It's silence when your words would hurt,
It's patience when your neighbour's curt,
It's deafness when the scandal flows,
And blindness for another's woes;
It's promptness when stern duty calls
And courage when misfortune falls.
(1 Cor. 13. 4-8; 1 Pet. 4. 8)
With the sunshine of thy goodness
Melt our thankless hearts of stone!
Till our cold and selfish natures
Warmed by Thee, at length believe
'Tis to give than receive.—Alderson
"Charity," said Rev. B., "is a sentiment common to human nature. A never sees B in distress without wishing C to relieve him."
Dr. C.H. Parkhurst, the eloquent New York clergyman, at a recent banquet said of charity:
"Too many of us, perhaps, misinterpret the meaning of charity as the master misinterpreted the Scriptural text. This master, a pillar of a western church, entered in his journal:
"'The Scripture ordains that, if a man take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. Today, having caught the hostler stealing my potatoes, I have given him the sack.'"
THE LADY—"Well, I'll give you a dime; not because you deserve it, mind, but because it pleases me."
THE TRAMP—"Thank you, mum. Couldn't yer make it a quarter an' thoroly enjoy yourself?"
Porter Emerson came into the office yesterday. He had been out in the country for a week and was very cheerful. Just as he was leaving, he said: "Did you hear about that man who died the other day and left all he had to the orphanage?"
"No," some one answered. "How much did he leave?"
"I made a mistake," said Plodding Pete. "I told that man up the road I needed a little help 'cause I was lookin' for me family from whom I had been separated fur years."
"Didn't that make him come across?"
"He couldn't see it. He said dat he didn't know my family, but he wasn't goin' to help in bringing any such trouble on 'em."
"It requires a vast deal of courage and charity to be philanthropic," remarked Sir Thomas Lipton, apropos of Andrew Carnegie's giving. "I remember when I was just starting in business. I was very poor and making every sacrifice to enlarge my little shop. My only assistant was a boy of fourteen, faithful and willing and honest. One day I heard him complaining, and with justice, that his clothes were so shabby that he was ashamed to go to chapel.
"'There's no chance of my getting a new suit this year,' he told me. 'Dad's out of work, and it takes all of my wages to pay the rent.'
"I thought the matter over, and then took a sovereign from my carefully hoarded savings and bought the boy a stout warm suit of blue cloth. He was so grateful that I felt repaid for my sacrifice. But the next day he didn't come to work. I met his mother on the street and asked her the reason.
"'Why, Mr. Lipton,' she said, curtsying, 'Jimmie looks so respectable, thanks to you, sir, that I thought I would send him around town today to see if he couldn't get a better job.'"
"Good morning, ma'am," began the temperance worker. "I'm collecting for the Inebriates' Home and—"
"Why, me husband's out," replied Mrs. McGuire, "but if ye can find him anywhere's ye're welcome to him."
Charity is a virtue of the heart, and not of the hands.—Addison.
You find people ready enough to do the Samaritan, without the oil and twopence.—Sydney Smith.
"Oh, mamma," questioned the child, "who's that?" He pointed to a nun who was passing.
"A Sister of Charity," was the answer.
"Which one," the boy persisted, "Faith or Hope?"
Some years ago, the bakers of Lyons thought they could prevail on M. Dugas, the provost of the merchants in that city, to befriend them at the expense of the public. They waited upon him in a body, and begged leave to raise the price of bread, which could not be done without the sanction of the chief magistrate. M. Dugas told them that he would examine their petition, and give them an early answer. The bakers retired, having first left upon the table a purse of two hundred louis d'ors. In a few days the bakers called upon the magistrate for an answer, not in the least doubting but that the money had effectually pleaded their cause. "Gentlemen," said M. Dugas, "I have weighed your reasons in the balance of justice, and I find them light. I do not think that the people ought to suffer under a pretence of the dearness of corn, which I know to be unfounded; and as to the purse of money that you left with me, I am sure that I have made such a generous and noble use of it as you yourself intended. I have distributed it among the poor objects of charity in our two hospitals. As you are opulent enough to make such large donations, I cannot possibly think that you can incur any loss in your business; and I shall, therefore, continue the price of bread as it was."