Part 11 (1/2)
”He lives to us who dies; he is but lost who lives.”
Thus even death doth not quench the influence of a good life. It continues to bless others long after the life has pa.s.sed from earth.
It is true, as Mrs. Sangster writes:--
”They never quite leave us, our friends who have pa.s.sed Through the shadows of death to the sunlight above; A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast To the places they blessed with their presence and love.
”The work which they left and the books which they read Speak mutely, though still with an eloquence rare, And the songs that they sung, and the dear words that they said Yet linger and sigh on the desolate air.
”And oft when alone, and oft in the throng, Or when evil allures us, or sin draweth nigh, A whisper comes gently, 'Nay, do not the wrong,'
And we feel that our weakness is pitied on high.”
It must be remembered that not all influence is good. Evil deeds also have influence. Bad men live, too, after they are gone. Cried a dying man whose life had been full of harm to others: ”Gather up my influence, and bury it with me in my grave.” But the frantic, remorseful wish was in vain. The man went out of the world, but his influence stayed behind him, its poison to work for ages in the lives of others.
We need, therefore, to guard our influence with most conscientious care. It is a crime to fling into the street an infected garment which may carry contagion to men's homes. It is a worse crime to send out a printed page bearing words infected with the virus of moral death. The men who prepare and publish the vile literature which to-day goes everywhere, polluting and defiling innocent lives, will have a fearful account to render when they stand at G.o.d's bar to meet their influence.
If we would make our lives worthy of G.o.d, and a blessing to the world, we must see to it that nothing we do shall influence others in the slightest degree to evil.
In the early days of American art there went from this country to London a young artist of genius and of a pure heart. He was poor, but had an aspiration for n.o.ble living as well as for fine painting. Among his pictures was one that in itself was pure, but that by a sensuous mind might be interpreted in an evil way. A lover of art saw this picture and purchased it. But when it was gone the young artist began to think of its possible hurtful influence on the weak, and his conscience troubled him. He went to his patron and said, ”I have come to buy back my picture.” The purchaser could not understand him.
”Didn't I pay you enough for it? Do you need money?” he asked. ”I am poor,” replied the artist, ”but my art is my life. Its mission must be good. The influence of that picture may possibly be harmful. I cannot be happy with it before the eyes of the world. It must be withdrawn.”
We should keep watch not only over our words and deeds in their intent and purpose, but also in their possible influence over others. There may be liberties which in us lead to no danger, but which to others, with less stable character and less helpful environment, would be full of peril. It is part of our duty to think of these weaker ones and of the influence of our example upon them. We may not do anything, in our strength and security, which might possibly harm others. We must be willing to sacrifice our liberty, if by its exercise we endanger another's soul. This is the teaching of St. Paul in the words: ”It is good not to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor to do anything whereby thy brother stumbleth”; and ”If meat maketh my brother to stumble, I will eat no flesh for evermore, that I make not my brother to stumble.”
How can we make sure of an influence that shall be only a benediction?
There is no way but by making our life pure and good. Just in the measure in which we are filled with the Spirit of G.o.d and have the love of Christ in us, shall our influence be holy and a blessing to the world.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE MEANING OF OPPORTUNITIES.
”'To-day' unsullied comes to thee--newborn, To-morrow is not thine; The sun may cease to s.h.i.+ne For thee, ere earth shall greet its morn.
”Be earnest, then, in thought and deed, Nor fear approaching night; Calm comes with evening light, And hope and peace. Thy duty heed 'to-day.'”
--RUSKIN.
If people's first thoughts were but as good and wise as their after-thoughts, life would be better and more beautiful than it is. We can all see our errors more clearly after we have committed them than we saw them before. We frequently hear persons utter the wish that they could go again over a certain period of their life, saying that they would live it differently, that they would not repeat the mistakes or follies which had so marred and stained the record they had made.
Of course the wish that one might have a second chance with any past period of time is altogether vain. No doubt there ofttimes is much reason for shame and pain in our retrospects. We live poorly enough at the best, even the saintliest of us, and many of us certainly make sad work of our life. Human life must appear very pathetic, and ofttimes tragical, as the angels look down upon it. There are almost infinitely fewer wrecks on the great sea where the s.h.i.+ps go, than on that other sea of which poets write, where lives with their freightage of immortal hopes and possibilities sail on to their destiny. We talk sometimes with wonder of what the ocean contains, of the treasures that lie buried far down beneath the waves. But who shall tell of the treasures that are hidden in the deeper, darker sea of human life, where they have gone down in the sad hours of defeat and failure?
”In dim green depths rot ingot-laden s.h.i.+ps, While gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell, Lie nestled in the ocean-flowers' bell With love's gemmed rings once kissed by now dead lips; And round some wrought-gold cup the sea-gra.s.s whips, And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their sh.e.l.l Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell, And seek dim sunlight with their countless tips.
”So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes, Beneath the now hushed surface of myself.
In lonelier depths than where the river gropes, They lie deep, deep; but I at times behold, In doubtful glimpses, on some reefy shelf, The gleam of irrecoverable gold.”