In this bright way she speaks of herself when laid aside from her sphere of usefulness, and obliged to some extent to discontinue the literary work which had proved so acceptable to the public and already given her considerable fame as an author: “I’ve been occupied with turning a corner, round which the landscape is different, and getting used to the change. I suppose it has been coming on for a good while; at all events, after some ten years of ruddy health and active exercise, I am not to sweep any more for a while, not to walk, not to sing, read aloud, talk much, not to hurry, not to get tired at anything.… Of course it is a little queer and painful sometimes, because, particularly, my father is always an invalid, and increasingly so. One dreads to be another anxiety. But I have no real reason to fret. Something good will come of it, I will expect. I am so thankful that I need not give up writing that I will not mind the rest of my denials;” and then when her own health was declining, and the sunset hour of her life was nearer than she thought, she closes her letter with “Good night, dear. Health and God’s blessing!” and it was a final “good night,” for word soon came of her entering into communion with the saints above.
The more heart we put into our work, whether it be domestic drudgery, the care of the sick, or “whatsoever the hand findeth to do,” the more perfect and satisfactory it will be; and according to the measure with which we serve others, is meted out to us the happiness we derive from that service. The sending of a letter full of kindly thought and sympathy has often brought a return far beyond the expectation of the sender. A little gift, a token of good will, insignificant in itself, has spoken volumes to the recipient, and brightened a day that was full of clouds. To do no more than our duty does not fill the measure of Christian usefulness. We would grieve if compelled to walk a narrow path, fenced in on either side, and not allowed to look to the right or left, or to pluck the fruits that lined the road; and God and his holy angels must grieve when we neglect to turn out of our path to assist others, and make excuses for the non-performance of heart service.
A young lady, very much interested in mission work, and an active worker in a large school connected with a flourishing church, felt offended at some of the officers of the school, and decided to send in her resignation. Each Sunday she had been accustomed to place before the children some text that they might carry with them through the week, absorbing its teachings and principles so that they would be “wrought out in living characters.”
All through the week her mind dwelt upon the injustice that she felt had been done her, and she went to the mission school the following Sunday fully determined to give up the work which had been her delight for so many years. As she entered the room her gaze rested on the text which stood out in bold lettering, as she had printed it the previous Sunday:
“Even Jesus pleased not himself.”
The arrow struck home. It would never do to have that text uppermost when she handed in her resignation, so she reversed the roll, and there in as bold type appeared:
“Jesus, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.”
There was no use trying to avoid the situation, or to escape the responsibilities. The teacher’s work was there. She knew it; she felt it.
“To doubt would be disloyalty;
To falter would be sin;”