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<p>The problem of Christian living—is not to <em>miss </em>the struggle, suffering, or hardship—but to pass through life without being hurt by any of its experiences. One of the requirements of pure religion is "to keep one's self unspotted from the world." This does not mean that we are to keep ourselves out of the world's life, to flee away and hide in refuges and retreats, where the evil of the world will not touch us—but to stay where our duty is, to meet life as it comes to us, to face the battles with sin, the struggles and temptations which belong to our peculiar place—and yet not be hurt, not contract any stain, not carry away wounds and scars.<br><br>
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<p>Paul tells us that he made his progress in spiritual life—by <em>forgetting </em>the things that were behind. "Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: <em>Forgetting what is behind </em>and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:13-14<br><br>
In everything in life, Jesus Christ is our highest example. He solved this <em>problem of living </em>for us. He met hard and painful experiences—but never was harmed by any of them. He endured temptation, being tempted in all points like as we are—yet always without sin. He passed through the sorest testings that anyone ever endured—but kept himself unspotted.<br><br>
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<em>Remembering </em>is a favorite Bible word. Forgetting is not usually commended. There is peril in forgetting. Indeed we forget altogether too much. Yet there are certain things we must forget—if we would make any progress in life.<br><br>
Without cause, men hated him, conspired against him, persecuted him, sought to kill him. The natural effect upon any man of such enmity, hatred, bitterness, and injustice—is to make him grow suspicious, cynical, cold, resentful, revengeful. But Jesus was not affected in this way. He was beyond all such effects. He could not be insulted—his nobility of character lifted him above the possibility of this. He was pained, but not harmed, by men's cruel words. He never became suspicious. His love never grew less gentle, less magnanimous, less kindly. Through all his years of opposition, hatred, plotting, treachery, and wrong—he came with an unspotted heart. He passed on to the end, unharmed in his own life. He was as patient, gentle, loving, and childlike the day he went to his cross, as he was the day the Spirit descended upon him like a dove.<br><br>
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We must forget our <strong>mistakes</strong>. There are many of them, too, and some of us never get away from their influence. We often sigh, "Oh, if I had not done that foolish thing, if I had not let that bad companionship into my life, if I had not taken that bad advice—how much better my life would have been!" We fret over the mistakes we have made, the blunders of our lives, and yield to their disheartening influence. We think that we can never make anything of our life, because of one pitiful mistake, one grievous sin. We think that we can never be a soldier, because we have lost one battle; that we can never succeed in business, because our first effort was a sad failure. These are things we should forget, not allowing them to check our onward life.<br><br>
The little spring by the seaside pours out its sweet waters through the salt sands. The tides roll over it and their brackish floods bury it for hours. But again it appears, and its waters are as sweet and pure as ever. So it was with the heart of Jesus Christ. The world's enmity left no embittering in him. He loved amen at the last—as he had never loved them before.<br><br>
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Some people carry the mistakes of all their years with them unto the end, and they hang like <em>chains </em>on them, so that they can make no progress. But this is a fearful waste of life. We <em>grow </em>by making mistakes. Think how many mistakes you made in learning to write, how many copybooks you spoiled before your penmanship became a credit to you! Think how many mistakes the <em>artist</em>makes before he is able to put a worthy picture on canvas, how many mistakes the <em>musician </em>makes before he is able to play a piece of music well! In every department of life, there are years and years with little but mistakes, immaturities, blunders—while men and women are preparing for beautiful living and noble work. Forget your mistakes, leave them behind, let God take care of them—and go on to better things. Build a palace on your <em>failures</em>, making them part of the <em>foundation</em>.<br><br>
This is the problem for every Christian life. It is possible to pass through this world's sorest temptations, and not to be injured by them. It is possible for us, however, to be hurt, most sorely hurt, by such experiences. Sin always works injury. It is something one never altogether gets over. It may be forgiven. God loves to forgive unto the uttermost—but its marks and scars remain. When the bloom of the fruit has been touched, it never can be restored; when the rose has been crushed, it never can be made lovely again. So sin's hurt is irremediable. The secret we must learn—is to pass through life with garments unsoiled.<br><br>
