OCR Text |
Show A CHAPTER ON CHARITY. The Time for Its Etrrclse Is the Tresent Time. The reader is doubtless familiar with the poem, "If I Should Die To-Night" It is a picture of the love and tenderness tender-ness that would be exhibited over the lifeless clay; of the forgiveness of imperfection im-perfection and of the bestowal of flowers flow-ers upon the casket Then the writer pathetically appeals for such manifestations manifes-tations of love and friendship while life lasts, and the feet are weary and the eyelids are drooping. The words of a gentleman who recently died in Chicago, Chi-cago, "If you have flowers to give me, give them while I live and can enjoy their sweetness," have often reminded us of the sentiment of that poem. And how often are we reminded of them by the treatment of the dead. We are not considerate enough in our intercourse inter-course with our fellow men. We come in conflict with them upon various questions which arise; and although we may know very well that they are just as honest in their convictions and positions po-sitions as we are in ours and somo-times, somo-times, perhaps we know very well that they are more honest than we are wo become angry with them, nnd say harsh, unjustifiable things about them. If we hurt their feelings, we not only do not care, but rejoice. Yet we know that we are wronsring them, or if wo do not know it, wo are so thoughtless that our thoughtlessness is crime. Sometimes the best men who have ever lived have been favored for years by denunciation and slander simply because be-cause they could not agree with somebody some-body else. At last the crape is hung upon the doorknob, and the wronged brother was sleeping behind the barred shutters shut-ters the sleep that is wakeless. The silence within the house of bereavement bereave-ment appeared to flow out and surround sur-round the lips that had so often curled in scorn as the name of the dead was spoken, and about the heart that was hard enough to be just. Then reason begins to assert itself, and humanity begins to triumph over inhumanity. Justice ascends her throno from which aha had been east by the brutality of human nature. The man who so long had "hated" the dead, says to his own soul: "Well, after all he meant right and was a good man, a better man than the average; perhaps I have been doing him an injustice, and I will lay upon his casket a bunch of eloquent flowers to proclaim my regard for his memory. mem-ory. " But the ear that would have been charmed by such words is forever deaf; the eye that would have been gladdened glad-dened by such sentiment is sightless; the heart that would have leaped for joy at such a manifestation of willingness willing-ness to do justice, is still forever. "If you have flowers to give me, give them whilo I can enjoy their sweetness." Western Rural. |