A Gentle Heart'. 2

We can never do amiss in showering gentleness. There is no day when it will be untimely; there is no place where it will not find welcome. It will harm no one—and it may save someone from despair. The touch of a child on a woman's hand, may save a life from self destruction.

It is interesting to think of the new era of love which Jesus opened. Of course there was gentleness in the world before he came. There was mother love. There was friendship, deep, true, and tender. There were marital lovers who were bound together with most sacred ties. There were hearts even among heathen people in which there was gentleness almost beautiful enough for heaven. There were holy places where affection ministered with angel tenderness.

Yet the world at large was full of cruelty. The rich oppressed the poor. The strong crushed the weak. Women were slaves and men were tyrants. There was no hand of love reached out to help the sick, the lame, the blind, the old, the deformed, the insane, nor any to care for the widow, the orphan, and the homeless.

Then Jesus came! And for thirty-three years he went about among men—doing kindly things. He had a gentle heart, and gentleness flowed out in his speech. He spoke words which throbbed with tenderness. There was never any uncertainty about the heart-beat in the words which fell from the lips of Jesus. They throbbed with sympathy and tenderness.

The people knew always, that Jesus was their friend. His life was full of rich helpfulness. No wrong or cruelty ever made him ungentle. He scattered kindness wherever he moved.

One day they nailed those gentle hands to a cross! After that the people missed him, for he came no more to their homes. It was a sore loss to the poor and the sad, and there must have been grief in many a household. But while the personal ministry of Jesus was ended by his death, the influence of his life went on. He had set the world a new example of love. He had taught lessons of patience and meekness which no other teacher had ever given. He had imparted new meaning to human affection. He had made love the law of his kingdom.

As one might drop a handful of spices into a pot of brackish water, and therewith sweeten the waters—so these teachings of Jesus fell into the world's unloving, unkindly life, and at once began to change it into gentleness. Wherever the gospel has gone these saying of the great Teacher have been carried, and have fallen into people's hearts, leaving there their blessings of gentleness.

The influence of the death of Jesus also has wonderfully helped in teaching the great lesson of gentleness. It was love that died upon the cross! A heart broke that day on Calvary. A great sorrow always, for the time at least, softens hearts. A funeral touches with at least a momentary tenderness, all who pass by—loud laughter is subdued even in the most careless. A noble sacrifice, as when a life is given in the effort to help or to save others, always makes other hearts a little truer, a little braver, and a little nobler in their impulses.

The influence of the death of Jesus on this world's life is immeasurable. The cross is like a great heart of love beating at the center of the world, sending its pulsings of tenderness into all lands. The life of Christ beats in the hearts of his followers, and all who love him have something of his gentleness. The love of Jesus, kindles love in every believing heart. That is the lesson set for all of us in the New Testament. We are taught that we should love as Jesus loved, that we should be kind as he was kind, that his meekness, patience, thoughtfulness, selflessness, should be reproduced in us.

There is need for the lesson of gentleness in homes. There love's sweetest flowers should bloom. There we should always carry our purest and best affections. No matter how heavy the burdens of the day have been, when we gather home at nightfall we should bring only cheer and gentleness. No one has any right to be ungentle in his own home. If he finds himself in such a mood he should go to his room—until it has vanished.

The mother's life is not easy, however happy she may be. Her hours are long, and her load of care is never laid down. When one day's tasks are finished, and she seeks her pillow for rest, she knows that her eyes will open in the morning on another day full as the one that is gone. With children about her continually, tugging at her dress, climbing up on her knee, bringing their little hurts, their quarrels, their broken toys, their complaints, their thousand questions to her—and then with all the cares and toils that are hers, and with all the interruptions and annoyances of the busy days—it is no wonder if sometimes the strain is almost more than she can endure in quiet patience.

Nevertheless, we should all try to learn the lesson of gentleness in our homes. It is the lesson that is needed to make the home-happiness a little like heaven! Home is meant to be a place to grow in. It is a school in which we should learn love in all its branches. It is not a place for selfishness or for self indulgence. It should never be a place where a man can work off his annoyances, after trying to keep polite and courteous to others, all the day. It is not a place for the opening of doors of heart and lips to let ugly tempers fly out at will. It is not a place where people can act as they feel, however unchristian their feelings may be, withdrawing the guards of self control, relaxing all restraints, and letting their worse tempers have sway.

Home is a school in which there are great life-lessons to be learned. It is a place of self-discipline. All friendship is disciple. We learn to give up our own way—or if we do not we never can become a true friend.

It is well that we get this truth clearly before us, that life with all its experiences is our opportunity for learning love. The lesson is set for us is, "Love one another. As I have loved you—so you must love one another." Our one thing to master this lesson, is love. We are not in this world to get rich, to gain power, to become learned in the arts and sciences, to build up a great business, or to do great things in any other way. We are not here to get along in our daily work, in our shops, or schools, or homes, or on our farms. We are not here to preach the gospel, to comfort sorrow, to visit the sick, and perform deeds of charity. All of these, or any of these, may be among our duties, and they may fill our hands; but in all our occupations the real business of life, that which we are always to strive to do, the work which must go on in all our experiences, if we grasp life's true meaning at all—is to learn to love, and to grow loving in disposition and character.

We may learn the finest arts—music, painting, sculpture, poetry; or may master the noblest sciences; or by means of reading, study, travel, and converse with refined people, may attain the best culture. But if in all this, we do not learn love, and become more gentle in spirit and act—we have missed the prize of living. If in the midst of all our duties, cares, trials, joys, sorrows—we are not day by day growing in sweetness, in gentleness, in patience, in meekness, in unselfishness, in thoughtfulness, and in all the branches of love, we are not learning the great lesson set for us by our Master, in this school of life.

We should be gentle above all—to those we love the best. There is an inner circle of affection to which each heart has a right, without robbing others. While we are to be gentle unto all men—never ungentle to any—there are those to whom we owe special tenderness. Those within our own home belong to this sacred inner circle.

We must make sure that our home piety is true and real, that it is of the spirit and life, and not merely in form. It must be love—love wrought out in thought, in word, in disposition, in act. It must show itself not only in patience, forbearance, and self control, and in sweetness under provocation; but also in all gentle thoughtfulness, and in little tender ways in all the family interactions.

No amount of good religious teaching will ever make up for the lack of affectionateness in parents toward children. A gentleman said the other day, "My mother was a good woman. She insisted on her boys going to church and Sunday-school, and taught us to pray. But I do not remember that she ever kissed me. She was a woman of lofty principles—but cold and reserved—lacking in tenderness."

Next Part A Gentle Heart'. 3

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