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We should forget the <strong>hurts </strong>we receive. Somebody did you harm last year. Somebody was unkind to you and left a wound. Forget these hurts! Do not remember them; do not cherish them, allowing them to rankle in your heart. The other day a man's hand was swollen and black, in serious danger of blood poisoning, all from a little splinter which in some way got into a finger and was permitted to stay there until it almost made necessary the amputation of the hand or arm, endangering the life. That is the way<em>little hurts</em>, when remembered, fester and make great distress, and sometimes produce even fatal results.<br><br>
There are special ways in which we may be <em>harmed </em>by the experiences of life. Nothing is more common than <strong>sorrow</strong>. Into every life it comes at one time or another. It comes sometimes as bereavement, taking away one who is dear, whose continued existence seems necessary to our happiness. Again it comes as a grief that hangs no death-crape on the door, wears no mourning clothes, and does not break into the outward appearance—but which stays as a secret sorrow, without human sympathy or comfort. We usually suppose that sorrow brings always a blessing, that it always helps those who endure it, enriching the life, sweetening it, making it more beautiful. But this is not in every case true. Sorrow often <em>harms </em>people's lives. It does not always sweeten—sometimes it sours the spirit. It does not always soften—sometimes it hardens the heart. It does not always give peace and calmness—sometimes it makes one irritable, fretful, selfish, exacting. When we pass through sorrow, we need to be exceedingly careful lest we shall be hurt by it. We need the great Physician then—he alone can heal <em>wounded hearts </em>so as to leave no scar.<br><br>
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Remember how <em>Cain's envy </em>was nursed and grow into fratricide! Jesus warned men against anger, saying it is murder, that is, the beginning of murder, a feeling which if cherished, may ripen into actual crime.<br><br>
There is a story of an Indian child who one day brought in a hurt bird from the field. The old chief asked the child where she had found the bird. "Among the wheat," was the answer. "Take it back," he said, "and lay it down just where you found it. If you keep it, it will die—but if you give it back to God, he can make it well again." It is with hurt hearts—as it is with hurt birds. They belong to God, and only he can heal them. Human hands are <em>clumsy </em>and <em>unskillful </em>in comforting. If you have sorrow—let God be your heart's healer. No human hands can help, save those that God has trained into something of his own gentleness. When God comforts, there are no hurts remaining in the life—he is so gentle, so skillful.<br><br>
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There are people who grow <em>jealous </em>of others. First it is only a feeling of which they are ashamed. But they brood over it, think of it day and night, until it grows and at length fills their whole life, and becomes a <em>hateful passion </em>which spoils their days and possibly ends in some great wrong. How much wiser is the <em>oyster! </em>A tiny grain of sand gets under its shell and grinds and hurts and makes a sore. Instead, however, of letting it become an ugly wound—the oyster, by peculiar secretions, makes a pearl. That is what we may do with others' unlovingness or their faults—change them into pearls of beauty in our character. If anyone hurts you by an unkindness, forget it and let the wound be healed in love.<br><br>
Another common experience in life is the <strong>wounding of love</strong>. Somebody does you a wrong, speaks unkindly of you, injures you in some way. It is natural for you to be angry, to say bitter words in return, to cherish resentful and unforgiving feelings against the person. You are in danger now of being hurt by the experience. The only safety in such a case lies in love—keeping love in your heart. Love says, "Forgive." Nothing else can save your life from being seriously hurt. If you grow resentful and bitter, and refuse to forgive, you have inflicted upon yourself an injury which never can be undone.<br><br>
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We should forget our past <strong>attainments</strong>, our <strong>successes </strong>and <strong>achievements</strong>. A writer tells of a man he had known for twenty-five years. The first time he saw him the man told of a certain good thing he had done many years before—a really good thing which greatly helped a community. He had seen him occasionally ever since, and every time the man told him the same story of the fine thing he had done long ago. It was a really good story. The thing he did was worthy. But would it not have been better if he had forgotten that <em>one </em>excellent deed of long ago—in doing other noble things a hundred times since?<br><br>
<em>The truth is, that no one in the universe can really do actual harm to you—but yourself.</em> Others may treat you unjustly. They may take your hard-earned money from you and refuse to return it; they may borrow and not repay. They may wrong you in some grievous way. They may falsely accuse you, and thus dim the whiteness of your name. They may injure you in your body, break your bones, kill you—but in none of these wrongs or injuries, can they really touch you, yourself—the being that lives within you.<br><br>
