It
will not believe in the evil till it comes. Ought one to regret it?
Probably not. It is nature's will that life should defend itself against
death; hope is only the love of life; it is an organic impulse which
religion has taken under its protection. Who knows? God may save us, may
work a miracle. Besides, are we ever sure that there is no remedy?
Uncertainty is the refuge of hope. We reckon the doubtful among the
chances in our favor. Mortal frailty clings to every support. How be
angry with it for so doing? Even with all possible aids it hardly ever
escapes desolation and distress. The supreme solution is, and always
will be, to see in necessity the fatherly will of God, and so to submit
ourselves and bear our cross bravely, as an offering to the Arbiter of
human destiny. The soldier does not dispute the order given him: he
obeys and dies without murmuring. If he waited to understand the use of
his sacrifice, where would his submission be?
It occurred to me this morning how little we know of each other's
physical troubles; even those nearest and dearest to us know nothing of
our conversations with the King of Terrors. There are thoughts which
brook no confidant: there are griefs which cannot be shared.
Consideration for others even bids us conceal them.
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