness and grieving,
that she can in no wise lift herself up.
Since I began to write this chapter I have had a long talk with one
whose life is sorely bent. Ten years since I first knew her as a
bright and happy young girl, her face sunny in the light of God's love.
Trouble came into her life in many forms. Her own father proved
unworthy, failing in all the sacred duties of affection toward his
child. Events in her own life were disappointing and discouraging.
Friends in whom she had trusted failed in that faithfulness and
helpfulness which one has a right to expect from one's friends. There
was a succession of unhappy experiences, through several years, all
tending to hurt her heart-life. As the result of all this, she has
become embittered and hardened, not only against those who have wronged
her and treated her unjustly, but even against God. So long has she
yielded to these feelings that her whole life has been bent down from
its upward, Godward look into settled despondency. God has altogether
faded out of her soul's vision, and she thinks of him only as unkind
and unjust. To restore her life to its former brightness and beauty
will require a moral miracle as great as that by which the body of the
crooked woman was made straight.
Then there are lives also that are bowed down by toil and care.
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