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We should never regard any noble deed of ours—as our best. We should never look back for the <em>climax </em>of our attainment or achievement. Paul was quite an old man when he wrote the words about forgetting past things—but he had forgotten all his past sacrifices and achievements, and was looking forward yet for better and higher work to do. However noble and useful your last year was, however good you were, however much you did for Christ and for your fellow-men, forget it all and set about making the next year the best ever you have lived!<br><br>
Paul speaks of the outward man suffering decay, while the inward man is renewed day by day. Enemies may tear your flesh in pieces—but they cannot <em>harm </em>you. You will emerge with a broken and torn body—but with the spirit of a little child, if you have kept yourself in love, in peace, in purity, through all the hard experiences.<br><br>
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We should forget our past <strong>sins</strong>. In one sense, we cannot. They will not be forgotten. This ought to keep us <em>humble </em>and make us<em>wary</em>. We should never forget the <em>peril </em>of sin. But sin <em>forgiven </em>should be forgotten and left behind. That is, we should believe in the <em>forgiveness </em>of our sins which have been confessed and repented of.<br><br>
But if in responding wrong, you have let yourself grow bitter, if you have become angry, if you have allowed vindictiveness to enter your heart, if you have refused to forgive—do you not see that you have hurt yourself, and have done grievous and irreparable harm to your own life?<br><br>
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The other day one was speaking of an experience of over fifteen years back—a sin—and the <em>black shadow </em>still hung over his life, shutting out the sun and the blue of the sky, hiding the face of God and quenching all joy and hope. That is not the way Christ wants us to be with our sins. He came to save us from them, and when they are forgiven, he bids us go in peace. Put your repentance into songs of gratitude and joy, and into new service. If one day has been spoiled by sin, do not spoil another day by<em>grieving </em>over it. Forget your past sins—in holy and beautiful living.<br><br>
A man told the story of a great wrong which had been done to him by another, a wrong involving base treachery. It had been years before—but it was known that his noble life had been nobler ever since the wrong had been done, that he had been sweeter in spirit, that he had been richer in helpfulness and service, and that he had been in every way a better man, a greater blessing to others. When asked how it came that that great tragedy had not hurt his life, had not made him bitter—he said that he had kept love in his heart through it all. That was the secret, and that is the only secret of coming through life's wrongs, injustices, cruelties, and keeping one's self unspotted from the world, unhurt by its lack of love, by its cruelty.<br><br>
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We should forget our <strong>sorrows</strong>. It is not easy. The empty chairs remind us always of those who used to sit on them. The loneliness stays, and it takes wise and diligent watchfulness not to allow a sadness to wrap itself about us like sackcloth, or to enter into us like an atmosphere and darken our life. But God does not want our sorrows to hurt us, so as to mar our joy and beauty. He wants them to become a blessing to us, to soften our hearts and enrich our character. He wants us always to remember the friends who have been so much to us and have gone from us—but to forget the griefs in the joy of divine comfort. Every grief should leave a blessing.<br><br>
One wrote to a friend, telling how hard she had found it not to grow bitter toward a person who for years had made life very hard for her father. There is much injustice in the world. It is easy to grow bitter; yes—but think of the hurt the bitterness would bring upon your own life. Yet if you patiently endure the wrong and keep yourself unspotted, your heart unhardened, the experience has not made your life less beautiful. Get the blessing that is promised in the Beatitude, for those who are persecuted.<br><br>
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These are suggestions of Paul's secret of noble life—forgetting things that are behind. We should never leave behind or throw away, however, anything that is good and lovely. We are to keep all our treasures of experience. All the good impressions, influences, lessons, and inspirations that we receive—we are to cherish. We should hold fast every good thing that comes to us. Not a good thing that is ever ours—should we lose.<br><br>
Another of these <em>perils in life </em>comes from <strong>care</strong>. Perhaps no other mood is more common, than <strong>worrying</strong>. Nearly everybody worries. A score of reasons against anxiety could be given—but one of the most serious of all—is the harm it does the life. It hurts it deeply and irreparably. It writes <em>fear </em>and <em>fret </em>on the face, and blots out the freshness and the beauty. Worry makes you old before your time. It takes the zest out of your life. It quenches your joy. It makes all the world less bright for you. It destroys faith in God and robs you of the sweetness of your trust. It withers, wrinkles, and blotches your soul. You do not know how seriously and ruinously you are hurting your life, spoiling it, wasting its substance, destroying it—if you are letting worry into your heart and allowing it to do its harmful work in your life.<br><br>
