'
"He raised his eyes within his cell--O wonder!
There stood a Visitor; thorn-crowned was He;
And a sweet voice the silence rent asunder:
'I scorn no work that's done for love of me.'
"And round the walls the paintings shone resplendent
With lights and colors to this world unknown,
A perfect beauty and a hue transcendent,
That never yet on mortal canvas shone."
There is a beautiful meaning in the old legend. Christ scorns no work
that is done for love of him. Most of us have much drudgery in our
lives, but even this we can make glorious by doing it through love for
Christ.
Things we do for others in Christ's name, are done for him. We all
remember that wonderful "inasmuch" in the twenty-fifth of Matthew. If
we find the sick one, or the poor one, and go and minister, as we may
be able, as unto the Lord, the deed is accepted as if done to him in
person. Mrs. Margaret J. Preston, in one of her beautiful poems, tells
of a weary sister who grieved sorely because, as it seemed to her, she
had not been able to do any work for Christ. By a mother's dying bed
she had promised to care for her little sister, and her work for the
child so filled her hands that she had not time for anything else. As
she grieved thus once, the little sister sleeping beside her stirred
and told her of a sweet, strange dream she had had. She thought her
sister was sitting sad because the King had bidden each one to bring
him a gift.
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