| Home Making |
Chapter 8 |
Page 7 |
It is related of Heinrich Heine that he found himself in Paris during the scenes of the Revolution of 1848, in the very midst of the mad excitements. Weary, unbelieving and almost hopeless in his endeavors to escape, he entered a room of the Louvre and fell down before that wonder of ancient art, the Venus di Milo. He looked up with almost worship of its divine beauty and with a vague desire for help, as if this splendid figure could deliver him. But, though an object of exquisite beauty, its arms were broken off and it could not reach down to give him any aid. It ears were marble and could not hear his cries. Its heart was stone and could not feel for him in his peril and alarm. So earthly grandeur and beauty always are to the human heart in its deep sorrow. A palace filled with rarest works of art can give no comfort to the stricken father and mother who, in one of its gilded and tapestried chambers, are sitting in anguish beside a dying child. I have seen such grief in the Christless, prayerless home, and pitiable indeed it was in its wild agony of despair. Though in days of health and joy no eye there was ever turned to God, no heart was ever lifted to him in praise or prayer, no voice ever cried to him for help or blessing, though religion was despised or ridiculed and there was no desire for God’s minister within their doors, yet in the bitterness and hopelessness of their grief, when their refuge failed them, when only God could give help, they turned to him and begged for the ministry of religion. They wanted to hear the word of God read and prayer offered by the bed where the struggle with death was going on. There is something very sad in this despairing resort to the comforts of religion in the hour when all else has failed. Yet it ought to teach us the lesson that none but God will suffice in the time of great grief. Earth can build no home so beautiful, so perfect, that sorrow shall find there all it needs for comfort.
But in the home of prayer when trial comes there is help at hand. An unseen presence walks amid the shadows. A voice others hear not whispers peace. A hand others see not ministers consolation. Religion pours light in the darkness. The sorrow is no less bitter, but the stricken hearts are sustained in their pain or loss by the rich consolations of divine love. No home is prepared for the trials which are at some time inevitable which has not its altar standing in the centre, whereon the fires burn perpetually.
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