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What a serious loss it would be—if there were no remembering, if we could not keep ever as our own the joys, the delights, the precious things of the past! We do not begin to know what treasures we may lay up for ourselves, if we live always beautifully and have only sweet and sacred memories. "Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts," says Ruskin. "None of us realize what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thoughts, armor against all adversity—bright and satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us—houses built without hands, for our souls to live in."<br><br>
"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to keep one's self unspotted from the world." That is the problem of Christian life—whatever the life may have of hardness, of wrong, of injustice, of struggle, of sorrow—to keep the heart pure and sweet, at peace, filled with love through it all.<br><br>
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We should keep all that will enrich our character, that will sweeten our memory, that will make music in our hearts in the after years—but things that will vex us and worry us as we think of them—we are to forget.<br><br>
The lesson is hard, you say. Yes—but not half so hard in the end, as to have your life scarred, bruised, blotted, its possibilities of love atrophied, its gentleness petrified. There are people no more than middle-aged, who are incapable of any sweet joy, incapable of loving deeply, richly, ardently, incapable of enthusiasm in living and doing good, because they have become a prey to worry, or have let themselves be hardened by bitter feelings.<br><br>
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We are to win the <em>high altitudes in life </em>by leaving and forgetting the things that are behind. Oh, if we could only get away from our past! It holds us in <em>chains</em>. It enmeshes us, so that we cannot get disentangled from it. "Remember Lot's wife!" how the poor woman could not get free from her past, how it dragged her back when the angels were trying to rescue and save her—so that she was turned into a pillar of salt, and perished. Many people are lost—by clinging to their past.<br><br>
Life is too sacred, too holy, with too many possibilities of beauty and happiness, to be so mistreated, so perverted, so irremediably injured. How, then, can we keep our hearts unspotted from the evil of the world? The lesson is particularly for the young. Perhaps the old never can now learn it well—it is too late—but the young can do it, if they begin now, living with Christ, in his love, in his joy, in his companionship, in his obedience. God can keep your life hidden in the secret of his presence.<br><br>
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When Cardinal Mazarin was near to death, it is said a courtier in his palace saw him walking about the great halls of his palace, gazing on the magnificent pictures, the statuary, and works of art. "Must I leave it all? Must I leave it all?" he was heard to murmur despairingly. These were his treasures, the accumulation of a long life of wealth and power. These were the things he had lived for, and they were things he could not take with him. He must leave them to the moth and rust.<br><br>
Scientists tell us of the <em>charmed life of frail things</em>. The tiny flower that grows on the mountain crag is safer than the mountain itself. It bends and yields and remains unbroken, unbruised, in the wildest storms. Its frailness—is its strength and its security. How frail our lives are, in comparison with the great mountains and the mighty rocks! Yet we have a charmed existence. Our very<em>weakness </em>is our safety.<br><br>
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We must beware of our <em>earthly entanglements</em>. We should forget the things of the past—by having our hearts filled with the glory of things to come!
The superintendent of a hospital in Mexico, a hospital chiefly for workers on a new railroad, writes of her amazement over the way some people are brought in hurt from accidents, with scarcely a trace of life remaining, and yet how life persists in them. She tells of one man with both arms torn away at the shoulders, of both legs broken in two or three places, head cut and torn, body bruised—yet living and recovering. How frail we are—and yet what persistent life we have!<br><br>
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God loves us and will shelter us from harm and will keep us from being destroyed, if only we will let our lives he in his hands, trusting and obeying him. "We prevail by yielding, we succumb to conquer, like those sea flowers which continue to bloom amid the surf, where the rocks crumble." We have seen flowers growing sweet and fresh in the early spring days under the great snowdrifts. So God hides and protects the gentle lives of those who trust in him, in the very <em>snow banks of trouble and trial </em>which surround them. The least and feeblest of us can keep ourselves unspotted in the sorest perils—if we hide away under the shelter of the divine love.<br><br>
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One secret of coming through suffering and struggle unharmed, is to learn that we must endure for the sake of others. It helps us to be strong—when we know that others will be affected by our victory or defeat; helped when we endure nobly, harmed if we prove unfaithful. It makes us strong to be true and pure and noble and worthy—when we know others will be influenced by the way we stand the test. We dare not fail—when others are depending on us.
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Latest revision as of 13:11, 2 November 2012

