November 21

Thou hast put gladness into my heart more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased.—Psalms 4:7.

THOU hast put gladness into my heart. To this gladness, the gross delights of this earth can not reach: they stick as it were before the threshold. Corn and wine are only the refreshment of these mean, frail, earthly bodies, and the support of this corporeal and terrene life, but have nothing congenial with, and akin to, the heaven-born spirit. It is said, indeed, that bread strengtheneth man's heart, and wine makes it glad; but the heart there spoken of is that which is the spring of animal life and natural spirit: whereas, to that heart which holds the preference in human nature, which may therefore be called the governing part, there is nothing which gives light and gladness, beneath the eternal Father of lights and of spirits. He cherishes the languishing soul with the rays of his love, and satisfies it with the consolations of his Spirit, as with a kind of heavenly nectar or nepenthe, that, while it confides in his safety, lays all its cares and fears asleep, and lulls it into deep peace, and calm, and repose; without which, if the mind be a little agitated, no gentle breeze of harmony, no melody of birds or harp, can bring on the pleasing slumber, during which, nevertheless, the heart awakes.

Oh, happy man, who betakes his whole soul to God, and does not only choose him above all, but in the place of all, waiting only on him! Happy man, who, having been chosen by him with preventing love, and unmerited benignity, embraces his ample, all-sufficient Creator for his inheritance and his wealth, often repeating with sacred transport, Deus meus et omnia! My God and my all! This is the man that has enough; and therefore to allude to the words of the poet Horace, "He is not disquieted by the raging of the sea, nor any severity of the seasons, whatever stars may rise and set."

God fixes his gracious dwelling in the pure and holy soul which has learned to despise the vanity of riches, and makes it calm in the midst of hurries, and secure in the deepest solicitudes. And not merely to find, but even to seek after God, is better to such a soul, inexpressibly better, than to possess the richest treasure, the most extensive empire, or to have all the variety of sensual pleasures waiting upon its beck.

I remember to have read of some military officers, who, crossing the Nile, in the same boat with the two Macarii of Egypt, said to them, in allusion to their name, "You are indeed happy, who laugh at the world." "Yes," said they, "it is evident that we are happy, not merely in name, but in reality; but you are unhappy whom the world derides, as poor creatures whom it sees entangled in its snares."

St. Augustine also quotes from Politian, a similar example of a Pretorian soldier, who, walking out with his comrade, found in a cottage into which he accidentally came, a book containing the life of the hermit Anthony, and when he had read a little of it, looking upon his friend, said, "At what are we taking so much pains to arrive? What do we seek? For what do we go through the fatigues of a military life? The highest of our hopes at court must be, to share some extraordinary degree of the emperor's favor. And how frail and dangerous a situation is that! And through how many other previous dangers must we pass to it! And how soon will all the advantages we can hope from it be over! But I may this moment, if I please, become the friend and favorite of God." And he had no sooner uttered these words, than they both resolved upon quitting the world, that they might give up all the remainder of their days to religion.

Holy men in former ages did wonders in conquering the world and themselves; but we, unhappy, degenerate, and drowsy creatures as we are, blush to hear that they did what we can not or will not do. We are, indeed, inclined to disbelieve the facts, and rather choose to deny their virtues, than to confess our indolence and cowardice.