"Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early."—Psalm lvii.
Thus we have seen the difference between the voluntary and the involuntary muscles, and we have perceived the goodness of our Creator in not entrusting to our keeping the controul of an organ so vital to life, as the heart.
But the heart is not the only organ which thus works unseen and unfelt. There are the lungs and the muscles of the chest, the stomach, and other parts occupying the abdomen, together with all those muscular filaments which enter into the structure of the coats and valves of the blood-vessels, and which assist to propel the blood through the system. All these are at work at every moment of man's life; and yet, so perfect is this complicated machinery, that we really do not know, except by theory, what is going on within us.
During the time that the sleeper has been at rest, the stomach has been at work digesting the food which was last eaten. Then the stomach has passed the macerated food into the alimentary canal, the liver has poured out its secretion, and produced certain changes in the condition of the dissolved food: and the lacteals, of which there may be many thousands, perhaps millions, have been busy sucking up those portions of the food which they knew to be useful to the system, whilst they have rejected all those useless and noxious matters upon which the liver, like an officer of health, had set his mark, as unfitting for the public use. This busy life has gone on uninterruptedly; every member of that body, every worker in that wonderful factory, has been unremitting in his duty, and yet the owner, the master, has been asleep, and wakes up finding every bodily want supplied!
Notwithstanding that much has already been said of the wonders that pertain to the eye, it has not yet been considered as the seat of tears, those mute but eloquent utterers of the sorrows of the heart. Beautiful Tear! whether lingering upon the brink of the eyelid, or darting down the furrows of the care-worn cheek—thou art sublime in thy simplicity—great, because of thy modesty—strong, from thy very weakness. Offspring of sorrow! who will not own thy claim to sympathy? who can resist thy eloquence? who can deny mercy when thou pleadest?
Every tear represents some in-dwelling sorrow preying upon the mind and destroying its peace. The tear comes forth to declare the inward struggle, and to plead a truce against further strife. How meet that the eye should be the seat of tears—where they cannot occur unobserved, but, blending with the beauty of the eye itself, must command attention and sympathy!
Whenever we behold a tear, let our kindliest sympathies awake—let it have a sacred claim upon all that we can do to succour and comfort under affliction. What rivers of tears have flown, excited by the cruel and perverse ways of man! War has spread its carnage and desolation, and the eyes of widows and orphans have been suffused with tears! Intemperance has blighted the homes of millions, and weeping and wailing have been incessant! A thousand other evils which we may conquer have given birth to tears enough to constitute a flood—a great tide of grief. Suppose we prize this little philosophy, and each one determine never to excite a tear in another. Watching the eye as the telegraph of the mind within, let us observe it with anxious regard; and whether we are moved to complaint by the existence of supposed or real wrongs, let the indication of the coming tear be held as a sacred truce to unkindly feeling, and our efforts be devoted to the substitution of smiles for tears!