August 4

"Then David took hold on his clothes, and rent them."—2 Samuel 1:11.

DAVID wept with those who wept. A sympathy and a compassion like his are greatly to be desired.

They relieve and soften and refine my character. Without them it may be strong and impressive and useful, but it will be wanting in grace and tenderness. Something holds it back from perfection. I shall be among the righteous men for whom one would scarcely die; and is it not much better to be a good man for whom, peradventure, some would even dare to die?

They give me power with others. Never do I get so close to them as when I go to them in their grief. A grasp of the hand then, a few faltering words, a look of intelligent love, and their souls are knit with mine. Sometimes Christ approaches nearest to a man when the man is sitting in the darkened chamber beside his dead, and sometimes I am able to do the same.

And they make me a follower of God. For He is not only mighty and just and holy, but gracious and merciful. He is like the great mountains; yes, and like the little flowers — violet, edelweiss, anemone — which add immeasurably to the mountain's charm. It was God who stood beside the grave of Lazarus and wept.

So let me pray, as good Bishop Andrews did, for "the grace of tears." If I am tearless, I fear I am loveless too; for as love is, so is sorrow—he who has tasted the one in its power cannot fail to be familiar with the other. They caricature Christianity who would freeze the moisture of human eyes, and swathe the swellings of human hearts in the cerements of indifference. Not women only but strong men—David the soldier, and Jesus the Lord—do right to weep.