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Paul tells us that he made his progress in spiritual life—by forgetting the things that were behind. "Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:13-14

Remembering is a favorite Bible word. Forgetting is not usually commended. There is peril in forgetting. Indeed we forget altogether too much. Yet there are certain things we must forget—if we would make any progress in life.

We must forget our mistakes. There are many of them, too, and some of us never get away from their influence. We often sigh, "Oh, if I had not done that foolish thing, if I had not let that bad companionship into my life, if I had not taken that bad advice—how much better my life would have been!" We fret over the mistakes we have made, the blunders of our lives, and yield to their disheartening influence. We think that we can never make anything of our life, because of one pitiful mistake, one grievous sin. We think that we can never be a soldier, because we have lost one battle; that we can never succeed in business, because our first effort was a sad failure. These are things we should forget, not allowing them to check our onward life.

Some people carry the mistakes of all their years with them unto the end, and they hang like chains on them, so that they can make no progress. But this is a fearful waste of life. We grow by making mistakes. Think how many mistakes you made in learning to write, how many copybooks you spoiled before your penmanship became a credit to you! Think how many mistakes the artistmakes before he is able to put a worthy picture on canvas, how many mistakes the musician makes before he is able to play a piece of music well! In every department of life, there are years and years with little but mistakes, immaturities, blunders—while men and women are preparing for beautiful living and noble work. Forget your mistakes, leave them behind, let God take care of them—and go on to better things. Build a palace on your failures, making them part of the foundation.

We should forget the hurts we receive. Somebody did you harm last year. Somebody was unkind to you and left a wound. Forget these hurts! Do not remember them; do not cherish them, allowing them to rankle in your heart. The other day a man's hand was swollen and black, in serious danger of blood poisoning, all from a little splinter which in some way got into a finger and was permitted to stay there until it almost made necessary the amputation of the hand or arm, endangering the life. That is the waylittle hurts, when remembered, fester and make great distress, and sometimes produce even fatal results.

Remember how Cain's envy was nursed and grow into fratricide! Jesus warned men against anger, saying it is murder, that is, the beginning of murder, a feeling which if cherished, may ripen into actual crime.

There are people who grow jealous of others. First it is only a feeling of which they are ashamed. But they brood over it, think of it day and night, until it grows and at length fills their whole life, and becomes a hateful passion which spoils their days and possibly ends in some great wrong. How much wiser is the oyster! A tiny grain of sand gets under its shell and grinds and hurts and makes a sore. Instead, however, of letting it become an ugly wound—the oyster, by peculiar secretions, makes a pearl. That is what we may do with others' unlovingness or their faults—change them into pearls of beauty in our character. If anyone hurts you by an unkindness, forget it and let the wound be healed in love.

We should forget our past attainments, our successes and achievements. A writer tells of a man he had known for twenty-five years. The first time he saw him the man told of a certain good thing he had done many years before—a really good thing which greatly helped a community. He had seen him occasionally ever since, and every time the man told him the same story of the fine thing he had done long ago. It was a really good story. The thing he did was worthy. But would it not have been better if he had forgotten that one excellent deed of long ago—in doing other noble things a hundred times since?

We should never regard any noble deed of ours—as our best. We should never look back for the climax of our attainment or achievement. Paul was quite an old man when he wrote the words about forgetting past things—but he had forgotten all his past sacrifices and achievements, and was looking forward yet for better and higher work to do. However noble and useful your last year was, however good you were, however much you did for Christ and for your fellow-men, forget it all and set about making the next year the best ever you have lived!

We should forget our past sins. In one sense, we cannot. They will not be forgotten. This ought to keep us humble and make uswary. We should never forget the peril of sin. But sin forgiven should be forgotten and left behind. That is, we should believe in the forgiveness of our sins which have been confessed and repented of.

The other day one was speaking of an experience of over fifteen years back—a sin—and the black shadow still hung over his life, shutting out the sun and the blue of the sky, hiding the face of God and quenching all joy and hope. That is not the way Christ wants us to be with our sins. He came to save us from them, and when they are forgiven, he bids us go in peace. Put your repentance into songs of gratitude and joy, and into new service. If one day has been spoiled by sin, do not spoil another day bygrieving over it. Forget your past sins—in holy and beautiful living.

We should forget our sorrows. It is not easy. The empty chairs remind us always of those who used to sit on them. The loneliness stays, and it takes wise and diligent watchfulness not to allow a sadness to wrap itself about us like sackcloth, or to enter into us like an atmosphere and darken our life. But God does not want our sorrows to hurt us, so as to mar our joy and beauty. He wants them to become a blessing to us, to soften our hearts and enrich our character. He wants us always to remember the friends who have been so much to us and have gone from us—but to forget the griefs in the joy of divine comfort. Every grief should leave a blessing.

These are suggestions of Paul's secret of noble life—forgetting things that are behind. We should never leave behind or throw away, however, anything that is good and lovely. We are to keep all our treasures of experience. All the good impressions, influences, lessons, and inspirations that we receive—we are to cherish. We should hold fast every good thing that comes to us. Not a good thing that is ever ours—should we lose.

What a serious loss it would be—if there were no remembering, if we could not keep ever as our own the joys, the delights, the precious things of the past! We do not begin to know what treasures we may lay up for ourselves, if we live always beautifully and have only sweet and sacred memories. "Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts," says Ruskin. "None of us realize what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thoughts, armor against all adversity—bright and satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us—houses built without hands, for our souls to live in."

We should keep all that will enrich our character, that will sweeten our memory, that will make music in our hearts in the after years—but things that will vex us and worry us as we think of them—we are to forget.

We are to win the high altitudes in life by leaving and forgetting the things that are behind. Oh, if we could only get away from our past! It holds us in chains. It enmeshes us, so that we cannot get disentangled from it. "Remember Lot's wife!" how the poor woman could not get free from her past, how it dragged her back when the angels were trying to rescue and save her—so that she was turned into a pillar of salt, and perished. Many people are lost—by clinging to their past.

When Cardinal Mazarin was near to death, it is said a courtier in his palace saw him walking about the great halls of his palace, gazing on the magnificent pictures, the statuary, and works of art. "Must I leave it all? Must I leave it all?" he was heard to murmur despairingly. These were his treasures, the accumulation of a long life of wealth and power. These were the things he had lived for, and they were things he could not take with him. He must leave them to the moth and rust.

We must beware of our earthly entanglements. We should forget the things of the past—by having our hearts filled with the glory of things to come!


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